Capital Regret - A Booklover's Library on the Road

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Late film critic Amita Malik's books sold to a ragpicker.

[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Have you ever wondered what is the fate of the personal library of a bibliophile who has lived and died alone? It finds its way into second-hand bookstores.

One Sunday afternoon while browsing in Daryaganj's Sunday book bazaar, I came across a row of old hardbounds, all well kept. There were works by authors ranging from Agatha Christie to Charles Dickens to Katherine Mansfield, including many books on cinema. The bookseller, Mr Muhammad Javed, told me that these volumes had come from the house of Ms Amita Malik.

Ms Malik's name had lately appeared in newspapers. A film critic and radio journalist remembered for bringing world cinema to the notice of Indians, she had died in February, 2009, in South Delhi’s Kailash Hospital, aged 87. Ms Malik was suffering from leukemia. According to Mr Javed, the venerable film critic had no children and her relatives and domestic staff, having no seemingly better option at hand, did away with her collection of around 2,000 books by selling them to a rag-picker. That man sold them to Mr Javed for Rs 15,000. A steal, really, as the collection had rare Marcel Prousts.

The Assam-born Ms Malik had been living in Delhi since 1946. With years she had become an institution and until she was admitted to hospital, I'm told, she would regularly go to India International Center in the evenings. Though I never spotted her in Khan Market’s bookstores, I’m certain that she must have been a frequent visitor there.

On her death, Delhi-based Outlook magazine said:

"Amita Malik's sad and almost-solitary death was preceded by a few years in a state of homelessness, under roofs not her own and gradually forgotten by those who once feared her, toasted her, loved her, even hated her."

Now, after her death, her books also have gone homeless. Mr Javed says that he has more of Ms Malik's books at his godown in Jamia Nagar. He plans to bring them in bunches to his Sunday stall in Daryaganj. As I was leaving, I could not resist buying James Joyce's Dubliners. A green-coloured hardbound, it was a bargain at Rs 20. On the opening page was this inscription:
With love. For Amita. 1.5.’45.

These books belong to Ms Malik

City Talk – Sadia Dehlvi, Author of Sufism, The Heart of Islam

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The first copy of her first book has reached her home.

[Interview and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

On the evening of April 23rd, 2009, author Sadia Dehlvi was beaming like a happy child in her Nizamuddin East drawing room. Finally, she had her first book, Sufism, The Heart of Islam, clasped tightly in her hands. Earlier in the day, Harper Collins India, Ms Dehlvi's publisher, had sent her a copy of the book hot off the press. Notwithstanding her excitement, The Delhi Walla pestered her for an interview over a cup of green tea.

Congrats Ms Dehlvi, how many years it took you to finish this book?

Mayank, I can't tell you how happy I am. Although I have contributed essays on Delhi's cuisine, people, lifestyle etc. for a few anthologies, this is the first book I have authored. I wrote it all here – in my drawing room, on this sofa, on this Mac. I would write till late in the night. The book had become an obsession and I did nothing else during the course of writing it: no parties, no films, no lazy lunches, no other fun stuff.

I fear I neglected my family and friends, specially my son Arman Ali. I mean he's the happiest person to see the book complete. You know he got tired of me not responding to him. Four years ago, he asked me that when would I finish the book so he could have a real conversation with me. Obviously, we haven't stopped talking since the book went to the press...

Who inspired you to write the book?

My mom, who not only inspired me but helped me with the content. Ammi has been my guide on the Sufi path and for years I have heard her talk about what I finally wrote in the book. It's when I did the research and poured over every little detail that all the terms, stories and Sufi teachings began to make sense. Ammi also helped me translate from Urdu manuscripts and literally checked every sentence in the book. Besides, she has been praying for me, and for the success of this book. However, she has told me not to expect anything worldly from it. She says that this book is my one good act in life which might just redeem me on qayamat (Judgement Day).

Besides, I've been busy going with her to have the book blessed at the dargahs of Khwaja Qutub, Shah Farhad and Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. I would now like to go to Madinah with the book and offer it to my beloved Prophet.

Does any Delhi sufi saints feature in the book?

Of course. Many, many of them. Among the prominent Chishtis there is Khwaja Qutub Bakhtiar Kaki, Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, Amir Khushrau, Naseeruddin Chiragh Dilli, Shah Farhad, Bibi Fatiima Sam, Mai Sahiba and Shyakh Kaleemullah. From the Qadri, Naqshbandi and Suharwardi orders there are Shaykh Samiuddin Suharwardi, Jamali, Abdul Haq Mohaddith Dehlvi, Jehanara, Khwaja Baaqi Billa, Khwaja Mir Dard, Mirza Jaane Janan and some others.

But Ms Dehlvi, have you ever wondered why women are not allowed inside the main shrine of Nizamuddin?

