City of Djinns: A Year in Delhi

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My name is Sunil Gupta—please call me Sunny.’ He strode forward and grabbed Mr Lal by the hand, shaking it with great verve. In Delhi I knew I had found a theme for a book: a portrait of a city disjointed in time, a city whose different ages lay suspended side by side as in aspic, a city of djinns. Dalrymple’s second book after the acclaimed In Xanadu (1989), it went on to win the Thomas Cook Travel Book Award (1994) and the Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award (1994). But where does it stand today? City of Djinns: A Year in Delhi is a fascinating book by British author William Dalrymple. Released in 1993, it was the result of a year-long stay in New Delhi, and explores the centuries of history present in the city. Part memoir and part travelogue, it paints an engaging and informative portrait of this age-old city. In that case you could have one cook-bearer. One man, two jobs. Very modern. Then there is the mali, the sweeper, and a dhobi for your washing. Also you must be having one driver.’ Mrs Puri furrowed her brow. ‘It is very important to have good chauffeur,’ she said gravely. ‘Some pukka fellow with a smart uniform.’

City of Djinns - William Dalrymple - Google Books City of Djinns - William Dalrymple - Google Books

Now read by Tim Pigott-Smith, City of Djinns gets a wonderful new lease of life. Dalrymple has a rare gift for historical narrative and catches the engaging, Anglo-Indian speech of his cast with telling accuracy.” At one point , when the Dalyrmples have visitors staying, she counts how often the loo is flushed during the night. One night there are seven flushes, and she cuts off the water in protest. Moreover the city - so I soon discovered - possessed a bottomless seam of stories: tales receding far beyond history, deep into the cavernous chambers of myth and legend. It is an utter delight from beginning to end. A smorgasbord of historical people and places, myths and facts, festivals and parties, pilgrimages and ancient texts. It is also full of touching examples of everyday life - as Dalrymple explores with a kindly eye, the nooks and crannies of Delhi and its people. This was an amazing college established in ancient times, academically superb and aesthetically outstanding.

It was said that not one private Lutyens bungalow would survive undemolished by the turn of the century. No, no,’ said Mr Singh. ‘Still you are not catching me. You Britishers are not sporting.’ He twirled the waxed curlicues of his moustache. ‘All men should be sporting a moustache, because all ladies are liking too much.’ This is the first of William Dalrymple that i am reading. Having being pushed into it via heavy recommendations, must say that WD fails to inspire. The heat had sprung up quite suddenly: the change from late winter to high summer - six months of European weather - was compressed into little more than a Delhi fortnight..... One day everyone was laughing and singing in the Delhi gardens, covering each other with pink powder and coloured Holi-water; the next they had imprisoned themselves in the silent air-conditioned purdah of their bedrooms and offices, waiting patiently for the reprieve of evening.

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Eunachs, or 'hijra'. Dalrymple befriends a hijra group in Delhi, and gives us some fascinating insights into this small but interesting group of people. Literary accomplishment was to be valued...but more important still was grammatical correctness 'In society the mirza should (always) try to guard against the shame of committing any mistake in conversation, for such incorrectness in speech is considered a great fault in a gentleman. Mrs Puri had achieved all this through a combination of hard work and good old-fashioned thrift. In the heat of summer she rarely put on the air conditioning. In winter she allowed herself the electric fire for only an hour a day. She recycled the newspapers we threw out; and returning from parties late at night we could see her still sitting up, silhouetted against the window, knitting sweaters for export. ‘Sleep is silver,’ she would say in explanation, ‘but money is gold.’ My first experience of reading a William Dalrymple was with White Mughals when I was in class nine. Until then, although I had always enjoyed reading History as part of the school curriculum, I hadn’t cared to venture into it any further outside of my textbooks. White Mughals turned out to be sad, breathtaking, challenging (I was a kid) and extremely memorable. I finally started to look for books which fell outside the broader fiction genre.

This was all very admirable, but the hitch, we soon learned, was that she expected her tenants to emulate the disciplines she imposed upon herself. One morning, after only a week in the flat, I turned on the tap to discover that our water had been cut off, so went downstairs to sort out the problem. Mrs Puri had already been up and about for several hours; she had been to the gurdwara, said her prayers and was now busy drinking her morning glass of rice water.