Death of a Delhiwalla. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Zubeida Bano, a cultured dweller of Shahjahanabad, died on August 9th, aged 72. The Delhi Walla had profiled her in the website’s Mission Delhi project. The arc of Ms Bano’s life began at a high point of wealth and influence and went downward, like that of her Walled City, the capital of the Mughal empire. Born in a big Muslim household in Chawri Bazaar, Ms Bano’s family fortunes nosedived in the years that followed the independence. A life in the ancestral mansion ended soon. Her mother died early; her father died while they were living in one of a series of hovels that was their home. Belonging to a time when it was rare

The new Old Delhi. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] In a house on Pahari Rajaan hill, stairs lead to a courtyard. Here a new flight of stairs passes a kitchen and leads to another courtyard. More stairs, another room, stairs—and then you reach the roof and get a view of Purani Dilli or Old Delhi. These low hills and flatlands are carpeted with rooftops. Your view is framed by the domes of the Jama Masjid, the ramparts of Red Fort, and the high-rises of Connaught Place. The Walled City that Shahjahan built in the 17th century has undergone many transformations. And this labyrinthine house and its occupants reflect the changes. The seven-room mansion is at Chitli Qabar Chowk, Old Delhi’s only traffic

The traditional pastime. [Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi] They fly away but always come back. Mateen Qureshi, 26, the owner of Shireen Bhawan sweetshop in Matia Mahal bazaar, has the largest collection of pigeons in Old Delhi. The Delhi Walla is on his roof, on the fourth floor of his house. The roof has half a dozen giant birdcages, called jaalis. It is evening. The mullah in a nearby mosque has just finished crying out the azaan, calling the faithful to prayer. Mr Qureshi will first finish his chore. “It’s time for the daily rounding (sic),” he says. A boy on the neighboring rooftop is flying a kite. Mr Qureshi opens the jaalis one by one and the birds, instead of flying

Groomed help for the house. [Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi] The maid is in the mall, bar-coded. Standing in a glass display case, she is in a spotless cotton sari, barely there make-up, buffed nails and no jewellery. She understands English and can rustle up bouillabaisse. She is holding verification papers that certify she has never kissed a lover on the terrace and has never kidnapped a baby. Her price: upwards of Rs6,000 a month. This robot-like superwoman does not exist, definitely not for such a bargain. But middle-class households in Delhi - used to Rs1,000-a-month, part-time cooks - are increasingly willing to spend more money for somebody like her, a professionally groomed domestic worker. And there are companies which are

The vanishing rain shack. [Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi] It’s vanishing. The barsati. The small room at the top of the house where the family could enjoy the cool breeze during the monsoon. A unique Delhi phenomenon. The city’s real estate regulations spawned a way of life that was artistic and idealistic, temporary and flamboyant. Taking its name from barsat, Urdu for heavy showers, the barsati was a room with a large terrace. Holed up in these below-the-sky capsules, young, unconventional middle-class migrants waited for new opportunities. A few barsati residents later became famous. Painter M.F. Husain lived in a Jangpura barsati. British author Ian Jack had a barsati near the railway tracks in Defence Colony. Writer Arundhati Roy shaped her