Nine Colours and a Second Chance

There are some places that keep pulling you back, no matter how many times you have been there. Hoskote is one of those for me. And sometimes, it is not just about the birds, but also about the people you end up sharing those mornings with.

I had first run into CA at Hoskote on one of those chance birding mornings when strangers bond instantly over a distant silhouette. Since then, we have birded together at quite a few places, but oddly enough, we had never actually done Hoskote together again. Until this trip.

The lake did not disappoint. Waders, raptors, passerines, and the usual Hoskote chaos all showed up, keeping us happily busy and constantly scanning. It was one of those days where the checklist grows steadily and conversations keep getting interrupted with “wait, what is that?”

And then came the moment.

Towards the very end, when we were almost done and already talking about breakfast, a flash of impossible colour appeared and vanished just as quickly. The Indian Pitta. A bird that looks like it was painted with leftover festival colours. I managed a photo, but let us just say the bird deserved far better than what my camera captured that day.

That was enough motivation to return the very next weekend. Same place, same anticipation, but this time with a clear goal. And Hoskote obliged. The Pitta showed up again, along with a few more lovely sightings that made the second outing just as rewarding as the first.

Here are some moments from those two mornings at Hoskote.

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We reached just in time for the first light. The trees held their silhouettes, and the lake eased into the day.

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Among the first to greet us was this Wood Sandpiper, quietly moving through the greens.

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We made our way towards the water to look for waders, but a Greater Coucal had already spotted us and took off well before we were anywhere near.

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An old, burnt-out car in the middle of Hoskote, looking like it had a story to tell. The swallows did not wait to hear it. They just kept flying.

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By the water’s edge, a Common Greenshank stood in quiet symmetry.

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The Egret chose motion, the Stilt chose patience, and the water reflected both without picking sides.

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A Common Sandpiper moved along the shore, pausing briefly as a few drifting feathers caught its attention.

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This Little Ringed Plover would have gone unnoticed, if not for CA, who spotted it before I did.

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Further out, the scene opened up into a familiar Hoskote spread. Egrets, storks, and waders sharing space without much fuss.

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CA suggested we walk further into the grassland in search of raptors, and it did not take long for the first one to show up. A Black-shouldered Kite, watching us from a distance.

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As we walked on, a pair of Coppersmith Barbets caught our eye, perched side by side, but not quite seeing eye to eye.

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Among the scattered reflections and ripples, a Wood Sandpiper stood, quietly going about its routine.

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We found a Greater Coucal again, no longer in a hurry, sitting calmly in the morning light.

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Among the Rosy Starlings, one looked particularly worse for wear, as if it had just come out of an unexpected bath.

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And then, without much warning, it took off, still looking as ruffled as before.

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Paddyfield Pipit stood tall, scanning the open grassland.

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Another Paddyfield Pipit was hard at work, carrying nesting material across the dry ground.

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A Western Marsh Harrier drifted past, low and steady, scanning the ground below.

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A few Western Yellow Wagtails worked the grass, walking, pausing, and then moving again in that familiar restless rhythm.

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The ever-watchful Black Drongo made a quick pass, never missing a chance to keep an eye on things.

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There it stood, a lone Woolly-necked Stork, completely still and self-contained.

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A Black Kite descended and sat in the grass, calm and in control.

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On a bare branch, Barn Swallows gathered, watching, waiting, and occasionally shifting places.

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The Black Kite remained on its lookout, missing nothing.

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“Pitta,” CA said, excitement barely contained. I got one shot, and it vanished.

We waited for a while, hoping the Indian Pitta would return. It did not. That day, I had to be content with this blurry photo.

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A Blue-faced Malkoha made a quiet appearance instead.

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One week later…

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A week later, I returned to Hoskote, hoping for another chance with the Indian Pitta.

This time, it was just me.

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The day began with a Grey Francolin, steady and alert.

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Perched on the wire, a Hoopoe looked almost ornamental, as if placed there on purpose.

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Still no trace of the Pitta. I moved ahead, and then… a peacock in full display.

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The peacock took flight, climbed onto a vantage point, and called out, announcing its presence.

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The call rang out, almost like a pied piper’s tune. One by one, the peafowls came rushing in.

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A Black-headed Ibis sat quietly on a branch, unbothered by all the commotion.

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A Rosy Starling perched nearby, looking rather cute.

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One last attempt, more out of hope than belief.

And suddenly, there it was.

The Indian Pitta, glowing in impossible colours. They call it Navrang here… nine colours, all in one tiny bird.

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The day was not done yet.

A Blue-faced Malkoha, with that unreal blue gaze, like it knew something I did not.

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And then, as if to sign off the day, an Indian Robin appeared.

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And then, almost as an afterthought, came the final bird of the day.

A Sykes’s Warbler.

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In the end, it was not just about the Pitta.

It was about a morning shared, a week of waiting, and a quiet return that felt just as meaningful.

Hoskote, once again, gave me more than I went looking for.

Would love to hear your thoughts.