A Hoskote Summer Prelude

The sky's a little quieter, the reeds a little less crowded—our winged winter tourists have packed their bags. But the resident birds at Hoskote Lake? Still holding fort, thank you very much. I dropped in last Sunday for a quick hello, and by the time I left at 8:30 AM, the sun had decided it was summer already. Classic Bangalore. Here are the pics.

~~~
I had planned to reach the lake exactly at sunrise—6:13 AM, according to the weather app that believes I'm always punctual. In reality, I made it with a fashionable couple of minutes delay. As I walked in, the sun was already staging its grand entrance, caught dramatically between the bare branches like a shy performer peeking through the curtain.

~~~
And then, slowly, it emerged—rising above the trees in full golden glory. For a few magical moments, the sky blushed in shades of orange and red, and everything stood still.

~~~
And then it was out in full splendour—well, almost. A few thin clouds decided to play photobombers, draping themselves lazily across the sun like it was still their turn to sleep in. But the light was golden, the lake shimmered awake, and the day had officially begun.

~~~
Just as the sky began rinsing out its reds and sliding into gold, a familiar figure materialized on the crown of a coconut tree. An Indian Peafowl, silhouetted in profile like a finely chiselled emblem, surveying its kingdom with the quiet pride of one who knows it’s born fabulous.

~~~
As I moved a few steps ahead, a loud, accusatory cry rang out from the grasslands. A Red-wattled Lapwing, standing tall and indignant, glared in my direction. Like a hyper-alert watchman with a megaphone, it shrieked its signature line—“Did-you-do-it? Pity-you-do-it!”

~~~
Clearly, I had crossed an invisible boundary. I nodded politely, apologized under my breath, and carried on, smiling. Some birds judge. Others scream while doing it.

~~~
A Shikra, hidden in the bamboo thicket, watched everything unfold with the calm detachment of a seasoned assassin. Its yellow eye was unblinking, intense, and mildly offended by all the drama. Unlike the lapwing, it didn’t yell. It didn't judge. It just… remembered.

Perched right above the remains of its last kill, it was the quiet contrast to the lapwing’s noisy outrage. If the grassland had a code of silence, this raptor wrote it.

~~~
A Pied Bush Chat burst from the scrub, wings outstretched in dramatic flourish. The lapwing might’ve had the voice, the shikra the stare—but this little chat had theatre in its soul.

~~~
Next was a Zitting Cisticola—a notoriously fidgety little bird that usually vanishes before you even say “cisticola.” But today? It decided to be generous.

Perched on a bare twig, feathers perfectly fluffed, it posed like it had a fan club to impress.

~~~
Then, just as quickly, it zipped back into the grass. Classic.

~~~
High above, on a bare branch against a sky so blue, sat an Asian Green Bee-eater. Sleek, stylish, and entirely unbothered, it tossed a freshly caught bee into the air like a sushi chef flipping shrimp for flair.

~~~
And then—bam. Enter the Black-shouldered Kite. Perched high and deadly still, it looked like a cloud had grown talons and decided to judge us all from above. Those piercing red eyes didn’t blink, didn’t waver—just burned through the morning air like laser sights set to "silent disapproval."

~~~
At just 8:30 in the morning, the heat was already palpable. The birds had settled after their early bursts of activity, and even the dog at the lakeside needed a break—stopping to drink from the cool water, a clear sign that summer is making itself known.

~~~
Hope you liked this little window into the morning. Drop a comment. Would love to hear what you think!