The Delhi walla's pretension in writing makes me want to lodge a bullet in his balls - Blogger Nimpipi, the woodchuck chucks GO STRAIGHT TO MORE STORIESContact mayankaustensoofi@gmail.com for ad enquiries.Finding comfort in a steaming sun-drenched city.[Text by Anuja Chauhan; picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]At 43.5 degrees Delhi had its hottest day in fifty years some time during the last week of April, 2009. But my mother – who lives in Australia and is visiting Delhi during the summer for the first time in fifteen years is quite happy. Bhai, hum toh aam khaane aaye hain, she informs everybody who expresses surprise at this oddly timed visit. Apparently the hotter the summer, the sweeter the mangoes. But sweet mangoes aren't

The Delhi walla's pretension in writing makes me want to lodge a bullet in his balls - Blogger Nimpipi, the woodchuck chucks GO STRAIGHT TO MORE STORIESContact mayankaustensoofi@gmail.com for ad enquiries.Romancing in the ruins.[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]Monuments have their uses. Being old, they add depth to the character of complicated, rapidly modernizing cities. The other afternoon, a hot Delhi afternoon, I went to Hauz Khas ruins hoping to understand how this city is coping with its ancient past. While entering the 14th century Hauz Khas monument complex, I first had to make my way through Hauz Khas Village, both said to be equally old. Now this hamlet is not your average Mahipalpur or Kotla Mubarakpur. Instead, this

The Delhi walla's pretension in writing makes me want to lodge a bullet in his balls - Blogger Nimpipi, the woodchuck chucks GO STRAIGHT TO MORE STORIESContact mayankaustensoofi@gmail.com for ad enquiries.Living it honestly.[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]Farhan Akhtar is a handsome young man who would not look out of place shaking hips with scantily clad girls in Bollywood blockbusters. But for now our hero is selling fruits at a stall in Daryaganj's Sir Sayyed Ahmed street. And for someone who never misses his namaaz and has Aital Kursi as his mobile phone call tune, it must be a God-gift to live this kind of honest, hardworking existence. Each night Mr Akhtar hires an auto to Azadpur sabzi mandi,

Late film critic Amita Malik's books sold to a ragpicker. [Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi] Have you ever wondered what is the fate of the personal library of a bibliophile who has lived and died alone? It finds its way into second-hand bookstores. One Sunday afternoon while browsing in Daryaganj's Sunday book bazaar, I came across a row of old hardbounds, all well kept. There were works by authors ranging from Agatha Christie to Charles Dickens to Katherine Mansfield, including many books on cinema. The bookseller, Mr Muhammad Javed, told me that these volumes had come from the house of Ms Amita Malik. Ms Malik's name had lately appeared in newspapers. A film critic and radio journalist remembered for bringing world cinema

The Delhi walla's pretension in writing makes me want to lodge a bullet in his balls - Blogger Nimpipi, the woodchuck chucks GO STRAIGHT TO MORE STORIESContact mayankaustensoofi@gmail.com for ad enquiries.Experiencing Tibet in Delhi.[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]The year 2009 marks the 50th anniversary of arrival of Tibetans to seek refuge in India. While Delhi gave a new home to them, The Delhi Walla finds out what Tibetans gave in return.Majnu ka TeelaA Tibetan refugee camp since the 1960s, Majnu ka Tila, aka MT, is Delhi's Little Lhasa. Once you are in its lanes, you would cease being in Delhi. Here, wrinkled momolas (grannies) kill time sitting on pavement benches. Chummy uncles drink butter tea and CD shacks

At The Book Shop, Jorbagh Market. [Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi] One afternoon, The Delhi Walla sighted his most beloved Delhiite – author Arundhati Roy. She was browsing at The Book Shop, Jorbagh. Ms Roy was looking as she always looks – interesting. Her gaze was kind. A mischievous smile was playing on her thin lips. But her eyes were searching for something elusive. It was not the bookshelves for sure. From such close proximity, Ms Roy did not seem very tall and yet her presence was towering. However, she was carrying no book. No tiny diamond was gleaming in her nostril. Her arms were folded and there was a bag slung on her left shoulder. Two necklaces were grazing her absurdly beautiful

The Delhi walla's pretension in writing makes me want to lodge a bullet in his balls - Blogger Nimpipi, the woodchuck chucks GO STRAIGHT TO MORE STORIESContact mayankaustensoofi@gmail.com for ad enquiries.Being Indian in the Indian Capital.[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]On August, 2009, Ahmed Dev, 21, will move to Delhi from his ancestral home at Lal Chowk in Srinagar, Kashmir. This soft-spoken, English-speaking, hip-hop playing young man will be pursuing a pilot training course in an institute in Gurgaon. But Mr Dev is hardly in love with Delhi. "People in this city are selfish, they don't know how to drive and the air is really polluted," he told me while we were taking a walk one late night in

Delhi's celebrated author in his winter years. [Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi] One night, during the first half of April, 2009, Delhi's legendary author Khushwant Singh, said to be 95-year-old, fell off from his bed while sleeping at his home in Sujan Singh Park, a graceful if crumbly apartment complex very close to Khan Market. It was pitch dark; Mr Singh stumbled around but could not get up. He then called for his son Rahul who was unable to pick him. A security guard was later summoned from outside and only then was the author of such classics like Train to Pakistan and A History of the Sikhs was brought back to his bed. Luckily, there were no injuries. "I'm very worried,"