Into thin air. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] In these days of self-isolation, we all need some sort of escape. Jayanti Pandey, 55, can obviously not take a flight for some time to Cambodia or Dubai or Russia--her last three trips abroad. But if she truly yearns for a getaway, she can sit in her drawing room and stare at her venerable Burmese teak bookcase. “It’s so understated, so simple, so much taller than me... takes me to my old days in Calcutta,” gushes Ms Pandey, explaining she had got the case from that city. A career professional who was busy running her travel company in the BC (before corona) era, she is chatting on WhatsApp video from her 22nd

Into thin air. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Her address is like a shifting sand; it moves often. Because her husband works in a multinational oil company, and regularly has to switch from one “location” to another, their country of residence is changing every two years or so. And this is how, in the previous decade, the Hyderabad native Arunima Pakalapati, 37, has come to live in Oman, Republic of Congo, the US, Kuwait, and now in India—in Gurgaon in the Greater Delhi Region. And now, amid the raging coronavirus pandemic, she rarely gets an opportunity to leave the borders of her 27th-floor condo. But who on Earth would ever want to step out of a house with such a fabulous balcony? “See,

A woman's world. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] A small room stacked with books, a writing table, two single beds and two pairs of grilled windows. Plus, a terrace where she frequently strolls, gathers ideas and later jots them down in her journal. This is her world in north Delhi’s Roop Nagar. A 20-year-old final year grad student in Delhi University’s Kirori Mal College, she requested for only her first name to be used. Prachi lives alone in this rented apartment (she does have a mostly absent roomie). Here she spent the entire duration of the coronavirus-triggered lockdown, though “I have to leave this room soon,” she reveals, her voice tinged with a hint of regret. “My college life will come

The world of balconies. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] She first went up to the 6th floor, moved higher to the 13th floor, but later fell down to the first floor before settling down here on the 14th floor. Her life has literally experienced all these ups and downs—from the ground floor of her parents’ house in Kanpur to the apartment towers where she has been living with her husband in Dubai, Gurgaon, Bombay, and finally back to Gurgaon, in the Greater Delhi Region. Smriti Saigal suggests that she is happy with this 14th floor apartment—she adores balconies and in this home she has one on both side of her drawing room. “I see the sunrise from one balcony and the sunset

The world of a window. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Outside. What is that? What is it like? Until recently the world beyond our homes—the streets, the parks, the metro, the malls—was seamlessly integrated in our daily living. Bu the lockdown caused by the coronavirus pandemic has rudely severed this relationship. And the universe for Abdul Rahim’s family has shrunk to the measure of a bedroom window. “But one can see a lot even through this khidki (window),” he says from the isolation of his home in Old Delhi’s Kucha Tara Chand neighbourhood. In his 40s, Mr Rahim is chatting on WhatsApp video. The pictures are taken through the phone screen that connects him to The Delhi Walla. In a way,

His window-side refuge. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Theoretically, it is such a cool idea to stay home 24/7. Practically, it is so difficult. But Nilabh, it seems, knows his way around to make the best out of the situation. A sales professional, and a poet, in his early 40s, he lives with wife, Jyotsna, in a spacious 14th floor apartment in Gurgaon’s Sector 84 in the Greater Delhi Region. (It’s technically the 13th floor!) This afternoon Nilabh discolses his favorite spot in the house, where he manages to sit for hours without interruptions, with books and drinks. “Every two years I take a sabbatical from work for six months, so I find it easy than many others to stay within the home,”

His third floor isolation. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] This is what usually happens. The part of the house you’ve always wanted to convert into a sacrosanct space, where you could do the things you love, whether it is gym or reading, furnishing it with sports equipment or cozy cushions — well, it never happens. Instead, it turns into a storage space, with all the jumble that hasn’t found any place elsewhere. And then the world turns upside down. And then the coronavirus epidemic happens. And Arjun Jetly finally turned his storeroom into what he intended it to be in the first place—his study. “It’s the third day of working from home,” says the 31-year-old ad agency creative director in Gurgaon’s

Handmade utility. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] A home by the pavement The ordinary-seeming pavement is actually looking extraordinary. All because of the presence of a rustic chulha, the earthen stove usually found in village homes. But this is the Millennium City of Gurgaon in the Greater Delhi Region, and the chulha belongs to a couple who lives and sells earthen pots on this very roadside. “I made it with my own hands with mitti and season ki nyar (sic),” says Ramwati. In her fifties, the lady is washing household laundry on the pavement while husband Nanakchand is sitting on an adjacent string cot, having a breakfast of parathas and green chilly pickle. The chulha is unusually large and looks as new as

Study spaces. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Children go to public parks to play. But these three boys are picnicking over school books. There are dreams to chase after all and “no time to waste,” cautions the poker-faced Aman, who aspires to be an engineer. He is sitting on the grassy slope of Gurgaon’s Rose Garden in Sector 15 in the Greater Delhi Region with his two cousins—Kaushal who wants to be in the army, and Lovekush who harbours an ambition to be a “commando.” Students of a nearby government-run primary school, these studious boys live in the park with their gardener parents in makeshift dwellings. Their family elders don’t mind their “khel-kood as long as our study time outlasts our play

A house in the village. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] His tiny balcony faces the 14th century ruins of Hauz Khas. The tenant, who describes himself as an “artist” and wishes to remain anonymous, feels lucky to be holed up in this corner of south Delhi’s congested Hauz Khas Village. “A visitor to the monument typically takes in the tombs, the pillared halls, and the dark chambers one at a time,” he explains. “But I, while merely sitting in my room, see all of that including the lake in a single glance.” A narrow lane separates the third-floor apartment from the monument. The small room has a large glass window that gives the artist an impression that his modest bachelor’s pad