Portrait of a citizen.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Eyeglasses cover a good part of his shirt. He is also holding very many of them in his right hand. Citizen Shaan is a street hawker of eyeglasses. This afternoon, while on the job, he graciously agrees to join our Proust Questionnaire series, in which citizens are nudged to make “Parisian parlour confessions”, all to explore our distinct experiences.

What is your present state of mind?
I’m thinking about how to leave Delhi for good.

Where would you like to live?
I’m 48, too old to keep walking the streets all day. I want to return to my village in Saharsa, Bihar. Delhi is no longer a good place to live. Too much noise, pollution, and tension.

Your favorite occupation.
What I do every day—selling eyeglasses. There was a time when I used to make them. But the factory where I worked shut down more than ten years ago, along with many others. Many of these factories used to be in Ballimaran in Old Delhi. The area though is today full of shops selling these same eyeglasses. In fact, I live in Ballimaran! Now I hawk glasses on the streets. Every day, I walk from the Lal Qila to Dilli Gate, from Chandni Chowk to Delite Cinema. I walk, walk, walk.

Faults for which you have the most tolerance.
Sometimes a passerby stops me and tries on four or five pairs of glasses, and says, “I can’t make up my mind.” It is such a waste of time, but I forgive this behavior.

Your idea of happiness.
I live alone in Delhi. Nobody here is truly mine. Every day, I leave my room at ten in the morning and return at eight at night. I find true happiness only when I go back to my village. There, being surrounded by my wife and four children is full of sakoon (peace). I go home once every four months and stay for a whole month, doing nothing.

Your heroes in life.
My mother. I was ten when I left the village to work as a maker of eyeglasses in Delhi. She would always worry for me. She is no more. This is the third year without her.

How do you wish to die?
I don’t want to die in Delhi, so far from my family. Take my father—he used to sell fruits on the streets of Calcutta. When he grew old, I convinced him to stop working and return to the village. He thus spent the last two years of his life at home. We looked after him during his final illness.

Your motto in life.
Sach bolna (speak the truth).