The wall's account. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] They come in one by one. These silent Delhi men. From morning to midnight. Some are tall with fierce eyes. Some are short. Some are fat. Some are Hindus. Some are Sikhs. There are Muslims, too. I have also suffered white men. All these men always have only one thing in mind. Some do it while standing. Some squat. Some have leather bags carefully balanced in their hand. Some come in cars which they park on the roadside before coming to me. Many are without any possession. They all have different smells. They wear different kinds of underwears: red, purple, green, blue, grey, white; Hanes, Jockey, Levi, Rupa, VIP, (V-shaped) Frenchie, home-sewn chaddis. The

A way of life. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] When was the last time you summoned the services of writing sheets, envelopes, and postage stamps to send a mail to a friend? How many years ago you last dropped a letter into a letterbox? One morning The Delhi Walla witnessed a rare sight. Walking in Daryaganj, I saw a uniformed postman opening a letterbox and emptying it of envelopes. There were three letterboxes, and all were locked, but the postman had the keys. He also had a large blue sack, which was bulging with letters. I went to him and asked, “Sir, what is your e-mail address?” “I don’t have an e-mail,” the postman said, “ but I think my son has.” I'll wait

Delhi's red light district. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] The Delhi Walla has just finished writing a non-fiction book on GB Road, the city's red light district. The hardbound edition of Nobody Can Love You More will be published by Penguin India in November 2012. After spending four years in the area, I have concluded that despite the extraordinary nature of their profession, the women of GB Road are people like us. By following the daily life of the denizens of one kotha (brothel), I have attempted to paint an intimate portrait of women for whom sex is work -- a way to make a living. With precise details and black & white photos, I have presented the everyday world of those

Killing the girl child. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] According to the 2011 census, Delhi's sex ratio of children up to six years of age has dropped to 866 girls per 1,000 boys from 868 girls in 2001. The child sex ratio of Delhi is much below the national average of 914. In early 2012, Delhi’s chief minister Sheila Dikshit was reported saying, “In 2008, Delhi had 1,004 females against 1,000 males. But, 2010 witnessed a drop. Despite a ban, some nursing homes continue to conduct prenatal sex determination tests.” The Delhi Walla searches for the girl child. Some little girls have been allowed to live 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17.

The Indian reality. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] This man. Barefoot. The Delhi Walla spotted him one late morning in Scindia House, Connaught Place. He was sleeping in the corridor. His mouth was half-open. The man’s makeshift pillow consisted of a giant plastic sack filled with - I presume - waste materials like discarded shopping bags and empty cardboard boxes. (Perhaps he was a rag collector). His legs were clumsily bandaged with handkerchiefs. His shirt was torn. His right armpit was exposed. An animal (was it a lamb?) was tattooed on his arm. A peepal leaf had fallen beside his feet. The man was lying close to another India. A Toyata was parked a few inches away from him. A publicity hoarding

Portraits of Delhiwallas. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Photographing a person's face is like stealing his or her life - a moment of it. Walking through the city, The Delhi Walla makes face portraits daily. These are long journeys, for each face is a different world. One face, one world

A quintessential Delhi sight. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Aak thoo. This, too, is art. It is always the men who spit their saliva in the streets of Delhi. The spit-forms are enchanting to look at. Some shine like a white pearl. Some resemble enormous silver-coloured worms. Some are translucent. Some seem so delicate as if Moonlight Sonata has just crossed our path. The Delhi Walla presents photographic evidence. Spitting for art's sake

The city softened. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] When the sun is going down, you must leave the company of other people to be with yourself. Go and stand under the Barakhamba traffic light in Connaught Place. Look towards N-Block. The sky is streaked with shades of orange. The white corridors and balconies of the Middle Lane are merging with the gathering blackness. The pedestrians standing around you, waiting for the light to turn green so that they can cross the road, are losing their three-dimensional solidity and turning to papery shadows. The buses and cars are moving in a slow motion. You feel like being inside a surreal art-house movie. Or, go to Humayun’s Tomb and watch the sunset standing

Our fundamental right. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] In February 2012, the Supreme Court of India declared that a citizen has a right to sound sleep because it is fundamental to life and falls within the purview of Article 21 of the Indian constitution. "Sleep is essential for a human being to maintain the delicate balance of health necessary... Sleep is, therefore, a fundamental and basic requirement... ” the court said. The Delhi Walla did not need a Supreme Court order to appreciate this human right and has been recording images of Delhiwallas sleeping in their bedrooms, in their offices and in the city's streets. Here's the evidence. Don't wake him Shh, Mummy is sleeping Sleeping beauty No honking please Wet dreams His majesty's siesta Delhi dreams You

Life of street vendors. [Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi] Everyday in the summer, sugar cane juice sellers Harsh and Ishwar can be seen walking through the back-lanes of Shahjahanabad. The Delhi Walla met them behind the building of now-defunct Jagat cinema, close to Jama Masjid. Harsh was carrying peeled sugar canes on his shoulder; Ishwar had a makeshift juice machine. Unlike other vendors who scream out of their lungs while passing through streets, Ishwar and Harsh do their business quietly. When stopped, they lower down the machine on the ground and crush a cane to extract its juice. Their customers are usually children. “We bought the machine from Agra for Rs 1,500 Rs,” Ishwar says. Migrants from eastern Uttar Pradesh,