The lunch hour.

[Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi]

One afternoon The Delhi Walla came across a team of daily-wage labourers in Connaught Place, the city’s colonial-era commercial district. They were building a low brick-wall in a parking area. All the men hailed from the same village in Bihar and all of them shared a single-room tenement in nearby Paharganj as their residence.

It was the lunch hour – also a time to rest. Some men were lounging on the wall-in-progress; some were lying sprawled on the pavement. One had his head placed upon his yellow work-helmet; one had turned his lunch box into a pillow — his eyes were wide-open but he appeared to be in the middle of some dream.

The man in the striped shirt was listing to film songs on his mobile phone. Another man, who was wearing black sunshades, was talking loudly on his mobile phone. His neighbour, who was sleeping, had a tree tattooed on his arm.

The yellow and blue helmets of these men were lying about headless. The helmets seemed asleep.

The lazy afternoon

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