This is a decision made by the caretakers of that particular dargah. In some dargahs they allow women while in others they aren’t allowed. There is nothing religious about the decision and is largely due to customs followed by the caretakers. In Ajmer Sharif, the most important dargah of the subcontinent, there is no restriction on women going inside the dargah of Khwaja Gharib Nawaz. Maybe that's why Ajmer is so special. I go there a few times each year. You see, Ajmer wohi jaate hain jinhe Khwaja bulaate hain!

Since you're a fellow dargah-junky, let me ask you how many dargahs you visit each week?

I never miss a Thursday haziri at Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, and usually go for the dua e roshni which is held daily before the sunset prayers. Then I stay on for the prayers and for the qawaali that follows. I go on other days as well. Luckily, I live in the neighborhood so it's just a hop across. Usually on Sunday mornings, I visit the dargah of Shah Farhad near the Pratap Chowk metro station. That, too, is a very special dargah. My grandfather used to visit it regularly. He commissioned the roof that you see over it. Despite being next to the main road, it's very peaceful there.

Then once in two weeks I go to Mehrauli to the dargah of Khwaja Bakhtiar Kaki and on the way back, I also stop at the dargah of Mai Sahiba, the mother of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. Other dargahs that I frequently visit are that of Bibi Fatima Sam and Hazrat Naseeruddin Chiragh Dilli. I have been initiated into the Chishti Sufi order and therefore feel a strong bond with the Chishti Sufis. We believe that the Chishti Masters are God's friends... "Allah Mohammad chaar yaar, Haji, Khwaja, Qutub Farid... Haq Farid Ya Farid."

With the Muslims getting bad press worldwide, how do you cope as a devout Muslim?

Well, that's what started the book. On one hand you have the radical Islamic voices and on the other hand you have the growing communal divide. I think the majority of us are moderates and we feel somewhat cornered. I myself experienced a crisis of faith that led me to explore the rightful traditions of Islam. But yes, Mayank, the growing extremist voices in Muslim communities are extremely disturbing and there is an urgent need to reflect within. My faith gives me a lot of strength and hope for Islam is not a religion of despair. Allah tells us to be patient in times of crisis. Have faith and the truth will prevail.

On a lighter note, we often laugh away the stereotypes with our very own brand of Muslim humour. We tell friends we are not going to blow them up!

[We laugh]

According to your book's title, sufism is the heart of Islam. What is the heart of Delhi?

For me, it has to be the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. It symbolizes the Indian traditions of love, tolerance, equality and brotherhood. People from different backgrounds and faiths all gather here to seek the Saint's blessings, as they have been doing for the last seven hundred years.

In this dargah, people are fed, clothed and are given a roof over their heads. This darbar is the soul of Delhi. I wish the civic authorities would work to clean up the area and that the dargah's dome, at least, must be made visible from the main road. This shrine is not a monument but a living legacy that represents the essence of Hindustan.

As a Delhiite, what do you like about the non-Muslim Delhi?

I love everything about my city... its chaos, the trees, parks, the museums, people, everything. But I don't respond well to the new high-rises, pollution and malls. I'm especially fond of Lutyens’ Delhi, Connaught Place, India Gate, Lodhi Garden, Sujan Singh Park, Khan Market, India International Centre, Chandni Chowk, and... Mayank, are you getting tired of jotting down these names on your notepad? You see my list will not stop. I can never leave Delhi for long. I love it too much and want to be here all the time. Come to think of it, I rarely move out of my house. I could stay in for days at a stretch... the only daily outing I would seek is an evening stroll in the park outside.

I've had dinner at your house. You are superb in Delhi's Muslim cooking.

Thanks, Mayank. Delhi's Muslim food is the best cuisine in the world... at least that's what I think. And well, you won't find a better cook than me when it comes to dilli ka khana. I love the winter dishes like nihari, shabdegh, qormas, haleem etc. You know what we Muslims are like? We love our mutton. Once my niece and me were in Jaipur and by the third day we got so fed up of eating Rajasthani vegetarian food that we looked for a Muslim colony. We finally found one and while chewing meat at a small roadside eatery, my niece said, "Thank God, we are Muslims!"

[We laugh again]

... no really. In summer, however, one doesn't eat much mutton. My son is a strict non-veg and so I have to cook keema for him all the time. Personally, I like cooking more than eating and am happiest cooking for friends. I've recently learned Italian. You must try my pasta one of these days.

When you want some quiet, some introspection, where do you go in Delhi?

In winter months, I love curling up with a book in my drawing-room sofa. Or I walk around at the garden in Humayun's tomb. The dargah of Bibi Fatima Sam is also a nice place to sit quietly and meditate. But frankly, it has taken me four years to write this book and I had no time to do anything but write and re-write the manuscript. Now I'm looking forward to going up to the mountains for a few days, maybe to Kashmir where I can read, listen to music, introspect and chill.

