A Morning at Sunder Nursery
This morning, I escaped the noise and rush of the city and found myself walking through a place where history and wildlife exist side by side. Sunder Nursery, with its ancient tombs, gardens, trees and wetlands, felt like a world away from the Delhi I know. I had come hoping for a quiet morning of birdwatching, but what followed was far more memorable.
My morning began with a sound rather than a sight. As I walked towards the historic monuments, I was suddenly surrounded by a roaring, shifting wall of calls and fluttering wings. I looked up and found myself face-to-face with a sight I had been waiting months to see: Rosy Starlings.
I had read about their winter arrival in India in my birding groups and had often imagined what it would be like to see them in large numbers. Seeing them gathered together was something else entirely. Their pink and glossy black plumage seemed to ripple across the sky as they moved together, filling the air with their calls. For a moment, I forgot everything else around me. This was not simply another bird added to my list; it was a dream finally taking flight.
Then I remembered something important, I had left my camera in the car!
I hurried back, grabbed it and returned, hoping the starlings would still be there. Luckily, they gave me a chance to capture the moment. Just as I was enjoying the sight, a loud boom from a railway engine nearby startled the flock. In an instant, the birds took flight, disappearing almost as mysteriously as they had appeared.
One resident, however, seemed to need a little more time to react. A pigeon took off a moment later, almost as if it had only just realised that something had happened. It was an amusing little reminder that not every bird responds to Delhi’s surprises at quite the same speed.
As I continued walking among the old structures, I came across one of the most striking sights of the morning. Standing among the weathered ruins was our national bird-the Indian Peafowl. There was something extraordinary about seeing a peafowl in such a historic setting. Its metallic blue crown and iridescent neck stood out against the muted stone, while its green, bronze and blue feathers seemed almost to belong to a painting. Yet what fascinated me most was not just its appearance, but how naturally it seemed to belong there, as though the centuries-old ruins were simply another part of its world.
Curious to see whether there were more nearby, I walked around the back of the tomb. I was glad I did. I soon spotted four or five peafowl together, moving and displaying their feathers in what looked like a spectacular dance. Against the ancient walls, the scene felt almost surreal. Here was a place built centuries ago, and yet it was full of movement, colour and life.
It was at that moment that the title of this morning seemed to write itself. The ruins were reminders of the past, but the birds had given them a living present.
As I walked towards the amphitheatre, I spotted a pair of Rose-ringed Parakeets sitting close together and apparently sharing something to eat. Their quiet interaction made me smile, so I decided not to disturb them and continued towards the wetland.
The landscape changed as I approached the wetland. A Little Egret stood nearby in its breeding plumage, looking almost as though it had deliberately stopped to pose before gracefully flying away. Further along, a pair of Spot-billed Ducks paddled through the creek, dipping their heads into the water as they searched for food.
Then I noticed something almost completely motionless at the water’s edge: an Indian Pond Heron, or what I like to call the “monk bird” of the wetland. Wrapped in stillness, it stood patiently at the water’s edge, its posture resembling a monk absorbed in quiet meditation. Completely focused on the water, it waited for the right moment to find its next meal. I wanted to stay and watch, but I knew that getting too close could disturb it. Sometimes, good birdwatching means knowing when to stop watching and give the bird its space.
From the wetland, I wandered towards the community nursery area, where food crops were being grown. Among the wheat stalks, an Ashy Prinia was darting from one stem to another, almost like a tiny inspector checking the crops. It refused to sit still long enough for a perfect photograph, but after a few hurried attempts, I managed to capture a few moments before it disappeared into the bushes.
The morning soon became louder again.
A sudden commotion erupted overhead, and I looked up to see a pair of hornbills in a confrontation with Black Kites. The sunlight was directly behind them, making photography almost impossible, but for once, I did not mind. Some moments are better experienced than photographed. Watching the birds interact against the bright sky was thrilling enough.
A little later, I heard a distinctive, deeper kaw-kaw. At first, it sounded like a crow, but something about the call was different. I soon realised it was a Large-billed Crow, sitting quietly on a ledge and surveying its surroundings. It was an unexpected sighting and another reminder that even familiar-looking birds can surprise you.
On my way towards the lake, another scene caught my attention. A Jacaranda tree was bursting with purple flowers, creating a vivid canopy above the path. Beneath it was a Pied Myna, its black-and-white plumage standing out against the fallen flowers. Nearby, a Yellow-footed Green Pigeon watched from the branches. For a moment, it felt like a perfectly composed photograph but it was not a photograph. It was simply Delhi’s wildlife going about its morning routine.
As I began making my way back to the car, I received one last surprise. The same pair of hornbills I had seen earlier appeared again. This time, the light was in my favour, and they stayed long enough for me to photograph them properly. It felt like a small reward for having missed them earlier. By the time I reached my car, my camera was packed away, but my mind was still full of everything I had seen.
I had come to Sunder Nursery looking for an escape from the city’s relentless pace. Instead, I found something more meaningful: a place where history and wildlife share the same space. Ancient monuments stood quietly while peafowl moved among them. Wetlands supported herons and ducks. Trees provided shelter and food for birds. And all of this existed alongside people, roads, railways and the sounds of a modern city.
Perhaps that is what stayed with me most.
Wildlife does not always need a distant forest or a remote wilderness. Sometimes, it is right beside us, living among the ruins, trees and water of a city we think we already know.
Sunder Nursery reminded me that if we slow down enough to look and listen, we may discover that nature has never really left. It has simply been living alongside us, waiting for us to notice. The birds, trees and wetlands have found a way to coexist with the city, its people and its constant movement. They can coexist right here alongside us and perhaps, just perhaps, we should learn to do the same.
And perhaps that is what it means to breathe a little wild life back into history.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to Neha Sinha for her insightful editorial guidance.
I loved reading this. Wonderful