One of the one percent in 13 million.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

The grand moustache gives the shopkeeper the vibes of an army general. Indeed, Inder Parkash Narula has been victoriously commandeering a Delhi landmark through these long volatile decades. Over the years, as his city changed, he astutely adapted his business to the change. Today, at “81 plus,” Inder Parkash is among the elders of Prithviraj, the rather subdued market separated by a narrow lane from the la di da of Khan Market.

This afternoon, Narula’s Stationery is densely crammed with stationery things. Like many veteran establishments of New Delhi, the shop traces its origins to a tragic episode of Indian history. Inder Parkash, the shop’s friendly proprietor, graciously agrees to sketch the outlines of this past, in his homey Punjabi accent.

A long time ago, in the town of Bannu, “west of Peshawar,” a young man called Amir Chand Narula used to administer a shop called Frontier Cloth House. It was an amiable existence, and his life was passing uneventfully with wife and three children… until India got partitioned. Bannu fell to Pakistan. Like many others, Amir Chand was obliged to quit his homeland.

In the unfamiliar capital of newly independent India, the former shopkeeper started by hawking bottles of kerosine oil. Riding on a bicycle, Amir Chand would pedal home-to-home along the New Delhi avenues. While wife, Morni Devi, would supplement the income by rustling out dresses on her sewing machine, and by selling flour sacks on the roadside. Being a partition refugee, Amir Chand was eventually allotted a shop by the government in Prithviraj Market. He created a general store, stocking the place with toothpaste, socks, vests, sui-dhaga, and other countless utilities of daily life.

Things continued this way until the 1960s, when Amir Chand’s elder son took over the business. A B.Com graduate brimming with ideas, Inder Parkash—the narrator of this story— turned his pitaji’s inheritance into a lending library. “A friend had told me that there is fayada in books.” Inder Parkash sourced the inaugural stock of 50 books from Connaught Place wholesalers. The library gradually became popular—10 paisa per day for a comic, and 25 paisa per week for a novel. Customers would come from as far as Vasant Vihar and Greater Kailash for Enid Blyton, Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Agatha Christie, Barbara Cartland, Mario Puzo, and Mills & Boons.

Things remained uneventful until a profound transformation during the 1980s with the arrival of colour TV. Inder Parkash found his customers losing interest in books. Attentive to the shift, he gradually converted the business to what it is today.

“I don’t feel sad about closing the lending library. Stationery business is more profitable,” he says heartily. Posing for a portrait, the gentleman mentions an old film. “I’d got the inspiration for my moustache from Dev Anand’s character in Hum Dono.” He grins. See photo.

[This is the 614th portrait of Mission Delhi project]