What next?

Another book. I'm thinking of penning my experiences in Delhi. About people, places, events...

Wow... will it have the society gossip?
Can't reveal, Mayank. You'll have to wait.

Ms Dehlvi with son Arman and Mac

City Guide – Time Out Tibet

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Experiencing Tibet in Delhi.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

The year 2009 marks the 50th anniversary of arrival of Tibetans to seek refuge in India. While Delhi gave a new home to them, The Delhi Walla finds out what Tibetans gave in return.

Majnu ka Teela

A Tibetan refugee camp since the 1960s, Majnu ka Tila, aka MT, is Delhi's Little Lhasa. Once you are in its lanes, you would cease being in Delhi. Here, wrinkled momolas (grannies) kill time sitting on pavement benches. Chummy uncles drink butter tea and CD shacks play Tibetan pop stars like Phurbu T Namgyal. Rosy-cheeked boys, fresh from Lhasa, smoke Marlboros at street corners.

Dolma House, Majnu ka Teela

Once in MT, do dine at Dolma House. One of the oldest establishments here, the momos of this eatery are worth living for. Even if you are a die-hard butter-chicken fan, don't fail to ask for the veg steamed momos (Rs 35), although they take their own sweet time to come since the lady says that momos are cooked only once the order is taken. You'll get other usual suspects like thukpas and noodles, too.

Ever tried thenthuk? It's a noodle soup served as dinner in Tibet. They have it here. You may also like Tibetan sausage (Rs 55). By the way, The Delhi Walla swears by Dolma House's strawberry lassi (Rs 20).

Besides the food, Dolma House has character. The afternoon I was there, the table next to me was taken over by truly ethnic Tibetans. The men had weather-beaten sun-tanned face, thanks to the high-atitude sun of their native land; and their wrinkled women had ears stretched super-long to enhance their beauty. It was like being in a Tibetan village. But yaks were missing.

Otherwise Dolma House is usually crowded with jeans-wearing Tibetans who make slurping noise while swallowing noodles from their bowls. Ask for chopsticks if you want to eat their way. I'll say that the best tables are in the partition on the right side of the entrance. There, sitting by the glass wall, you would also got to watch the street life outside.

And yes, don’t look puzzled if the Indian waiter hands you a notebook and a pen along with the menu. In most eateries in MT, the guests are expected to jot down what they want on a piece of paper. I understand that it avoids confusion that could result out of mispronouncing the names of these unpronounceable Tibetan dishes.

Dolma House also has rooms to stay, but it seems Tibetans and firangis are more likely to get admission.
Where House No. 1, block number 10 Time 8.30 am to
10 pm Ph 238-11-4117

The Coffee Shop, Majnu ka Teela

Opened in 2008, it is one of the hippest places in MT. Plush and sleek, it is situated in a basement. Here you find modernity mixing seamlessly with Tibetology — saffron-robed lamas (including the gora monks) tap on laptops even as MT's young-and-cool crowd keeps up with the latest gossip. Coffee is as interesting as you find in any big retail chain; the brownies (Rs 35 each) are good, the fruit cake nice and crumbly. The doughnuts at Rs 10 each are the most popular selling item here. All the baked goods, by the way, are homemade.
Where 39th block, New Camp Time 9 am to 10 pm Ph 2381-1829

The Monastery, Majnu ka Teela

Situated in the pebbled square at MT, come here in the evening, around 6 pm or in the morning around 9 am, when the monks start their chanting. You may finally find your nirvana. The room inside is lit with lamps and the closed air smells of butter. The Buddhist chants, if you are spiritually inclined, will make you quiet and introspective. However, the lamas here are very nice people and they don’t mind if you are one of those horrible tourists who would shamelessly snap pictures not caring for the sanctity of the place. While leaving, don't forget to take a look at the large prayer wheel just outside the entrance.

Buddha Park, West Delhi

Built to commemorate the 2500th year of Lord Buddha's attainment of nirvana, this park was dedicated to the 14th Dalai Lama in 1993. While you would find lovers busy doing their thing behind the bushes, the large statue of the Buddha may make you long for a visit to the real Tibet. If that's too far, go to the Indraprastha Millennium Park, next to Sarai Kale Khan ISBT. The 30m high Vishwa Shanti Stupa was unveiled by the Dalai Lama in 2007.
Where Near Dhaula Kuan

Tibetan Market, Janpath

This is the place for junk shoppers who want to deck up their drawing room with the mystic mood of Potala Palace. Almost 40 years old, this market has all the touristy Tibetan trinkets you can dream of — from necklaces to prayer bells to masks to little Buddhas. The Tibetan Market was spruced up in 2007 by Delhi's Municipal Corporation and perhaps that's why it looks a bit drab.

