Heatwave's yellow. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Battered by extreme heat, summertime Delhi still manages to look beautiful, thanks to the Amaltas tree, which offers eye-soothing yellow flowers during the city’s scorching season. Some weeks ago, as a curtain-raiser to the Amaltas season, this page recommended the best places in Delhi to see the trees in full bloom. Now, as the city enters peak summer, the flowering appears somewhat less spectacular than in previous years. Amrita Sher-Gil Road, of course, has long been among the city’s finest avenues for viewing Amaltas in flower. This year, the road lacks the dense yellow canopy it wore in previous summers. One Amaltas in particular seems to capture the season’s disappointing showing. The fresh flowers of

Consolation from the heatwave. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The 40 degree celsius afternoon is searing the skin, filling the mind with dread for the extreme heat ahead. At a traffic light in the central parts of the city, cars and autos are jamming up in a tight knot as hawkers and beggars weave between them. A roadside statue of a long-dead leader is covered with birds and bird droppings. Indeed, our smoggy, dusty megapolis seems to have reached its bleakest hour. Suddenly, the tired eyes chance upon a refreshing spectacle. A tiny cluster of flowers is hanging from a tree branch. Five-petalled, bright yellow. It is the Amaltas. It is still early in the season; most Amaltas trees in

So surreal, yet so real. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] A large long-armed tree is standing by a park gate in south Delhi’s Hauz Khas Village. A small crowd has gathered beneath it, this sunny evening. A band of boys—one with a guitar—is singing love songs, and mostly young listeners are standing transfixed. Others go past without stopping. No one looks up at the tree. This is not done! The tree’s leafy canopy being so magnificent. It is glowing in a shade that is neither green nor brown, but a sort of rust. The leaves do not hold just a single shade. Some leaves bear a burnt tinge, some are pigmented with a kind of faded rosiness, a few are edged with

Season's contrasting phenomenon. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Across the megapolis, some trees are letting go of their leaves, while others are bursting into colour. In March, Delhi stages a drama of opposites. Consider a peepal in Punjabi Bagh. Every leaf has fallen. Sunlight is passing cleanly through its branches. On the other hand in Malcha Marg, a bougainvillea is ablaze with new pink. During this time of the year, Delhi’s many avenue trees stage an annual retreat, shedding foliage ahead of the long, dry summer. The peepal is among them. By discarding leaves, such trees reduce water loss through transpiration. Bougainvillea, meanwhile, is doing the opposite. It flowers through most of the year, but peaks between March and May, as confirmed by

Delhi in red alert. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] On the morning of Holi, colour becomes a universal language. Water thickened with powder flows across terraces. Colony get-togethers dissolve into red and pink; Mummy and Papa look unrecognizable. By late afternoon, the work of body-scrubbing begins. Skin holds magenta in its pores. Nails are rimmed blue. In short, synthetic colour outlasts the fun. It is worth asking why the city’s Holi revellers do not make use of what the city already has by that time: the red semal. Though Holi is still a week away, the red semal flower has arrived. They are already falling on the roadsides. On Lodhi Road, outside a super-fancy hotel, the pavement is thick with semal.

On Delhi arbor. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The stage performer begins to dance. Arms whirl in widening circles, movements so rapid that they blur into a halo of motion, as if dozens of arms have suddenly surfaced. That is what the pilkhan tree at the Shivaji Stadium bus terminus in Connaught Place (CP) feels like. Its numerous branches seem to multiply in the air, fanning outward in restless energy. In brief, the tree is extraordinary, demanding a concentrated viewing both from up close, and from across the road. Up close, its architecture surprises the viewer. The trunk is massive in girth yet unexpectedly short, rising barely to knee-height before splintering into a network of sub-trunks. These sub-trunks climb a little higher

Season's luminosity. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The Amar Colony shop is shuttered at the moment. Being mid-morning, the sun has already risen. A small triangle of gold light is glistening on the shop’s corrugated metal shutter. In that fragment lies a persistence and fragility. Delhi’s daylight turns exceptional twice a year. In October, after the monsoon clears the sky, and before the winter smog arrives. And now, in February, after the cold haze lifts, and before the summer dust could alter the texture of the air. The daylight becomes almost glassy. You cannot notice this light by looking up at the sun. It is perceived where it is interrupted—on walls, cloth, stone. Then the light breaks into a pattern, showing its