A Rematch at Bhondsi
The 4:00 AM alarm woke me up like it was laying down a challenge: wake up and go.
As I tapped my phone to silence the buzzing in the dark, I realised this morning felt very different from my first visit. Unlike that sleep-deprived trip, I felt well-rested and completely ready for whatever Bhondsi Nature Park had to offer. My Canon DSLR was packed, the 100–400 mm lens was mounted, and somewhere in the back of my mind was the bird that had escaped me just a month earlier.
The white morph Indian Paradise Flycatcher.
My goal for the day was simple: photograph the elusive white morph IPFC and, if luck was on my side, capture another summer favourite—the Indian Pitta.
I reached the park right on time. Before our group had even fully gathered for introductions, movement high in the canopy caught my attention.
A beautiful pair of Yellow-footed Green Pigeons.
They sat quietly among the leaves, blending in so perfectly that they almost disappeared whenever they stopped moving. Almost entirely at home in the treetops, these birds spend most of their lives among the canopy and rarely come down to the ground. Spotting them so early in the morning felt like a rare win—and honestly, it felt like the lucky charm I needed to kick off a great day.
As introductions got underway, our bird walk mentor began talking about British ornithologist David Hunt and the importance of respecting nature’s rules. Right as he was speaking, a flash of movement crossed overhead.
An Indian Paradise Flycatcher. A rufous morph.
The bird landed in a nearby tree, giving me just enough time to lift my camera and fire off a few frames. It looked incredible with its glossy black crested head, fiery orange body, and impossibly long tail drifting through the canopy. I had come searching for the white morph, but the rufous bird was a reminder that paradise comes in more than one colour.
With introductions complete, we split into two teams: one headed for a Coppersmith Barbet nest, while the other went to check on an old friend—the Indian Eagle Owl. I joined the owl team. After all, who misses a chance to spend time with a giant owl?
Along the way, we passed a pair of Yellow-eyed Babblers who clearly had no interest in being photographed, so we pressed on. Every eye was scanning the rocks and cliffs ahead for the owl, but he seemed to have vanished.
We checked one area. Then another. Still nothing.
Just when it felt like we might have to admit defeat, someone spotted an Oriental Garden Lizard basking on a massive banyan tree. I wandered over to photograph it and had barely raised my camera when I heard the unmistakable sound of large wings beating through the air.
It was the Indian Eagle Owl.
Likely disturbed by the commotion we had made, he flew out into the clearing and landed on a rock right in front of us. Calm and composed, he stared down at us with absolute disappointment in his beautiful orange eyes—giving us the exact same look we humans give when someone wakes us up from a deep nap. Even with what could only be described as serious morning hair, he looked magnificent. For two glorious minutes, he tolerated our presence before deciding he had endured enough. With a powerful push of his wings, he flew off to a distant rocky outcrop, safely beyond the reach of most cameras.
The audience was over.
Deciding to move on, we were soon stopped in our tracks when someone heard a bevy of Jungle Bush Quails calling from a nearby hillside.
For most people, that would have been an interesting sighting. For me, it was a potential lifer. The hill was covered in thorny bushes and scrub, exactly the sort of place a small, secretive bird would choose to disappear into. We climbed, searched, listened, and searched some more. For a while, the birds existed only as voices hidden within the vegetation.
Then finally, movement. A few quick glimpses. A handful of photographs. Not award-winning images by any means, but more than enough to confirm the identification. Lifer secured.
The walk back felt unusually generous. We spotted weavers, three Spotted Owlets, and a Long-tailed Shrike. Then came a beautiful White-bellied Drongo. While I was busy photographing the drongo, I noticed a familiar white silhouette moving through the background.
The bird I had come searching for. The white morph Indian Paradise Flycatcher. It seemed to be silently issuing the same challenge as before: photograph me if you can. I clicked away, but the bird stubbornly showed me little more than its back before disappearing into the trees once again. Close enough to see. Not close enough to satisfy the photographer in me. We moved on and spent some time watching a family of Cinereous Tits bouncing energetically through the branches.
As we neared the parking lot, I noticed a bird running between the parked cars. Assuming it was a Common Myna, I paid it little attention. Then it flew. The moment it landed on a nearby branch, I realised my mistake.
An Indian Pitta.
I pulled out my camera as it graciously posed for us, showing exactly why it is celebrated as the Navrang—the bird of nine colours. As it turned on the branch, it revealed a breathtaking combination of vibrant green wings, electric-blue shoulders, and a brilliant splash of crimson underneath. Getting to witness this living jewel up close—showing off its legendary palette from every angle—turned an ordinary walk into one of the most memorable encounters of the morning.
We then made our way towards the Coppersmith Barbet nest. To my surprise, the second group was still there, patiently waiting for the male bird to return. For a moment, I felt rather fortunate about my decision to join the owl group. While they had spent much of the morning waiting, we had experienced a steady stream of action.
As luck would have it, we arrived at exactly the right moment. The male barbet returned carrying food and flew straight to the nest. Only the female’s head was visible from inside the cavity, her bright colours framing the entrance as she accepted the meal.
Hours of waiting. Seconds of action. Wildlife photography in a nutshell.
Later, a fellow birder mentioned he had seen several Indian Scops Owls in the area the previous day. Since that would have been another lifer for me, I immediately volunteered for a detour. The search took us through the trees and onto a dusty track. Along the way, a pair of Green Bee-eaters posed obligingly for photographs, but the scops owls were nowhere to be found.
For the second time that day, a target species had managed to stay hidden.
Eventually, we returned to the parking area and spent more time photographing the Indian Pitta. A lot more time. Satisfied and slightly exhausted, we finally decided it was time to leave.
I felt content. But I also felt resigned. The white morph paradise flycatcher had once again managed to remain just out of reach.
But the forest wasn’t done with me just yet.
As we were exiting, and I was casually talking about the Indian Pitta, I caught a glimpse of a white silhouette moving from one branch to another out of the corner of my eye. It struck me instantly.
My challenger.
I rushed back toward the parking lot as the bird moved from tree to tree, relentlessly teasing me. By the time I reached the lot, it had vanished. Then I found it. Hiding quietly on the opposite side of the road.
I clicked. And clicked again.
The bird flew from one side of the road to the other before finally landing in the open. It completely flaunted its magnificent snowy-white tail streamers, which floated through the air like satin ribbons. After playing a breathless game of hide-and-seek through the trees and across the parking lot, this elusive phantom of Bhondsi finally decided to give me the shot I had been chasing.
It sat proudly against the green foliage, letting its elegant tail cascade down the branch as if to say: “You caught me. Now look at this.”
I carefully packed my camera away and took a quiet breath. A week earlier, I had left Bhondsi asking the jungle gods for another chance.
Today, they had answered. Not with an easy sighting. Not with a bird waiting patiently in the open. Instead, they gave me a chase through the trees, a game of hide-and-seek across a parking lot, and a reward that felt earned.
As I walked back to the car, I couldn’t help but smile.
The phantom had finally flashed.
Acknowledgements
Edited by Neha Sinha
Photographs by Nakul Aggarwal
This experience was made possible through a bird walk organised by WPCI and GP PRO.
Amazing story