Christmas Gifts from Hoskote Lake

Christmas has a way of changing how we look at the world. We are reminded that what we give often finds its way back to us. Some quickly, some much later. Some in forms we never expected.

On a recent morning at Hoskote Lake, I felt like I was on the receiving end of that quiet arithmetic of karma. The lake offered no wrapping paper or ribbons, but it kept handing out gifts all the same. A familiar local bird here, a visitor from faraway lands there. Some perched patiently, others arrived in a rush of wings, as if just passing through.

This post is a small unwrapping of those moments. A thank you note, really. To the lake, to the birds that call it home, and to those that travel great distances just to pass through.

Here are my Christmas gifts.

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The morning began with Rosy Starlings, appearing and disappearing in the mist like the first unwrapped gift of the day.

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An Indian Robin, with a dew drop clinging on from the night.

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The Rosy Starlings regrouped on bare trees, turning empty branches into crowded resting places.

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A female Asian Koel, patient and unseen by most, waiting for its moment.

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A soft winter sun, filtering through bamboo and mist.

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A Greater Coucal moving slowly through the morning haze.

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An Oriental Honey Buzzard, soaking in the first light.

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As the light strengthened, a Common Iora appeared.

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Down by the waterlogged grass, a Cattle Egret followed a grazing cow, latching on to the small gifts dislodged with every step.

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On the ploughed field, a Paddyfield Pipit searched patiently, finding its rewards the hard way.

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Among the familiar residents, a Siberian Stonechat appeared, carrying the weight of distance and winter in its small, steady presence.

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The Rosy Starlings lingered on the bare trees, the flock breaking into smaller conversations, as if deciding when it was time to move on.

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A Coppersmith Barbet sat quietly among tangled branches, its colours doing all the talking.

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An Ashy crowned Sparrow Lark stayed close to the earth, almost indistinguishable from it.

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Then came the pause. A Black shouldered Kite claimed a dead branch, eyes burning red against the soft sky. It preened, fussed over its own tail, looked straight back, unbothered by witnesses.

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Wait… that’s my tail.

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Just fixing my hair. This is my good side.

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Yes. I see you. And no, you cannot sit here.

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When the itch is in a place dignity cannot reach.

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An Oriental Honey Buzzard on bamboo was the final note of the morning.

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And with that, the lake folded itself back into quiet, the gifts counted, not packed away.

If you made it this far, thank you for walking this morning with me.

Wishing you a peaceful Christmas and a year ahead filled with small, unexpected gifts.

If any of these birds stayed with you longer than the others, I would love to hear about it in the comments.