One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] It is the best of times. It is the worst of times. She no longer has to get up early — at 7 am. She no longer is able to meet her friends. She is happy to be at home. She is unhappy to be away from school. Grade two student Samairaa Arora’s schooldays have become an oddity. This is a kind of schooling never ever experienced by her mother, nor even her mother’s mother, enquiries reveal. So what happened? Aged six and a half, Ms Arora instantly snaps out the reason: “It’s because of coronavirus.” The young woman is talking from the isolation of her Gurgaon apartment in the Greater Delhi Region.

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Cool people never say they are cool. They let others do the talk. This is precisely the case of Baldev. Enjoying a most enviable reputation in Delhi’s most upscale hangout, he is known as the “Coolest guy in Khan Market”. Or at least these exact words are glowingly painted on the wall just behind him. Baldev is a banana seller in Khan Market, since 1984. This morning, too, he is stationed by his pavement stall. Dismissing the flattering description on the wall, the turbaned (and masked) man shrugs, telling in a monotonous tone that “somebody came and painted that last year, or may be the year before that.” The

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] The coronavirus pandemic has forced many of us to self-exile within our house. This makes one finally appreciate what one always took for granted—ambling along the streets, shoving and pushing in the metro, pressing floor buttons without a fright in the office lift, or kissing the cheeks of random friends and acquaintances in evening cocktails. But staying inside for long stretches has also made people feel the preciousness of something that they can still safely cherish—the humble window or balcony in the house. To many, the window/balcony has grown to be a most risk-proof link to the world immediately outside the home. Instagram these days is filled up

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] He is standing motionless. His large eyes are gazing straight ahead, unblinking, as if penetrating into infinity. The middle-aged man in shirt and pajamas is stationed by a pavement in a congested central Delhi market. It is very early in the morning and the shops are still shuttered. The man has huge bags hanging down from both his shoulders. The plastic sack lying by his side is of a basmati rice brand, printed with the illustration of an extravagantly dressed nobleman ensconced beside a mound of luscious biryani. “That’s also my samaan (belonging),” he mutters, nodding his head towards the rice sack—it is filled with something too, but

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] He is hundreds of miles away from home, and tends to keep his troubles to himself instead of adding anxieties to his family. For instance, when he accidentally hurt his left foot a few weeks ago while riding his rickshaw (despite the coronavirus-triggered lockdown), Rajinder didn’t utter a word about the “mild pain” to his wife, who lives in faraway Kolkata. Anyways, he does not have easy means to reach out to her. “I have no mobile,” he says, rolling up his expressive eyes. They look so full of life and motion that they could be a separate person altogether. Rajinder is perched on the passenger seat of his