I didn’t grow up watching David Attenborough

Most people grew up watching Sir David Attenborough. I didn’t.

Which is perhaps why my early memory of the natural world doesn’t come from television. It comes from a place. A river cutting through the Himalaya. I remember its force and its scale. 

Growing up in India, televisions were scarce and wildlife documentaries even scarcer. My introduction to Sir David came through one of his books, The Living Planet, which I read and reread as a child. It opened up a world I had never imagined. 

One passage in particular stayed with me. His description of the Kali Gandaki River cutting through the Nepal Himalaya wasn’t just about a place with its plants and animals. It explained how that place and its diversity of life came to be. He wrote about the force of the river, the scale of the mountains, the movement of continents, and how, over time, these processes combined to carve one of the deepest gorges in the world. 

It was natural history in the fullest sense, bringing together geology, time, and life, and making it all feel vivid and understandable. I could picture it in my mind. At the time, though, it felt distant and completely out of reach. I never imagined I would see it for myself.

And yet, decades later, I found myself there, in the Kali Gandaki gorge in Nepal, in the landscapes leading up to the snow leopard habitats of Mustang. It was my first time there, just a few weeks ago, but it didn’t feel new. I had been there before, through Sir David’s words. 

That, I think, says something about the kind of impact he has had. For many, it came through television. For me, it began with a book. But the result was the same: a lasting curiosity about the natural world. Long before conservation became a widely discussed subject, Sir David was helping people care about nature, not by lecturing them, but by introducing them to its wonders, with joy and respect.

I have had the privilege of meeting Sir David and, rather improbably, I once found myself being questioned by him about snow leopards at a formal dinner where Princess Anne was the guest of honor. Everyone in the room wanted to speak to him. He, however, wanted to speak to me, not because of who I was, but because he had questions.

He asked many: about behaviour, habitat, and conservation of snow leopards. He asked with the kind of curiosity you would expect from someone just starting out, not someone who had spent decades shaping how the world understands nature.

I was holding a glass of bubbly, as was he, and in my enthusiasm (and mild disbelief), I may have gone through it a little faster than I should have. By the end of the conversation, I was feeling… a little more relaxed than intended.

That detail became my son’s favourite part of the story, but his connection to Sir David goes well beyond it. Unlike me, he grew up with the full sweep of Sir David’s films, in high definition, with access I could never have imagined. And like many children, he didn’t just watch them. He imitated that unmistakable voice, narrating his own imagined natural worlds.

This makes Sir David’s impact feel even more extraordinary. It’s not just global, it’s generational, and, in many ways, deeply personal. It shows up in small, unexpected ways, in the questions people ask, the paths they choose, and the way they see the natural world. It is this same curiosity and care that continues to shape conservation efforts today, including the work of the Snow Leopard Trust and our partners in some of Asia’s most fascinating mountain landscapes.

Few people leave this kind of legacy. Fewer still do so with such grace and humility. 

On behalf of the snow leopards of these high mountains, Happy 100th Birthday, Sir David Attenborough.

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Photo credits: Dr. Mishra photo by Kini Roesler, Sir David Attenborough photo by Whitley Fund for Nature and snow leopard by Prasen Yadav