Read this gem of a book last week. An attempt to make sense of the bewildering city that is Delhi. Twenty five years in Delhi, living in the midst of the super rich and the breathtakingly poor sort of makes things invisible to the eye. You don’t think about what lies behind the mammoth gates of the row houses in Chattarpur, or where the next meal of the man you saw lay splayed on the side of the road. Your vision gets clogged by repetition, time and your compassion slowly wanes. This book got it back in focus.
My only grouse with the book is that it failed to chronicle/showcase/present the lives of the quintessential middle-class folks in Delhi, people amidst whom I have grown up. Even as I’m writing this I know a lot of their stories might not be as interesting or as dramatic as the others in the book, but I think that’s all the more reason to write about them.