My First Visit to Mulluru Lake

Mulluru Lake was one of those names that floated around in birding circles like a half-kept secret. Last weekend, curiosity won, and I finally went to see what the whispers were all about. It was my first visit, and while I went in expecting a calm lake and maybe a heron or two, what I actually found was a lively gathering of feathered residents, each with their own quirks, colors, and personalities. Here are the pictures from my first birding adventure at Mulluru.

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But before I dive into the sightings, here’s a quick snapshot about the lake itself (thankfully, the signboard did the homework for me):

Mulluru Lake

• Spread across 37 acres
• Average depth: 2.94 meters
• Peripheral length: 1.94 km
• Storage capacity: 3973 million liters
• Catchment area: 2.23 sq km

Tucked away under the care of Kodathi Grama Panchayat, this restored lake is more than just a water body. It’s a thriving ecosystem where kingfishers, herons, moorhens, parakeets, and cormorants all decide to put on a show for anyone patient enough to watch.

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My first sighting of the day was a magnificent intermediate egret, and what a welcome it was! Standing in the shallow, muddy water, its pristine white feathers were a striking contrast against the dark bank. With a powerful beat, it launched into the air.

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A flash of brilliant blue caught my eye. It was a White-throated Kingfisher, perched on a low-hanging branch. It made a series of quick, flamboyant dives into the water, each one dramatic but unsuccessful attempt to catch a meal. 

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While the more vibrant birds were putting on a show, a subtle beauty caught my eye. Initially, I thought I had spotted a lifer. But a second look revealed a familiar shape. This was a juvenile Common Moorhen, a much more understated version of its adult counterpart. 

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My hunch was confirmed as it glided gracefully alongside an adult. The two of them, a parent and its chick, were a sweet sight, quietly navigating the waters together.

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These little ones were a study in purposeful exploration, showing off their budding skills and proving that even at a young age, they were ready to take on the world, one shaky step at a time.

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While the juvenile was a lesson in subtle beauty, the adult Common Moorhen was a masterclass in quiet elegance. Its dark, sleek body was broken up by a striking red shield above its beak and a flash of yellow at the tip.

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Next, an elegant Little Grebe drew my gaze. Though tiny, its presence was undeniable, a master of stealth that would disappear under the water and reappear moments later.

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After several misses, the kingfisher got lucky and emerged with a small crab. It flew back to its perch like a hunter proudly displaying its hard-won meal.

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An Asian green bee-eater zipped off its branch and returned moments later with a bee, proving that while some hunters have their off days, others are just plain lucky.

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At first glance, the Glossy Ibis wasn't a bird that screamed for attention. But then, the sunlight hit it just right.

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The little cormorants were in their typical poses. I watched one stand sentinel on a high perch, scanning for the next promising fishing spot, while another dried its wings after a successful dive.

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As I walked around the lake, the cloudy sky and quiet water wrapped everything in calm.

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My eyes were soon drawn to a dense clump of wild sugarcane on the far side.

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The wild sugarcane served as the perfect backdrop for my next sighting: a spotted dove perched on a bare branch.

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A Greater Coucal was next, a large, powerful bird with a black body, chestnut wings, and an unforgettable red eye.

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A familiar and lively rose-ringed parakeet was next, a burst of vibrant green clinging to the side of a palm tree. With its long tail feathers fanning out, the bird stood guard to its nest.

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A sudden burst of yellow lit up the scene. It was a slender Grey Wagtail, a migrant from distant lands, restlessly bobbing its long tail as it perched. 

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I finally reached the other side of the lake, where the wild sugarcane grew in a dense patch. Up close, the tall plumes were even more stunning than they had appeared from a distance. 

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A grey heron, a species I know as the "eternal skulker," stood perfectly motionless on a submerged log.

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Completing my full circle around the lake, I found myself back in the kingfisher's territory. This time, the bird was in a relaxed perch, no longer a frenetic hunter.

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And there, at the base of that same skeletal tree where the kingfisher had been hunting, I saw a beautiful surprise. A Eurasian coot sat on its nest. But my eyes were immediately drawn to the tiny, reddish-orange hatchling peeking out from beneath the parent's wing, a small, fluffy ball of new life.

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As I watched the Eurasian coot on its nest, a second tiny hatchling emerged, a mirror image of the first. These fiery-headed fluffballs looked like they’d been dipped in orange paint, tiny but already managing to steal the spotlight.

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The elder chick, having just emerged into the world, was looking with a mix of wonder and curiosity at the unhatched eggs.

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The mother Eurasian coot sat patiently beside her newly hatched chick, a picture of calm protection. The chick's tiny, fiery orange beak held a small white tip, a miniature version of the prominent white shield and beak on the adult. 

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By the time I finished my loop, I realized Mulluru was no longer a whispered name to me. It had revealed itself as a place of quiet drama, new life, and everyday beauty. I left with more than just photographs; I left with the promise of returning.

