The perfect Delhi instant. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] “The black, pensive, dense, domes of the mausoleums suddenly shot birds into the unanimous blue” This is the entirety of “In The Lodi Gardens”, a poem by a Nobel laureate in literature. This morning, another Nobel laureate in literature enters the Lodhi Gardens, fully prepared to be seduced by this central Delhi sanctuary speckled with flowers, trees, birds, and centuries-old stone edifices. Author Annie Ernaux is in the city as a special attendee at the Delhi Book Fair. Her brief stay in the capital has been entirely claimed by appointments, interviews and speeches, and this excursion is a non-violent revolt to her tightly packed schedule, fixed weeks in advance. By stepping into the park, she

Life of a traffic island. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] A city gets truly authentic when it is not on show. Easier to find its soul in ordinary places, during ordinary moments, when nothing is happening. When one minute is like another minute; the rhythms of daily life staying uninterrupted. So here is time passing on a central Delhi traffic island, wordlessly, uneventfully. Two men are lying on the tiled ground, asleep. Another man — older — is perched on the armrest of an abandoned chair. An abandoned sofa some steps away is unoccupied. The traffic island marks the turning to Kabir Marg, off Panchkuian Road. It has the shape of a large leaf. The two men continue to be as motionless

A poignant traffic light instant. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The evening showers have stopped one hour ago, but the roadside ditches are still full of rainwater. Some prudent scooterists have actually kept their protective plastic capes wrapped around themselves, in case it rains again. All around, the homeless people living in the area have emerged from the Oberoi Hotel flyover they used as shelter. On this central Delhi avenue, pavements are alight with their cooking fires — from a distance they look like candles. Tonight, the traffic light by the flyover is missing one of its most regular sights—a man often wearing a hat who’s used to going from one car window to another, wordlessly asking for money, and

A Delhi instant. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Rickshaw puller Syyed lives alone. That’s not entirely correct, he clarifies. “I’m not completely alone. I have a saathi (companion).” Syyed explains that at night he sleeps on his rickshaw. “I park it on the pavement… many other rickshaw wale of the area sleep the same way, on the passengers’ seat of their (respective) rickshaws, which are parked in one long row... we are friendly with each other.” This conversation is unfolding one late morning near central Delhi’s Ansari Road. And now Syyed opens up about the aforementioned saathi—Bhuriya. “It’s not bhuriya, an old woman, but bhuriya, the brown coloured.” Syyed’s Bhuriya is a stray dog. Every night she sleeps on his rickshaw’s floor-board, or underneath the

A Delhi instant. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] It is morning and the newspaper vendor, passing on his bicycle, is carrying front pages filled with dreadful news on Covid-19. The narrow lane is otherwise empty of people more or less — it goes past Jama Masjid’s gate no. 2, in Old Delhi. The entrance to the mosque is locked. The popular tea stall nearby is closed. But then the city is under curfew due to the pandemic. The only people to be seen are a few families sleeping on the pavement—they have been living here for years. The only other living being around is a brown dog snoozing on a manhole. Now a rickshaw puller enters the scene. He stops

A daughter's pilgrimage. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] It is afternoon. Writer Arundhati Roy is wading through tall, disheveled grass here in the Indian Christian Cemetery, in north Delhi’s Burari. She is carrying a few long stems of pink lilies in her left arm. A handbag is hanging from her right shoulder. The ground is littered with crosses that must have fallen from their graves over the years, many of which lie unseen under the vegetation. At long last, Ms Roy arrives at her destination. The inscription on the marble grave reads: Just as I Am Rajib Roy “Mickey” Born on 28.09.1932 Died on 09.07.2007 He was Ms Roy’s father. She bends down on her knees, keeps the flowers under these words, and places her right palm close

A beautiful Delhi instant. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] More than 70 years after gaining their freedom, India and Pakistan are still hostile towards each other. But they aren’t the only countries with such a tradition. Turkey and Greece, too, continue to be mutually suspicious. As do Azerbaijan and Armenia. Some would argue the same about China and Japan, Russia and the US, Israel and Iran. And if, God forbid, you are on Twitter, you know that in this world everyone is against everyone. But away from all these conflicts, there is a lane beside Delhi’s Golcha Cinema (the single-screen closed long ago) where a stray dog and a stray cat are being best friends. This afternoon, the dog ambles towards the

The perfect Delhi moment. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] It is winter and the sun is at long last our friend. But some things don’t change: the most poignant time of the season is still the twilight hour, when our sky’s brightest star starts staging a retreat. The so-called Millennium City of Gurgaon in the Greater Delhi Region is rich in sunset points. The most beautiful sites from where to view the perishing sun are undoubtedly enjoyed by the posh Golf Course Road dwellers, living in the higher floors of the multi-storey residential towers. Another set of good places is on the flyovers of National Highway 8 — but this is a pleasure accessible only to those driving towards Delhi. The

The beautiful Delhi instant. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] A romantic pair is holding hands, etc. An overly-dressed couple is posing for pre-wedding photography. A noisy family is busy over chips packets. Two guys are playing badminton. A jhaal moori seller is watching a Haryanvi music video on his mobile. A woman in a track suit is walking purposefully in circles. A bunch of sweating male athletes are playfully tossing cuss words at each other. So far, so Lodhi Garden. It is early evening in the central Delhi public park. Suddenly something unusual surfaces, not part of the park’s regular sights. This is a group of young women, wearing the same kind of cotton silk saris (with stripes of purple, golden

The perfect Delhi instant. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] This afternoon, leaf collector Mahesh is making a round of the central Delhi park where he works, dragging his bicycle cart behind him. He occasionally stops, picks up the fallen leaves and tosses them into his cart. All of them are destined for the garbage. But what’s this curious bundle, slumped in one corner of Mahesh’s cart? On taking a closer look, it doesn’t look like a bundle. It’s a child. She is sleeping in a slouched position, her head bent down on her knees. “That’s Nandini, my daughter,” says Mahesh, casually shrugging his shoulders as if it were the most normal thing in the world to have a baby bundled up in