On the passing of a place.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

It is gone. The shaving stall is no longer here. Also gone is the dense hedge of bougainvilleas that roofed over it, turning a dusty stretch of paved footpath into an unexpectedly beautiful site.

On a cold, grey evening, the scene in central Delhi’s Chelmsford Road is unrecognisable. Blue construction barricades line the dug-up browned earth. A labourer in yellow hamlet is standing beside a yellow excavator. Arms on hips, he says a flyover is being built. If so, the consolation is that a small, human-scaled world that stood here has been erased to raise something grander, more utilitarian, all for our greater common good.

The stall has already been celebrated on this page. Now, its passing has to be recorded. That said, pavement shaving stalls themselves are not rare. Littered across the megapolis, they serve a vast population of working men who live alone in the city: labourers, rickshaw-pullers, street-food vendors. Equipped with a mirror, a chair, and a few tools, each stall develops a distinct ecosystem shaped by its particular location and clientele.

The shaving stall on Chelmsford Road, however, had acquired a distinction that went beyond its customary functions. Because of its bougainvilleas. The pink papery scentless flowers were such a scene stealer that the stall beneath registered to the passerby’s eyes almost as an afterthought. Stately and polite, barber Ishtiaq had been administering the establishment since 1980. It was founded decades ago by his late father. The stall, of course, received customers who would simply want a quick shave and carry on with their day. Then there were others who would linger. Those men would sit for long hours under the stall’s bougainvilleas, and chat with Ishtiaq, or play cards among themselves. Cutting chai would come from the nearby tea stall.

This evening, the aforementioned tea stall is still serving tea. The tree beside the tea stall is also standing. The lazy brown dog too is plopped down on his usual spot under the tree. While the white edifice of Sri Lanka Buddhist Pilgrims’ Rest house, across the lane, is looking as imposing as ever. The tea stall man says Ishtiaq has gone to his village in UP and will return in a few weeks. Responding to a query, he remarks that the barber will again set up his stall, but slightly away from the earlier spot. “It will be the same old stall,” the tea man says.

It cannot be, not when the stall’s signature bougainvillaeas have been totally uprooted. A very small slice of the city has quietly slipped into history. But memories might remain for a time. One summer afternoon six years ago, the hot pink bougainvilleas were majestically crowning over the stall (see photo), as a petal fell in the shaving bowl, landing on the leftover lather from the previous customer.