Paradise lost, or lost time regained. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The bookseller is reading the print edition of The New York Review of Books. A rotating shelf in front of his cluttered desk holds fiction. Shelves at the back hold travel books, including rare editions of Dervla Murphy. Elizabeth Bishop and Cavafy, of course, sit in the poetry section, which requires another turn. Here in south Delhi’s Basant Lok Market, opposite Priya cinema, an afternoon passes among high-brow shelves. Except that this afternoon belongs to the past. The bookstore, whose name, Fact & Fiction, had a literary ring (like Washington, DC’s Politics and Prose), no longer exists. It begins our new series, Paradise Lost, chronicling Delhi’s vanished landmarks. To pass

Changing times. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] A crane stands in front of Old Delhi’s Turkman Gate, its metallic yellow body cutting across the old red sandstone monument. Beside the crane, a man in white kurta-pajama is sitting atop a low block with knees drawn up. Above him, a stretch of concrete roadway ends in mid-air. Every week The Delhi Walla visits an old Old Delhi street or place, asks how it got its name, and watches how people live in it today. For the first time, its subject is so new that it is still being built. “It’s a flyover,” says a labourer in a yellow helmet. Three men playing ludo inside a parked auto rickshaw say the “flyover” will

In the light of what we know. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Driver Mahesh is having lunch on the pavement. Seated cross-legged on a spread-out cloth, he is bending over his meal. Behind him, a couple struggles with the heat. The man is pulling open his jacket, the woman is fanning herself with a hat. The temperature beside them reads 40°C. The couple is not real. They are painted on the wall in front of which Mahesh is sitting. The wall belongs to Mausam Bhawan, headquarters of the India Meteorological Department. This stretch of Lodhi Road in Central Delhi carries a panorama of weather scenes created by Delhi Street Art. At first, the wall paintings seem to offer a journey through pleasant

Capital's capital check-in. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] A cartoon creature stands in the lobby of The Ashok. Two antennae rise from its forehead. It wears sunglasses and shorts, pulling a suitcase with one hand and holding up an Indian passport with another. At its feet glow the words: #THEASHOK@70. The government-run 5-star hotel turns 70 next month. For much of those seven decades, “all the world’s a stage” might have been written for the Ashok. The world came to Delhi, much of it passing through here: kings and presidents, film stars and writers, diplomats and politicians, wedding parties and conspirators. The hotel was built in 1956 on a jungle hill to accommodate delegates to a Unesco conference that November. Prime Minister

Familiar figures. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Do you, dear reader, know of the six travellers who for many years have been waiting to leave Delhi from Indira Gandhi International Airport? The four adults and two children have been standing all this time at Terminal 3. Around them, other travellers pass by, dragging suitcases, craning their necks to look at the blinking flight display panels, checking phones and passports, whilst hurrying towards the terminals. But these six remain where they are. These travellers are metallic sculptures. They were fleetingly mentioned in this space about a decade ago, and have stood on the same spot ever since, part of a collection of artworks installed around the hall, though few passengers stop to look

Scent of a scoop. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Why is the Press Club of India’s most prominent portrait that of a foreigner? It hangs above the club’s stately wooden staircase, overlooking the mid-landing. In the black-and-white photograph, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman is raising a hand in greeting. A plaque describes him as the Father of the Nation of Bangladesh. Upstairs is the explanation. One of the halls there is called the Bangabandhu Media Centre. It was inaugurated in 2021 by a visiting Bangladeshi minister to mark the 50th anniversary of his nation’s independence. The portrait was unveiled at the same time. The members-only Press Club of India is a classic Delhi institution. Located at 1, Raisina Road, in the heart of Central Delhi

Leaves of wings. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] The dead tree has no leaves. The leaves have been replaced by birds, hundreds of birds. This rainy afternoon, every branch is occupied. Black kites sit almost wing to wing along the tree's bare limbs. Every few seconds a bird takes off, a bird lands. Some birds arrive carrying twigs in their claws. Others sit motionless for minutes. The tree stands beside the busy Lodhi Road in Central Delhi, flanked by trees. The crowns of the neighbouring trees are thick with green leaves. They may hold just as many birds, but their leaves conceal them. This bare tree displays every visitor. Beside the tree is a dump yard strewn with food refuse, including chicken and

Time and Protest. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Jantar Mantar has two lives. One belongs to the sky. The other belongs to the street. Today, the street has reclaimed it once again. Young people gather outside the 18th century observatory demanding accountability in education, among other things. The slogans of their movement rise above the yellow police barricades, drifting towards a set of structures built to observe a different kind of movement. Jantar Mantar was built to chart the movement of planets, predict eclipses and measure time. In independent India, perhaps because the observatory stands close to our Parliament, the area beside it became the place where generations of Indians came to stage protests, hoping this was where power might finally listen. Raised

On a place-name. [Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi] Place-names in Purani Dilli, belonging to streets, mohallas, and markets, are fiercely individualistic. They preserve memories of occupations, vanished landmarks or long-forgotten patrons. Sometimes a place acquires identity without acquiring a proper name. Take "Jama Masjid Gate No. 1". The phrase has become a part of the Walled City vernacular. Two distinct places share this same label. First is Gate No. 1 of Jama Masjid, one of the three gateways of the iconic landmark. The other is Gate No. 1 of the underground Jama Masjid Metro Station. One gate serves visitors to the 17th century monument. The other serves commuters of the twenty-first century transport system. Gate No. 1 of Jama Masjid forms