Family possessions. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] It is morning and he is home alone. “My wife has gone with our son to the public toilet... it will take her an hour to come back... she’ll also be washing the clothes.” Anil Sharma’s home is a pavement in North Delhi. His entire material possessions include a torn bed sheet spread out on the ground, two steel bowls, a glass tumbler and two bags, one of which is filled with his spare “shirt-pant” and his wife’s spare sari. The other bag has his son’s toys: two small plastic yellow plates, a pencil box and an empty candy box. Spreading out the toys on the mat, he observes “my son is lucky to have

Her private oasis. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] She’s readily agreed to give The Delhi Walla a guided tour of her pleasing balcony, but with a condition. No snapping her face photos, so she can remain anonymous. For a very good reason that is disclosed later in this dispatch. At this very moment she is gesturing towards the frangipani on her charming balcony, “that I got from friends who recently moved to Buenos Aires,” she explains. “And, yes, I know it’s strange... no flowers in it. And they’re blooming just about everywhere in Delhi except right here.” As a designer with her own label, she’s furnished her south Delhi perch with an elegant wooden breakfast table, along with a cane chair padded

A nameless address. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Such a world of colors here. Red and orange saris are hanging down from the wash lines, while the little doors are painted in bright hues of green and blue. This small narrow lane in Gurgaon’s Sector 31 is home to security guards, courier-delivery men and pavement-stall owners. It consists of 16 windowless rooms; each room housing a full-fledged family. Two public bathrooms serve the entire community. The lane does not have a name. How do the residents receive their letters? The young Ravi shrugs in mild amusement. “We have been here for decades… everybody knows about us, including the postmen and the courier wallas.” Ravi’s father runs a vegetable stall; he himself sells aloo-tikki

Life at the top. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Nobody can mistake Delhi's so-called Millennium City of Gurgaon as a holiday resort. But Divya Babu’s balcony feels like one of those weekend getaways in the mountains that Delhiwallas escape to in the superfast Saturday morning Shatabdi Express trains. In her 30s, Ms Babu lives on the 30th floor. Her apartment complex is one of the tallest in DLF Park Place, Sector 54. Its balcony is like a hill-top lodge and seems detached from the world, as if it’s a floating balloon. Gurugram itself looks heavenly. This afternoon the day isn’t very smoggy and you can see the high-rises spreading out to a blur. On the left side is the busy Golf

Biography of an aangan. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] The little courtyard, or aangan, is placed in the big house as snugly as a nest in a tree. The aged mansion in old Delhi’s Ganj Meer Khan was built more than a hundred years ago on a private garden. The house used to have just four rooms until the 1970s. As the family expanded, so did the private quarters to accommodate its new members. Today, there are 10 rooms with two additional floors, and each room is patterned after an independent household with its own kitchen and toilet. One such room belongs to Faridu Jaffery, his wife Shazia Zahid and their daughters Alisha and Alina. Shazia, who is also Faridu’s cousin,

A flat of her own. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Perhaps The Delhi Walla is afflicted by an overly active imagination. But it does seem as though every second person on the street is young, has a tattoo and is wearing shorts. In other words, they are all college students here at Old Gupta Colony near Delhi University. Where young adults such as Saloni Srivastava are clustered in architecturally drab apartment blocks. “I just pretend these buildings don’t exist,” she laughs, “and sit on the balcony gazing at the sky above.” Not much time for that, though. This student from Agra is now applying for a PhD in American Literature, despite no evidence whatsoever of books in her room. Instead, she’s decked

Mehrauli's dream balcony. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] With a balcony like this, who’d want to leave home? Abhinav Kakkar freely admits his own balcony is a prime attraction—though as an independent photographer he’s usually on the move. But when perched on his balcony in south Delhi’s historic Mehrauli “I just might sit here for long spells watching approaching planes and pondering the meanderings of life.” As well as star-gazing, of course, on those days when the huge skies are blessedly smog-free, “and when a nearby friend can lend me his telescope!” says the 25-year-old. The 4th floor view not only takes in the Qutub Minar monument but also a panoramic view of Gandak ki Baoli, a 14th century stepwell. The overall impression of

A hidden boarding house. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] You see them almost everywhere. And especially during those burning summer months when the demand for cold treats transforms ice cream venders into temporal gods. There they are! Dragging their trolleys around under the midday sun. But where do these enterprising merchants actually live? One answer emerged the other day while finding myself in West Delhi's Rajouri Garden. The Delhi Walla spots dozens of ice cream carts parked in a roadside yard, with clothing draped over them. “Must be laundry,” I mutter. Sure enough, the yard leads to a very long hall without windows, and crammed to the gills with beds, suitcases and slippers. This is the shared dwelling for around 20 sellers all hailing from

Life on the summit. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Winters in Delhi approximate the life of a butterfly. The moment you’ve developed a working relationship with woolens and heaters, it’s all over. This is more or less how Indira Dayal probably feels when considering her lush array of flowers on the vast rooftop of the family’s Anand Niketan residence. “Maybe two more weeks and the flowers are gone,” she speculates. But she says she will derive consolation in some remaining creepers and of course the fruit trees. She spends part of her day up here, on the wicker sofa, sipping tea and reading novels like Steinbeck’s East of Eden. The bloom in this extraordinary garden thrives only from around October to March.

Inside the walls. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Close to midnight, Abdul Sattar is shutting his metal-plating workshop. In a few minutes, the cramped space becomes his bedroom. This suits him fine. His extended family lives just down the street in their “very small” house in Old Delhi. “But, I like living alone, and they accept that.” Only a faint light glows as we adjust to the darkness. Mr Sattar will soon catch some sleep in a bed lying in a corner where discoloured mats are piled one on top of the other. During those long opening hours at Ganj Mir Khan street, he runs his business. Every day, this 60-something craftsman plies his skills over any number of rusting machines strewn about. Over