Stones of monsoon. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] A little tap on the window-pane, as though something had struck it, followed by a plentiful light falling sound, as of grains of sand being sprinkled from a window overhead, gradually spreading, intensifying, acquiring a regular rhythm, becoming fluid, sonorous, musical, immeasurable, universal. it is the baarish. The season’s first true rain, yesterday morning, could as well have been penned by Marcel Proust. The top passage is from In Search of Lost Time, Proust’s great multi-volume novel. Once asked how he would spend his last hours on earth if he knew that a great calamity was about to end his life, the French novelist said he would throw himself at the feet of

Of the Walled City. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The season’s first rain puddle has momentarily transformed into a receptacle for Delhi’s history. The dirty water is reflecting the centuries-old Dilli Gate, one of the 14 gateways punctuating the 5.5-mile-long wall of the Walled City of Shahjahanabad. Most of those stone darwazas succumbed to a violent past, along with much of the wall. But you may visit three of the four surviving gateways over a single afternoon. Stringed along Fasil Road, they lie close to each other, their interiors easily discerned from afar. All three are flanked by luscious peepal trees. An arched edifice composed of turrets, niches, battlements, benches and yards, Ajmeri Gate signposted the way to the sufi