First Impressions of Varthur Lake

For years I resisted visiting Varthur Lake, even though it kept appearing in birding circles. Migrant populations had been reported here and a rare, lone flamingo had been spotted recently. That kind of news usually stirs a birder’s curiosity but in my case it worked the other way. Varthur’s reputation precedes it not for its charm but for its pollution, sewage inflows and frothing waters that Bangalore has come to reluctantly accept as normal.

Still curiosity eventually outweighed resistance. Varthur Lake is after all the city’s second largest waterbody, a thousand year old reservoir built by the Ganga kings, now gasping under the pressures of rapid urbanization. Its story is both ecological and tragic, part of a once interconnected chain of lakes now reduced to a sewage fed expanse battling eutrophication and chemical foam.

I was not expecting much from this outing and in some ways the trip was less rewarding than my usual birding haunts. But the lake had its own way of surprising me with the sweep of kites, a few patient egrets and some fleeting moments of wild beauty struggling to hold on amidst all the odds. Here are the pics.

The header photo for this post was inspired by Sue’s recent write-up on her visit to Mount Rushmore. I decided to give it a birding twist and created this playful version in Photoshop, where herons, kites and other feathered figures take the place of presidents on the rock face.

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A Brahminy Kite soared overhead just as I stepped into the lakeside, its chestnut wings catching the light against the grey sky.

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Among the thorny branches hung an abandoned Baya Weaver nest, its delicate weave now silent.

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I initially thought this magnificent Black Kite had caught a large fish. But the closer I looked, the more the reality of the lake's condition sank in: it wasn't a fish, it was a discarded condom.

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This wasn't the majestic scene I'd hoped for; it was the grim, urban equivalent of the clichéd fishing rod catching an old shoe. 

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The kite landed on a nearby streetlight. As an opportunistic scavenger, it had evolved to identify and consume almost anything with caloric value. It was inspecting the rubber and was clearly still believing the object to be edible.

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But after stretching the rubber to its hilt, the bird seemed to finally realize that this was not a meal, but a mere stretch, unyielding and inedible. 

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Not every story here was grim. Another Black Kite flew past, not scavenging, but focused entirely on nesting. 

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Moving on from the drama of the raptors, I found this tiny Paddyfield Pipit perched near the lake's edge. It offered a moment of quiet, focused beauty that was a world away from the soaring kites.

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This panoramic shot captures the full, conflicting reality of Varthur Lake.

From the foreground, you see the sandy path and the wild, tangled vegetation that defines the lake’s natural edge, the very place where I stood birding. To the right, the water is choked by a massive, emerald mat of aquatic weeds, a direct visual sign of the eutrophication caused by the sewage.

But it’s the background that ties the ecological story to the tragic one. Across the wide expanse of water, the skyline of modern Bangalore rises, defined by distant apartment complexes and office buildings. This view illustrates, in a single frame, the immense pressure of rapid urbanization that is suffocating this ancient waterbody.

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A Purple Heron swept into the frame, while, standing motionless in the dense, eutrophic green matting, a Grey Heron skulked like a statue.

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This Intermediate Egret, too, was skulking, standing patiently in the weeds in the way of all successful herons and egrets. I couldn't help but hope that its presence, and its intense focus, meant that there were still fishes below the surface.

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A welcome sight that proved the water's surface was still producing food was the arrival of the Whiskered Terns. These graceful, buoyant birds were a flurry of motion and agility. 

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Another high-speed hunter working the water was the Dusky Crag-Martin. My camera accidentally caught them while chasing the agile Whiskered Terns.

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The dull greens and browns of the lakeside weeds were suddenly interrupted by this flash of color of a Plain Tiger butterfly.

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As I moved along the embankment, I found a small herd of cattle grazing, and they came with their own passengers, House Crows. These intelligent, ubiquitous urban scavengers were exploiting a perfect, mobile vantage point.

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Joining the crowd, a Jungle Myna also hitched a ride.

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A small egret, likely a Little Egret or Intermediate Egret flies low and fast over the lake's vast, green expanse. 

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The Touch-Me-Not folds at a mere touch, yet still blooms in harsh soil. Varthur Lake does the same—it forces us to flinch at the pollution, but looking away won’t make it disappear. Life endures, and so do the problems on its banks.

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I waited patiently as an Intermediate egret moved through the lake’s weeds. Then it caught a fish, a small triumph showing nature still endures.

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Despite everything, Varthur Lake reminded me that even in the most degraded habitats, life adapts and endures. The birds, butterflies and fleeting moments of wildness here are fragile signs of resilience, but they are also reminders of how much we stand to lose if these waters continue to decline.

What do you think? Can urban lakes like Varthur be restored, or are we only documenting their slow disappearance? I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.