Tibet House, Lodhi Road

Tucked away in a leafy zone, this five-storey complex has a museum of Tibetan art and artefacts, and a library (no membership required) with over 5,000 manuscripts and books. A must-visit for any serious Tibetologist.

Where 1, Institutional Area, Lodhi Road Time 10 am to 5.30 pm (1-2 pm lunch). Closed on weekends.

MT's street life



The Coffee Shop, MT



At a bookshop in MT



Necklaces on sale in MT



Dolma House, MT



This will fit, in MT



She's a beauty, MT



Evening out at Janpath



Tibet spotting in Khan Market



Lama company



The cause remains

Capital Asset – Arundhati Roy Sighting

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At The Book Shop, Jorbagh Market.

[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

One afternoon, The Delhi Walla sighted his most beloved Delhiite – author Arundhati Roy. She was browsing at The Book Shop, Jorbagh.

Ms Roy was looking as she always looks – interesting. Her gaze was kind. A mischievous smile was playing on her thin lips. But her eyes were searching for something elusive. It was not the bookshelves for sure.

From such close proximity, Ms Roy did not seem very tall and yet her presence was towering.

However, she was carrying no book. No tiny diamond was gleaming in her nostril. Her arms were folded and there was a bag slung on her left shoulder. Two necklaces were grazing her absurdly beautiful collarbones. A floral-print skirt (or was it a pair of trouser?) was billowing around what must be her slender legs.

Ms Roy's hair was still wild as they used to be when her novel The God of Small Things was first published in 1997. But now, when she is rumored to be working on a new novel, they were a little grey. Her eyes had also sunk a bit. The region around them was darker than the rest of her dark skin. Ms Roy had never looked so beautiful in book jackets and magazine covers.

She kept on walking straight; her gait suggesting that she had a nice athletic run. After what seemed to be a lifetime, she came very close to The Delhi Walla. Then Ms Roy looked at him, looked away and went out. Like a jazz tune.

Maximum City - A Young Kashmiri in Town

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Being Indian in the Indian Capital.

[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

On August, 2009, Ahmed Dev, 21, will move to Delhi from his ancestral home at Lal Chowk in Srinagar, Kashmir. This soft-spoken, English-speaking, hip-hop playing young man will be pursuing a pilot training course in an institute in Gurgaon. But Mr Dev is hardly in love with Delhi.

"People in this city are selfish, they don't know how to drive and the air is really polluted," he told me while we were taking a walk one late night in Nizamuddin Basti. Mr Dev is staying at a budget hotel in this Muslim-dominated neighbourhood. He claims that back home in Srinagar he re-mixes Kashmiri folk songs with techno music. No fan of Bollywood songs, Mr Dev "respects AR Rahman for his original compositions."

However, like a few other young Kashmiris I have met in Delhi, Mr Dev is not an admirer of India though he does consider himself an Indian. "I eat the food of this place, after all, and I also like India's secularism where Hindus live next to Muslims, Sikhs and Christians," he says. But Mr Dev understands that why his people are unhappy with India. "I'm not saying that all Indians are bad but your army there sometimes kill innocent people and we can't even go to the court," he rues. "Kashmir is a heaven which is burning like hell and you people are responsible."

This is Mr Dev's third visit to Delhi and during an earlier stay here he came across a person who dismissed Kashmiris as uneducated, poor, filthy shepherds. The remark left a deep impact and so much that Mr Dev's decision to come to Delhi and train to be a pilot here is partly motivated out of the anger that that comment generated. "I want to prove that we Kashmiris can sit with the most respected people, drive the most expensive cars and study in the most respected institutes," he said.

While Mr Dev continued to be soft-spoken, his discomfort with India became clearer as he grew franker with me. "Yes, we want Azaadi," he said at one point.

If he has such decided feelings towards this country, why come all the way to Delhi to become a pilot? "But we have no pilot training school back home," Mr Dev shot back, "Majboori mein gadhe ko bhi baap banana padta hai. (If you have no choice, you have to make donkey your dad)."

When Mr Dev will move permanently to Delhi in August, he will be taking a flat somewhere in DLF, Gurgaon. While returning to his hotel room, Mr Dev added, "I'll get educated fully, will do a job in India, earn handsome money and finally I'll tell you Indians that look, we Kashmiris are capable of all that is good."

The Delhi Walla wishes him good luck.

Capital Life – Making Love in Autos

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Couples say it's safer.

[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

In this city, where coochi-cooing between young unmarried couples goes on discreetly in public gardens, autos are often considered a safer substitute. There is more privacy and less risk involved.

"No one is watching you from the bushes or clicking your pictures on his mobile phone," says Ms Sarita Kumar, a nurse in a South Delhi hospital. Each evening on her off days she and her boyfriend rent an auto for an hour and ask the bhayya to go round and round India Gate. Their joy rides always end with ice creams.

