thedelhiwalla.bsky.social
@thedelhiwalla.bsky.social
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Instants i snapped that looked to me as envoys from Jane Austen’s world
"He who is “slain and smiles, steals something from the” Sword”… on getting inspired from her beloved Shakespeare—poet Emily Dickinson in a letter to friend
It has a last surviving bungalow! It has a haunted tower with 13 floors! And it has the capital’s densest assortment of high-rises… my dispatch on Delhi’s Barakhamba Road architecture!
Where verses sleep… the underground chamber at poet Rahim’s tomb, Delhi
Barakhamba heights—on a segment of Delhi’s contemporary architecture… my daily City Life dispatch in Hindustan Times today!
Delhi’s most haunting balcony—see!
How to tell a shattered story? By slowly becoming everybody. No. By slowly becoming everything.
His direct gaze—Qurban ji… at the Sufi Shrine of Delhi’s Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya
there were lights and showrooms and things to eat and friends to chat with, yet somehow everything was steeped in a sense of time passing
The lungi sartorialist… portrait in style
Shh, she’s sleeping… shopkeeper’s cat
On papa’s shoulders… at the Sufi Shrine of Delhi’s Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya
Like cold fire… these sad non-exotic marigolds
Instagram started in 2010. Twitter started in 2006. But in 2008, i only had a blog, when one good person encouraged me by celebrating my months-old blog in a newspaper! Thank you, sir! It is 2025, and blogs are out of currency, but my thedelhiwalla.blog continues to breathe.
Tree with Flying Leaves… Delhi Arbor, Asaf Ali Road, Somewhere in October
citizen at the crossroads, literally
“Emily Dickinson did not answer the doorbell or meet people face to face”—“Dickinson’s sole surviving garment is the white dress now inseparable from her public image”… on trying to get close to a poet’s world that inspired the poet to write what she wrote
all being emptiness… the shapes of mornings after
So lost… on spotting a fellow human in the concrete desolation
Classic returns… my daily City Life dispatch in Hindustan Times today.
“If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?”… i luv u EMILY DICKINSON