The Colour Beneath the Clouds

The monsoon skies over Saul Kere last weekend were a soft, uninterrupted grey, like the first gentle wash on a watercolour canvas. Light was scarce, shadows were gentle, and everything seemed dipped in a dreamy hush. But the birds had other plans.

With every flutter and flash of colour, they turned the scene into a living painting. Blues, greens, rusts, and golds danced through the drizzle, making the dullest day come alive with vivid strokes of nature’s palette.

Here’s a glimpse of that moody, magical morning.

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The view that greeted me as I stepped onto the trail was classic monsoon Saul Kere: lush green wetlands under a soft overcast sky. Everything looked washed, refreshed, and brimming with life, even if the colours were held gently under a layer of grey. It was the perfect kind of morning where birds blend into the landscape until they don’t.

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Perched patiently on a low branch, this Indian Pond Heron looked almost sculpted into the scene. Typical of pond herons, it relied on stillness for stealth, waiting for just the right moment to strike or slip away unnoticed.

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Just the long neck and dagger-like bill of this Oriental Darter broke the surface, everything else was stealthily submerged. Often called the "snakebird" for obvious reasons, it glided through the water with barely a ripple, scanning for fish. 

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Just inside the curtain of reeds, a white-breasted waterhen stood alert in its crisp black, white and chestnut plumage. 

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Not far behind, its chick stepped cautiously through the duckweed. The chick was clearly still learning how to balance curiosity with caution. 

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Perched quietly on a bare branch, this Spotted Dove looked every bit the monsoon morning mood. Fluffed up, motionless and mildly disapproving of the chill, it sat wrapped in its speckled shawl.

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Always alert always ready. One moment perched with quiet intent, the next cutting through the air like a blade. The Black Drongo does not wait for drama, it writes it.

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No audience. No stage. Just a lone branch and an Oriental Magpie Robin with a morning song waiting to happen.

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And then, a blur of blue.

A blur of blue and intent. The White-throated Kingfisher launched into the air, focused and fast with breakfast on its mind.

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It came back victorious, a grasshopper gripped tight in its beak. One dive, one strike, no second chances needed.

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One toss, one gulp. The catch disappeared, and the kingfisher was ready to begin again.

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The rose-ringed parakeets erupted into the air with a flurry of motion and unmistakable chatter, their bright calls cutting through the quiet morning.

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One called from the hollow, the other circled in. Whether it was courtship or conversation, only the parakeets knew but the sky was briefly theirs.

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One peeked in. The other hung upside down to get a better look. Nest inspection or aerial mischief, the Rose-ringed Parakeets made it look effortless.

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The red-vented bulbul, crest up and eyes sharp, paused just long enough in the leafy maze before vanishing into green again. Always busy, always just out of reach.

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An Indian palm squirrel caught mid step, as if it suddenly remembered something urgent.

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Caught mid-scamper scaling a tree with agile grace.

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Among the ever-present residents, the Jungle Babbler moved in its characteristic fashion across the damp earth. Often seen in small, chattering groups, these 'seven sisters,' as they are sometimes called, are a familiar sight and sound in the Indian landscape. 

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A striking signature spider, with its bold yellow and black, patiently awaited its next meal, hiding behind its signature like a cleverly woven disguise.

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Even the tiny residents seemed to relish the monsoon's touch! This Ditch Jewel Dragonfly found its perfect perch, happy to let the gentle rain adorn its wings and the grass blade.

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The final sighting of the morning was this black drongo, motionless on a bare, bone-thin branch. Its inky silhouette stood out like the last brushstroke on a misty canvas.

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The light never really improved, and by 9:30 am, I called it a day. But even under that flat, persistent grey, the birds had done what they always do—filled the frame with colour, motion, and moments worth remembering. The canvas may have been subdued, but the brushstrokes were anything but.

Thanks for coming along. Let me know your favourite moment in the comments!