"It's great for those who are desperate for space and desperate to off-load the heat of the moment," says Mr Neeraj Kumar, a software professional in his early 20s. "It also suits my girlfriend." Mr Kumar's friend is off parks since November, 2008, when they were spotted by an 'uncle' in Nehru Park. Autos, they soon discovered, keep away the prying eyes. No one watches them there except perhaps the auto walla bhayya.

The auto wallas have a different take. "Our attention gets diverted and there is higher risk of accident," says auto driver Mr Ram Pratap. Sometimes he ends up fighting with couples. "The moment these couple-log take their place, they start doing ayyashi. They smoke, drink, kiss and sometimes cross all limits," he says. "They think we auto-wallas are blind and can't see anything."

Mr Rohit Arora, another auto driver, says that, according to his experience, most 'incidents' occur in posh areas of South Delhi like Vasant Kunj, as well as in Central Delhi. "It starts around 8 pm and is mostly centered in places like India Gate, Connaught Place, and Ring Road."

But hotelier Mr Anuj Jaiswal's memorable ride took place on a different route: on the stretch between Red Fort and Greater Kailash-I. "We were having moongphalis. I would crack open the shell, pop the nuts into my lover's mouth and he would do the same. We also kissed frequently," he says.

However, not all couples find autos a good place for coupling. "It's open and there's a driver," says Ms Radhika Iyer, a student in Delhi University. "Autos are just not appropriate. I like cars."

City Landmark – Khushwant Singh, Sujan Singh Park

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Delhi's celebrated author in his winter years.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

One night, during the first half of April, 2009, Delhi's legendary author Khushwant Singh, said to be 95-year-old, fell off from his bed while sleeping at his home in Sujan Singh Park, a graceful if crumbly apartment complex very close to Khan Market.

It was pitch dark; Mr Singh stumbled around but could not get up. He then called for his son Rahul who was unable to pick him. A security guard was later summoned from outside and only then was the author of such classics like Train to Pakistan and A History of the Sikhs was brought back to his bed. Luckily, there were no injuries.

"I'm very worried," said Mr Singh when I met him a few days later. "At my age, the fall could have been fatal.” Sitting on his usual fireside sofa, in white pajamas, red-pullover and a cap, he was sipping scotch.

Mr Singh's living room remains a coveted tourist spot for all those Indians and visiting foreigners who fancy themselves as writers, poets, intellectuals and leaders. But no one, no matter even if it is the Prime Minister's wife, is permitted inside without an appointment.

No surprises, of course. The author who titled his autobiography Not a Nice Man to Know is famous for being a schedule stickler. He gets up daily at 4 am. Earlier he would take a walk or play badminton but now due to advanced age, he spends all his day hours reading, writing.

Even though he is in his 90s, Mr Singh writes two weekly newspaper columns that continue to enjoy a wide readership. Besides, he makes it a point to reply to every letter he receives from his admirers and critics. In the evening, he entertains his privileged visitors with whiskey, canapés and gossip.

While Mr Singh is a polite person, he can also be blunt without the guest being aware of it. One evening a 70-year-old lady admirer had come from Calcutta for a darshan. Overwhelmed by so many books, she asked Mr Singh if she could take a few of them. Unfortunately, Mr Singh is one of those people who can never say 'no'. The Calcutta lady happily picked as many books as she could from the shelves, including the autographed copy of British Prime Minister Gordon Brown's Courage: Eight Portraits. When the lady was leaving, Mr Singh shook her hands and said, "It's the first and hopefully last time I'm seeing you."

No doubt Mr Singh has a sense of humor – check out his multi-volume joke books - but now he has started looking sad. Surrounded by books, an aged cook and a daughter whose home is opposite his apartment, Mr Singh has a rather solitary existence. He may be the living landmark of Delhi but all this fame has not spared him from that peculiar loneliness that falls on anyone who manages to reach his kind of advanced years. In his conversations, Mr Singh often rues that all his friends have passed away. The man has outlived his close relatives. His wife, Kaval Malik, died in 2002. His son-in-law died four years later. However, Mr Singh loves his scotch too much to leave too soon. He has got his bed dragged against the bookshelves to pre-empt any fall. The Delhi Walla wishes him good health and happiness.

I'm listening



Scotch and the company of women



One more peg



Family portraits



Quite alone



The young Khushwant



The old Khushwant

Capital Bitching – The Delhi Walla is a Slimy Guy

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Overheard in a bullet train in Korea.

[Text by Namya Sinha; picture by Unknown; the author can be seen with 'Lady M' whose face has been pixilated to protect her identity]

Didn't knew that The Delhi Walla, my colleague at work, would not leave me even when I was far away from Delhi - in South Korea. We were a group of four Delhi-based journalists who were invited by the Korean government to promote their tourist destinations in India. So, there was this reclusive freelancer, a photojournalist and then there was another journalist... let us call her Lady M. Oh yes, she is very ladylike, speaks with a convent-school accent, cannot eat anything jhoota and is all prim and propah. She writes for one of India's leading travel magazines.

