Portrait of a sanyasi. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] She is sitting in a café in backpackers’ Paharganj, busy over a plate of stuffed paratha and super-spicy mixed achar. The lunch accompaniments include a glass of steaming garma-garam chai and a pack of beedis. She is obviously a regular to the place, for the young café owner is chatting with her after the manner of a long-time acquaintance, addressing her respectfully as Mata ji. In her 70s, Victoria grew up in Andalusia in Spain. She first arrived in India in the 1970s, and since then has been coming frequently to our land, often staying for long continuous stretches of time. Once she lived for a year in her beloved Kashi. Some

A city choir is celebrating its 30th anniversary [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] At first impression, it seems to be a regular adda of close friends. Some people are casually chatting under the courtyard tree. Some are hanging around the chai table. Some are daintily manoeuvring the garma-garam bread pakoras brought by Nisha and Pallav—this being the couple’s turn to get the snacks. On the other hand, the generous Tanisha didn’t have to but she anyway got homemade brownies for everyone. While Vinita’s bindaas red bag is striking a perfect jugalbandi with her snow-white hair. And in the courtyard’s far-flung corner, away from chai and bread pakodas, Nathalie is quietly playing the flute. These all are singers of The

Profiles in pollution. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] On Monday morning this week in November 2024, the UNESCO World Heritage monument of Humayun Tomb vanished. The view was claimed by a relentless smog so thick that you could have cut it with a knife. That fateful day, Delhi’s Air Quality Index remained in the “severe plus” category, almost touching the dreadful maximum figure of 500. It was the second-worst air quality recorded since AQI tracking began in 2015, according to the Central Pollution Control Board. During the ensuing days, The Delhi Walla tracked a few Delhiwale from varied walks of life who have been obliged to expose themselves daily to the city’s toxic air, with no succour or respite. The

A re-landscaped garden. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Reclined along the grass, a loner in white kurta-pajama is lazily looking up at the moon. Steps away, a masked gent is strolling with hands folded on chest. The crowd in the garden also comprises a pair of romantic couples, a bunch of people huddled in a close circle, a woman with a book, a man with a bouquet… plus scores of folks staring raptly at their mobile phone screens. This evening, the garden above the underground Palika Bazar—sometimes called Palika Bazar terrace, as well as terrace garden— is strewn with discarded chip packets. The unfortunate litter tells a lot about us Delhiwale. That said, the park, newly re-landscaped by the New

Tea places in the hotel district. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] It remains in cooling darkness even during sunny afternoons. Shailain’s tea stall in Paharganj stands at the mouth of picturesque Katra Husain Baksh. The lane is shaped like a tunnel, the roof adorned with a series of arches. The hotel district has cafés, bars, curio shops, leather goods stores, temples, and mosques. It also has a strong concentration of chai spots. Take Jacksons. Technically speaking, it is a store for used books. But if bookseller Deepak Dialani decides to like you, then each time you visit his shop, he would treat you to free tea, along with a tin box containing an assortment of biscuits and salty mathis.

Story of a bookstore [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] See the shelves. Each crammed tightly with books. The attic within is similarly stocked. A wooden ladder hanging from a shelf is no showpiece—it is to go up the false ceiling crammed with even more books. And if you sit by the bookstore’s desk, you can catch a side glimpse of the centuries-old Jama Masjid outside, see right photo. Old Delhi’s Maktaba Jamia Limited has defied the pessimists. Last year, the Urdu Bazar bookstore triggered a series of false alarms about its closure. At one point early this year it stayed shuttered for more than a month, causing citizens to panic when "Chicken Corner" came up in front of the shutters. This afternoon,

A market institution. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Delhi chai stall depends on a stainless steel kettle, and never on some pretentious bone china tea pot, the kind sighted in BBC adaptations of Jane Austen’s teatime novels. This roadside stall in Old Delhi’s super-chaotic Chawri Bazar however possesses almost that type of tea pot. “Very najuk (delicate) ketli,” says the busy tea stall man. The city’s pavement tea stalls are distinguished for their fragile place in the world. They might be in existence for decades, yet every evening after the stall closes for the day, the long-time street landmark vanishes, as if it had never been. Tea stalls also keep closing permanently all