One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] We all start by being young. If we are lucky enough to live long, then at some point in our life, strangers on the streets start to address us as “uncle” or “aunty.” The ruder among these strangers might even call us “bhudda” or “bhudiya.” And here in zila Ghaziabad’s Indirapuram Sector 2, a roadside eatery calls itself Budhiya Dhaba. The modest establishment is administered by a… well, the woman says she is the “budhiya” of Budhiya Dhaba. The friendly lady is as endearing as an affectionate relative one might meet in a family wedding. She actually goes by the name of Shanti Devi. Shrugging at the unusual

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The woman was walking along the lane, carrying a large bouquet of multi-coloured flowers. Her right hand was holding the flowers somewhat carelessly; the bouquet was facing downwards. The other hand had the mobile phone, glued to the ear. The flowers were frequently falling down on the pave, one or two at a time. After the woman disappeared from sight, young Aamir picked up each of the flowers from the ground. This was the only eventful part of his afternoon, in Aamir’s telling, here on central Delhi’s Chelmsford Road. He then used those second-hand flowers to decorate his rickshaw. The rickshaw is parked on the curb, as

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] His cheeks are wet. These are tears, he says, rubbing his left eye. A series of questions elicit the following responses from citizen Anand. “On ekattis (31) December, I will turn paisath (65). “I’m already old, I’m now about to step into an even older age. My life will become more unbearable. My body will feel more pain. The ageing limbs already give me so much pain." “Being a labourer, I carry goods from one place to another for a Chawri Bazar dukandar (shopkeeper). I have to carry nug ka samaan on my head. The body finds it increasingly tough to withstand so much load, but I cannot afford to

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] She would talk to the patrons of her tea stall in a singsong manner. The tone of her voice would be in harmony with the languid movements of her hands that would fiddle almost imperceptibly between the chai pan and the chai glasses. But most of the times she would be quiet, listening to friendly familiars chat about her cart. The cart would be parked outside the entry to the fashionable Hauz Khas Village, by the barricade. For a long time, the south Delhi locality has been the site of cafés, pizzerias and restaurants, as well as boutiques and curio shops. Some are garish, some are truly

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] He can cook all of the Gunpowder khana. As for Gunpowder, that place was Delhi’s most talked about restaurant for a time (circa 2010). Ranjeet Chaudhary used to work in the kitchen. After it shut down in fashionable Hauz Khas Village and moved south to Goa, he too moved, staying with the restaurant. Now Ranjeet is back in Hauz Khas Village. Last week, he started a new job in the village. It is in an Airbnb guesthouse where he is not a chef, but a housekeeper required to clean the rooms. “I’m grateful to get the work, but ultimately I want to get back to a restaurant kitchen,”

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] During the days of extreme pollution, a week ago, his eyes were burning as if someone had flung red chilli powder into them, he says, here on the smoggy street-side, near Dilli Gate metro station, just across the road from the historic Dilli Gate monument. His breathing wasn’t feeling right either. Nizam, a young street snack seller, knew it wasn’t his eyes (or lungs) per se, but the extreme Delhi pollution that arrives every year with the start of cold season. “This winter problem has been with us for many years, and it will stay with us forever,” he declares matter-of-factly. Nizam talks of his village in UP’s

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Once upon a time, not so long ago, a boy called Akash lived in Dharam Nagar Bhagri, a village in Bihar’s zila Purbi Champaran. His father was a farmer, so was the father’s father. Akash too was expected to become a farmer. In fact, the family continues to own a plot of agricultural land amounting to “barah ghattha,” which is less than a beegha. On growing out of his childhood, Akash surprised nobody by plunging into a farmer’s routine. He diligently worked on the land, helping produce cyclic harvests of “dhaan, gehu, aloo.” And so the days passed, until Akash fell in love. It ended in heartbreak. He

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Where is Noor? And where is his cat? The elderly subway guard hasn’t been seen for a long time in this underground passage. He had been its guard-cum-unofficial custodian for many years, always sitting silently on one side of the subway with the day’s newspaper, beside a black-and-white cat. He in fact lived in the subway, and had a chair and a folding bed. He also occasionally administered a small stall of knickknacks for subway passers-by. All day long, the cat ambled about within the subway, sometimes climbing the staircase, and escaping into daylight. But she was a lazy cat, according to Noor, and spent most of her waking

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] “I have switched three schools since my childhood. In each school I would meet new folks. Some of them became good friends, but such friendships would end with that school. Although good in studies, I was constantly in search of a friend for life. Finally, in 11th standard, I found such a friend--a cigarette.” So begins Hookup se Mohabbat, a story that Faizan is reading aloud from his mobile to Asad and Hammad. The three friends are huddled about a parked scooter this smoggy evening on a city street. In his 20s, Faizan finished writing the story a day ago, and is expecting an honest critique

One of the one percent in 13 million. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Sitting cross-legged on the raised sidewalk, she is busily fussing over a jumble of pans, jars and jugs. Four dogs are plopped down on the facing pathway, as still as statues. It is early evening at the Tibetan Market in central Delhi’s Janpath. The traffic on the road behind the woman is growing dense. But she is totally engrossed into her job of the moment, her bare hands flitting from one pan to another, which are filled with some mushy soup-like stuff. “Mix of boiled rice and boiled chicken,” she says, momentarily raising her head. Feeding the four Janpath dogs is Poonam’s daily routine for eight years. Every evening,