So Lady M was sitting on the seat behind me. The KTX bullet train was to take us from the South Korean capital Seoul to the port city of Busan, down south. We were to cover 200 miles in three hours. The photojournalist sat next to me; the reclusive freelancer with Lady M.

As soon as our train left the Seoul suburbs and entered the fields, the photojournalist asked me about... Mayank Austen Soofi. "His blog is probably the only one that gets maximum ads," he remarked. Before I could say anything, Lady M screamed from behind, "Mayank! That shady blogger? His blog is shady and I tell you he too is shady."

"What", I exclaimed.

There were a few moments of shocked silence as the train speeded upto 350 kilometers per hour. So did Lady M's bitching about our blogger. Since Soofi is a friend, I tried to ignore Lady M, tried to focus on my Mills & Boon of the day - The Sheikh's Virgin.

Alas, there was no stopping Lady M. "Mayank's so fake. You know he put my picture on his shady blog and later in a newspaper! I just gave it off to him and asked him to remove it. But this guy wouldn't listen. He's weird."

Even as the Sheikh's virgin was about to lose her virginity, Lady M continued her diatribe. The kind photojournalist, who was Lady M's colleague, did put in his words for The Delhi Walla, though. "Mayank is not that bad, his blog is very popular."

But who could stop Lady M whose bitching was running faster than the bullet train. "You don't know him so you better shut up," she snapped at her colleague before turning to me. "Namya, tell me, has Mayank got a ghostwriter? I have worked with that guy and he couldn't frame even one sentence properly. I don't know why is his shady blog so popular."

Plop. The Sheikh's virgin lost her virginity but this exclusive peek into the vicious side of The Delhi Walla was juicier. "This slimy guy did the same thing to my friends," said Lady M. "Those poor girls were once shopping at Khan Market where Mayank took their photographs and then he captioned those images as high society babes or something."

The reclusive freelancer finally opened her mouth, "How come I have never seen his blog? Lady M immediately interrupted, "Namya, tell me what is Mayank's e-mail?"

"It's mayankaustensoofi@gmail.com," I said innocently. "Austen Soofi?", Lady M got new fodder. "Is that a name?" she asked the freelancer. The train was running really fast, everything was a blur outside the window but Lady M's voice was loud and clear. "Mayank is a weirdo. He loves Jane Austen, likes sufi music and so he has made this funny title for himself." Lady M was now poking fun at the poor Soofi's name. "One day he called me to ask if he should add Roy too in his name since he's so in love with Arundhati Roy," she laughed. "Ha ha ha, I just cannot stand this man."

Ouch.

Capital Manners – Shoe Throwing Gets an OK

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Delhi becoming less courteous.

[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

No longer can Delhi's cobblers ply their trade with a clean conscience. With Lajpat Nagar-based journalist Jarnail Singh doing an al-Zaidi on India's home minister during a press conference in the city on April 7th, 2009, not just the soul of Mr Singh's profession but the way we Delhiwallas protest has acquired a new sole.

Quite a few Delhiites I talked to have raised sole-stirring questions. "Why throw a joota?" asks Mr Sumantha Roy, a 26-year-old IT professional in Noida. "In these times of pink slips, throwing pink panties would have been a bigger and classier insult."

In the recent past, Delhiites haven't thrown just shoes, but also saliva on public figures they don't like. On November 6th, 2008, all hell broke loose in Delhi University when a young man spat on the face of Professor SAR Geelani, a lecturer at Zakir Hussain College. Mr Geelani was attending a seminar while the spitter was part of the troupe led by Delhi University Student Union (DUSU) president Nupur Sharma, who was protesting against Mr Geelani's presence. (Mr Geelani was an accused in the terrorist attack on Parliament, since acquitted.)

On February 13th, 2009, when author Arundhati Roy visited the Delhi University campus, she was greeted with a slipper thrown by student group Youth Unity for Vibrant Action (YUVA). The slipper was auctioned for Rs 101, 000 at Jantar Mantar five days later.

What is this city coming to?

CR Park-based author Samit Basu sees no problem with this jootebaaji. "I'm okay with any sort of protest as long as it's short of actual violence," he says. "Besides, shoe-throwing makes for good television."

But shoe-throwing doesn't merely mean being discourteous. You might not get the shoe back. Model Manasvi Mamgai, who has around 60 pair in her Saket apartment, would never part with her footwear even if she faced the most hateful public person on earth. "It's not about disrespect," she says. "It's just that I like my shoes."

This materialistic stand is shared by Amar Colony resident Sonam Tsomo, who lords over at least 50 pairs of sandals. "I'll never throw shoes at anyone... I love my shoes," says Ms Tsomo. "I'd rather hurl stones, though I don't have very good aim."

