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

A disappearing element. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Consisting of an arch-shaped niche built into the wall, taak is an element of old architecture, now lost to history. Fortunately, a few can still be seen around Delhi, and especially in the traditionally built homes in the Walled City. A taak is generally placed at the centre of the wall, and meant to be used as a shelf to keep something sacred on it — such as the Quran or a tasbih (prayer beads). In the evenings, it is also the place in many households where the agarbatti (incense stick) is lit as part of a sufi tradition. In the old days, when Delhi homes had no Western-style furniture and people sat

Lovely but unloved. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] This window in theory should be listed in guidebooks, looking directly down on Chitli Qabar chowk—one of those rare squares in Old Delhi. But your chances of a glimpse are next to null unless you happen to know physiotherapy student Kabeer Jhinjhianvi. This amazing view is captured from his bedroom window. Irony of ironies--he himself has seen the sight so many times he’s become more or less inured. “It’s just a window,” he mutters, shaking his head amusedly. The boy’s window offers a panoramic view of the square: biryani sellers perched beside their giant brass cauldrons…customers outside Diamond Bakery that makes Delhi’s best rusks…the balloon and bangle sellers, and of course all those pedestrians

A lady's reading couch. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Hers is not a home filled with books. Not in the least. But designer Elena Tommaseo, 55, has created a truly beautiful reading spot. She’s topped a drawing room couch with an elegant Gujarati patchwork spread acquired from a handicraft shop in Paharganj, and with bookshelves on both sides that are stacked up with paperbacks collected over the 10 years of her life in this city. The lighting is so discreet that much of the space is immersed in cool darkness. Inevitably, visitors to her house in south Delhi’s East of Kailash are so drawn to this reading corner that Ms Tommaseo sometimes is obliged to hold “impromptu picnics” on what she calls her “reading