Netherfield Ball – Jashn-e-Rekhta, India International Centre City Parties by The Delhi Walla - March 16, 2015March 16, 20154 The party secrets. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] One evening The Delhi Walla attended the inaugural ceremony of Jashn-e-Rekhta held in the Fountain Lawns of the India International Centre (IIC). The two-day Urdu literary festival was hosted by Rekhta Foundation (I have written about its fabulous poetry website here) in collaboration with the IIC. The sundown began with chauffer-driver cars queuing up in the portico to let loose their stockpile of Delhi’s smart set. One erect white-haired woman sashayed out holding a long slim cigarette; another invited notice with her gigantic pearl necklace. There were hardly any black-haired people save for the volunteers, politely guarding the front seats for the VIPs. Sighted on the first row -- Allahabad-based writer Shamsur Rahman Faruqi,
City Project – Capital Sex, Across Delhi General by The Delhi Walla - March 16, 2015March 16, 20154 The male-female ratio. [By Gaurav Sood and Mayank Austen Soofi] The Delhi Walla wants your help in learning about Delhi. We put forward a crowd-sourced study. The purpose: to estimate the proportion of males in the people on the streets. Of course that proportion varies by time of the day, and by place. Proportion of women out on the city's streets likely declines at night -- and tragic as reasons for that are, it is likely that proportion of men is greater around office complexes than on residential streets. The aim is to get data from a diverse set of places and from a range of times. Please help in that. So, here's what you have to do: 1. Pick a place and
Our Self-Written Obituaries – Arunima Mazumdar, Dwarka Farewell Notice by The Delhi Walla - March 16, 2015March 16, 20151 The 35th death. [Text by Arunima Mazumdar; photo by Hindol Basu] On the day she was going to die, Arunima Mazumdar got up rather early to go for a morning walk. She never went for a morning walk in her entire life. Evening was her favourite part of the day; morning was always difficult. She’d shut herself up in the room, the window wide open, letting in gusts of dusty, summer wind, with a half-open book in one hand and a mug of green tea in another. Later, when she’d feel the morning had had its way, she’d come out for breakfast—one slice of buttered bread and a boiled egg to go with it—and sit to settle matters of the day. Ms