"These new forms of protests are an expression of anger without language," says Mr Dipankar Gupta, sociology professor in Jawaharlal Nehru University. "These are acts of frustration and many people feel resentment due to various reasons."

Even if we put aside the morality of shoe–throwing, can tossing accessories at public figures change the world into a planet of your dreams?

"Throwing a shoe is much more effective than lighting candles at India Gate, couriering tons of pink chaddis, or sloganeering at the Boat Club," says Ms Anuja Chauhan, author of The Zoya Factor. "But I wish people would practise first, so that the shoe actually makes contact with its target."

Not when the target is Arundhati Roy, for sure.

Mumbai Diary – Why Delhi is Better than Bombay

The Delhi walla's pretension in writing makes me want to lodge a bullet in his balls - Blogger Nimpipi, the woodchuck chucks
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The great city has grown less great.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

The Delhi Walla went to Bombay and felt like a villager. In this city, the traffic moves faster, the local trains chug faster, the people walk faster. The skyscrapers, too, are taller.

While Delhi's Rajpath is a hush-hush stretch of trimmed grass, pruned trees, police barricades, Marine Drive with its reclaimed land, high-rises, rush hour traffic is a testament to the materialistic world's enterprise.

In Bombay, I went to the old wing of the Taj hotel, the site of the 2008 terror attack, and brushed shoulders with film stars' wives. In Jehangir Art Gallery, I had butter chicken in its legendary Café Samovar, the lunch adda of M F Hussain. In the cobbled Catholic quarters of Bandra West, I eavesdropped on Mendelessohn's Hebrides Overture, not AR Rahman's Jai Ho, coming out from the bungalow windows. I also took a car-ride on Marine Drive where autos are not allowed.

It was while breathing in Nariman Point's salty, wet air that I wished to be a Bombayite. Grown tired of tombs, kings, Sufis of Delhi, I wanted to get on a high in Bom Bayya new-world energy.

Later that afternoon I stepped inside Rhythm House, the landmark music store in South Bombay, said to be South Asia's finest. It was solid, intensive, impressive as old institutions usually are. However, when I enquired about the CDs of Pakistani qawwal Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the shop assistant said, "We've stopped keeping Pakistanis.” After the terror attack in December, 2009, the city, the shop assistant said, has grown wary of Pakistanis.

Surprised, I next went to Haji Ali where I looked down at fishermen's boats on the Arabian Sea and mourned the shrinking of Bombay's costal cosmopolitanism. Rhythm House had played a vital role in bringing the music of Pakistanis like Ghulam Ali Khan and Mehdi Hasan to Indians. Once it was the only place in India to stock LPs of their ghazals.

But a friend advised me not to be judgmental. He said that Nusrat could be found in the city's other stores. That Rhythm House was forced to remove Pakistani musicians because it was attacked by Shiv Sena, the Bombay-based political party that uses violence. The friend said that things haven't yet grown that ugly in the whole city.

That may be but it is also true that Bombay is fast rolling into Mumbai. Victoria Terminus has already been renamed after Chhatrapati Shivaji. Soon the last of the frock-wearing, umbrella-carrying Christian ladies of Bandra will die and be buried under the city's soil. The elegant stone buildings of Kala Ghoda, too, will lose their cultural influence and become just a bunch of soulless monuments. The leftover Parsis of Dadar's Parsi Colony are anyway destined to disappear. Once Colaba's Leopold Café is renamed Lata Mangeshkar Café, Bombay will be history.

So Mumbai, while you gloat over your Amitabh Bachchan, Shah Rukh Khan, Sachin Tendulkar, Mukesh Ambani, Chowpatty, Bhel Puri, Taj Mahal Hotel, I'm flying back to my village Delhi. There they don't ban Pakistani artists. There they let autos drive everywhere, right upto the Presidential Palace.

Hello Bombay



Bandra Bikers



Art crowd at Jehangir Art Gallery



Outside Jehangir Art Gallery



At Samovar



No Nusrat at the Rhythm House



Waiting for the bus, Bandra



In the bus, Mahim



Tourists outside the Taj Mahal Hotel



The Gateway of India from inside the Taj



Inside the Taj



Inside the Taj



Inside the Taj



Outside the Taj



The Other Bombay-wallas



Dreams of his father



Once was Bombay

Capital Heritage - Baoli, Nizamuddin Basti

The Delhi walla's pretension in writing makes me want to lodge a bullet in his balls - Blogger Nimpipi, the woodchuck chucks
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A 700-year-old monument gets its first full makeover.

[Text and picture by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Add one more attraction in the historic Nizamuddin Basti, apart from its dargah and the famed Thursday qawwali sessions. The ancient baoli, or step-well, built by the sufi saint Hazrat Nizamuddin more than 700 years ago, has finally been spruced up after what seems a lifetime of its treatment both as a sacred place and as a dumping yard.

