Each morning my news-obsessed papa says this country is going to dogs. I say this city is going to dogs. It’s a hot November afternoon and I’m in Chandni Chowk. Gurdwara Seesganj Sahib is in front of me; Jain Mandir is close by, and Jama Masjid not far. So holy a place and yet no peace. [Read more]

6.23am: Waking up in Hauz Khas Village, my new address. Looking out the window into the 13th century ruins. Ferozeshah’s tomb, the madrasa, the lake. Beyond - Deer Park. The trees laced with the morning mist. The rest of Delhi invisible. [Read more]

The celebrated Delhi-based author Khushwant Singh loves Pakistan, a nation often looked at with suspicion, and sometimes even with hatred, by a majority of Indians.

One winter evening in 2009 at a rare public appearance, the 94-year-old novelist, facing a select audience that included the Indian prime minister’s wife, said, “I wish more Indians realise that most Pakistanis are nice people.” [Read more]

The smoggy ITO crossing can hardly be mistaken for the breezy Mall Road of Mussoorie. But curiously, it is here that the natives of Kumaon and Garhwal presently residing in Delhi head for their music fix. All thanks to four rickety stalls specializing in Garhwali and Kumaoni music videos.

These stalls are a treasure-trove for Uttaranchali music lovers. [Read more]

Shahjahanabad was a city of emperors and courtesans, kaftans and the Kohinoor, beef and ghee. This morning I am searching for its past splendor. The ancient alleys of Matia Mahal bazaar, under the watchful eyes of Jama Masjid, are redolent of morning meals. Kesar-flavored milk. Sewai. Jalebis. Soon a rich, meaty aroma tempts me. Paya-nihari. But it is burra - Buffalo meat. (I don’t like burra meat.) A true nihari carries the upper thigh of a cow. In its absence, I will perhaps have to resort to goat instead. I continue walking. [Read more]