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The Breakfast Club of Saul Kere

Breakfast time is usually a private affair, but at Saul Kere I somehow stumbled into the wild’s busiest little cafeteria. The Jungle Myna was busy doing room service for its demanding chick, the Green Bee-eaters were on a fine-dining spree with dragonflies and bees, and a Drongo was lurking around like a grumpy food critic. Even a squirrel decided to crash the scene with its own crunchy snack. It felt less like birdwatching and more like eavesdropping on a breakfast club, and I was the only uninvited guest with a camera!

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As soon as I entered, I saw two Greater Coucals rustling through the undergrowth.

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The usually shy Greater Coucal ignored my presence, too absorbed in tugging at something wriggly from the undergrowth.

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I moved to the wooded area of the trail, which other birders fondly call ‘the studio’, a natural stage where most of the best sightings happen.

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The Asian Bee-eaters had already begun their breakfast sorties, darting out like tiny fighter jets after bees and dragonflies.

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The Drongo came with its early-bird incentive, landing right next to the Bee-eater with a prize already clenched in its beak.

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The breakfast club had its shy members, too. A commotion in the reeds drew my eye to this White-breasted Waterhen, fiercely protective of its morning meal.

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A dainty Scaly-breasted Munia, dressed in its impeccably patterned waistcoat, clung delicately to a reed. While others were chasing insects, this little one was content with the simpler items on the menu, clinging effortlessly to its perch to find the best seeds.

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The birds weren't the only ones enjoying the morning menu. This energetic Indian Palm Squirrel found a quiet corner for its breakfast. After a quick survey of its surroundings, it tucked into a colourful snack before scampering away.

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And then, a moment of silence. The grumpy food critic, the Black Drongo, had taken its seat. Perched and poised, it surveyed the entire breakfast scene with a proprietary air. It hadn't ordered anything yet, but you just knew it already had a complaint ready.

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A Brahminy Kite appeared against the stark, grey canvas of the sky. It sat in silent judgment before launching itself into the air. 

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A Bee-eater's work is never truly done; even during a cuddle, they are scanning the skies. 

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After acquiring a target from their strategic vantage point, the order to scramble was given. With a sudden, synchronized burst of energy, their quiet perch was abandoned.

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It turned out they had simply gone to pick up their takeaway orders. The pair returned to their favourite branch to enjoy the fruits of their acrobatic hunt. On the menu this morning was a crunchy dragonfly for one, and a juicy bee for the other. 

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The mission was never truly over. I watched them launch sortie after sortie, a tireless patrol over their hunting grounds. Each flight was a masterclass in aviation—sharp dives, banking turns, and graceful glides.

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The overlord's watch continued. From a thorny perch, the Black Drongo observed the morning's final acts. Then, without a sound, its shift was over. A powerful downbeat of its wings, and it was gone.

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While I was distracted by the cafeteria's many patrons, the main event was still underway. The Jungle Myna parent diligently brought breakfast to its fledgling, who, despite being big enough to sit on its own branch, was still a helpless baby at heart. The young one was still wobbly and learning to fly.

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Meet the breakfast club's resident carpenter: a White-cheeked Barbet. While other patrons dined and dashed, this future parent was busy excavating a new family home, guaranteeing the club will have new, noisy members for seasons to come.

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And then, the rowdy regulars made their entrance. A gang of Rose-ringed Parakeets, impossible to ignore with their bright plumage and even brighter calls, claimed a large branch for themselves. They arrived in a flurry of wings, landing with a flourish to join their friends. While other diners had been focused on the quiet drama of their meals, this group was all about the loud, cheerful chaos of a shared table.

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And then, the cabaret performer arrived. She was the Indian Blue Mormon butterfly, drifting onto the stage with dazzling wings that shimmered like sequins under the spotlight. Unlike the noisy diners, she needed no calls or songs to grab attention. Her graceful entrance was pure showmanship, stealing the scene with effortless glamour. 

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The frantic breakfast rush had finally given way to a peaceful late morning, and with it came the last bruncher. A White-browed Bulbul, taking its time, appeared for a leisurely meal. Its choice of a simple berry was a fitting end to a menu that had featured everything from bees to dragonflies. The cafeteria was finally winding down, leaving me with this one last, quiet patron to close out a truly unforgettable show.

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As the sun climbed higher and the breakfast rush slowly melted into a calm late morning, Saul Kere’s bustling cafeteria finally closed its doors. From the shy Coucal to the ever-busy Bee-eaters, the grumpy Drongo to the noisy Parakeets, each guest had played its part in a morning performance that was equal parts chaos and wonder. I left with a full memory card and an even fuller heart.

What about you? Which member of this wild breakfast club is your favorite? Drop your thoughts in the comments, I’d love to hear!