"At 4 pm on Sunday, March 15, 2009, we removed the last of the malwa and reached the well's wooden floor," says Mr Ratish Nanda, the project director of Aga Khan Trust for Culture, an international philanthropic organisation that has fixed up heritage places as diverse as Delhi's Humayun's Tomb and Cairo's Al Azhar Park.

While Delhi has baolis scattered in places as far apart as KG Marg and Mehrauli, the one in Nizamuddin Basti is the only one to still have an active underground spring. Thanks to the sufi connection, its water is considered blessed. Even though some of the beggars living around the dargah dropped their excreta-filled polybags into its water, pilgrims still flocked for a sip.

However, after seven months of hard work in which tons of stone debris, decomposed filth, plastic and toxic water was removed manually by 70 labourers, besides relaying the sewer lines, the baoli's sacred water has become safe, too.

"It's the first time in 700 years that the kuan has been cleaned," says Mr Farid Ahmad Nizami, a peerzada in the dargah. Attempts had earlier been made to restore the baoli, but no one could reach to the foundation. Most would stop where the stairs end and the well starts.

Mr Nanda, who earlier restored Mughal emperor Babur's tomb in Kabul, had his team take over the baoli in partnership with Archaelogical Survey of India in August, 2008, when the eastern part of the stone wall collapsed due to a leaking toilet in the adjoining house. Things then looked so dismal that a visiting structural engineer from UK said, "Too risky, close the baoli."

But the step-well is dear to millions of Hazrat Nizamuddin's followers and holds a special place in Delhi's architectural landscape, too. Its walls are made of huge blocks of Delhi quartzite, the city's only local stone, which is also seen in the Tughlaqabad fort. In fact, during the restoration, each of the 550 stones was X-rayed from five different points to spot any voids behind the wall.

"It was disturbing to see people drinking from here but now I will also come and have my share of the blessed water," says Ms Sadia Dehlvi, author of Sufism, The Heart of Islam, and resident of Nizamuddin East.

Indeed, once the work is finished, the baoli may again become what it was intended for: a meeting point for Hazrat Nizamuddin's followers, a sort of Banaras ka ghanga ghat – sufi style!

City Landmark - Timeless Art Book Studio, Kotla Mubarakpur

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Delhi's best coffee-table bookshop gets a second life.

[Text and pictures by Mayank Austen Soofi]

While the world is reeling under the global economic meltdown, a new bookshop in Kotla Mubarakpur village is hoping that slump-hit Delhiwallas will come to buy some of the most expensive coffee table books collected under one roof in this city.

Strictly speaking, Timeless Art Book Studio is not new. Until a few years ago, the bookstore was in the same neighbourhood but closer to ring road. Then art book lovers would brave the South Extension chaos and pollution to buy thick volumes priced in four digits. However, due to the sealing drive, the bookstore was shut down on June 12th, 2007, and Timeless's time ended.

In March, 2009, Mr Raavi Sabharwal, its 63-year-old owner, revived the book studio. A two-minute walk from the earlier site, the studio has the same luxurious feel, but the look is grander.

Spread across 1,600 sq. ft, this is a rich, rich world of Italian marbles, teak and a louvered French window. The most expensive book here, The Godfather Family Album, costs Rs 40,000.

But this is not just any coffee table bookstore. There's a plasma screen television, love seats, lecterns, footstalls, rocking chairs, a six-seater dining table and... hold your pajamas, a double bed!

"I want this place to be like a personal library," says Mr Sabharwal.

This bearded man himself is quite a character. Born in what is now Pakistan, Mr Sabharwal, who rides a Harley Davidson, is sort of a 3-in-1. A wholesaler, retailer and publisher, he is the South Asia distributor of such prestigious art book houses like Taschen, Antique Collector's Club and Prestel.

Way back in the 80s, Mr Sabharwal had a shop called Times Book Gallery in Khan Market but after a divorce settlement, his ex-wife turned it into a shoe showroom. Unaffected, he moved to South Ex I to start Timeless.

In the 12 years before it closed, this bookstore had built up a loyal clientele of fashion designers, architects, artists, collectors, actors, authors, and foreign diplomats. The question is, can the magic be re-created in this new-avtar Timeless that stands just next to a grimy dhaba?

As a lady visitor lay sprawled on the double bed flipping through a wrist-breaking tome while the store was serenading her with Miles Davis, Mr Sabharwal tries explaining the logic of opening a luxury bookstore in hard times. "It's like love in the time of cholera," he says. "I'm doing something when everyone is running for their lives." But will people buy these pricey books? "Money does come, somehow."

Where 1882, Bhaskar Bhawan, Kotla Mubarakpur Ph 9811-791-246

Very inviting



First, coffee



Mr Sabharwal with a friend



Bedtime reading