Ammu and Amaltas.
[Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi]
One summer evening The Delhi Walla sighted his most beloved Delhiite â€“ author Arundhati Roy. She was standing under an Amaltas tree, close to Khanna Market, an un-posh bazaar in Central Delhi.
The tree was covered with the seasonâ€™s yellow flowers that were falling on the ground. The pavement had turned into a bed of yellow.
The author of The God of Small Things was in a yellow kurta. She looked up at the Amaltas. A moment later, she looked down at the fallen flowers.
Half-smiling, Ms Roy seemed to be travelling in a dream. The evening traffic was moving fast. She remained still. She then sat down under the tree. Her whiteblack hair was in a knot. Her skin was dark. She undid her hair. It fell, in waves and curls. She buried her head in her arms.
A squirrel watched her.
Ms Roy gathered up her hair, wrapped it around her face and peered down the road through its parted strands. (Am I imagining things?) She stared fiercely out at the yellow flowers. Suddenly she rose and walked out of this hopelessly practical world like a witch. To a more beautiful place. Perhaps.