Sage, 2020. — 260 p. — ISBN: 978-93-5328-940-9
Waiting at the red light at the Delhi School of Economics intersection on the Delhi University campus on a dark afternoon last August—the sky pregnant with rain, neem and jamun trees a fresh green above the confusion of cars and rickshaws—I was transported back to another monsoon about 25 years ago.1 Then, at this very place, a heavy downpour had caused a section of the road to cave in, sinking a Maruti van’s right front wheel in the mud. The owner—a stout Punjabi man—was out in the rain, drenched to the skin, struggling to lift the wheel out. His plight attracted drivers from a nearby taxi stand who waded over to help him as the rain pelted down. Watching this little drama from our cars stuck in stalled traffic, we saw the car-owner bend over to grip the front bumper of his car. As he did so, his trousers slipped down, revealing the cleft of his buttocks to the world. There was a brief pause. Then the taxi drivers—burly Jat Sikhs, big guys with turbans— started jumping up and down with glee, pointing at the man and shouting, ‘Shame, shame, puppy shame! Shame, shame, puppy shame!’ Places are made meaningful by the memories they accumulate, as much as by the everyday practices that animate them.