The Indian roller is one of those everyday birds that rewards a photographer for simply paying attention. Perched and hunched, it can look a plain earth-brown — until it opens its wings and throws out a startling wash of turquoise and deep blue, the colour that earns it its old name, the blue jay.
Almost all of my rollers come from around Bangalore, close to home. They love an open perch with a clear view of the ground, and around here nothing suits them better than the old ant hills and termite mounds that rise out of the scrub — a roller will sit on one for long spells, dropping onto insects below. They are at their best in the early morning, alert and active in the first warm light, which is exactly when I like to photograph them; a roller catching that low sun on a mound is a picture I never tire of.
For all its brilliance, this is a common bird, and that is precisely why it matters to me. Rollers are among the species that taught me patience and light close to home, long before any distant trip — proof, again, that a strong photograph needs a good moment far more than a rare subject.
