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Quila, Jantar Mantar, Delhi gate, Ajmeri Gate, Red Fort, Lal Darwaza, Sunheri Masjid, Safdarjung’s tomb. By the time she had to give back the camera, she had hundreds of photographs, a suitcase of memories and a passion for Delhi that she had never felt for any other city before. She was heartbroken when her college days ended and her parents called her back to Allahabad. They wouldn’t let their only child stay alone in the big bad city, after all.
    So when her father found an IAS officer who was based in Delhi, she jumped at the chance to get married.
    Varun was tall and handsome and had studied economics to enter the IAS. Intellectual enough, she had thought initially. And pleasing to the eye. They used to have conversations in the beginning but Ayesha soon realized that Varun only knew economics. He had no other interests, never wanted to discuss anything new. Adi was born in their second year of marriage and suddenly all her plans of becoming a sociologist were put on hold after a difficult pregnancy and birth. Her family became her world. Her photography was left behind. Before she knew it, they had to shift away from Delhi.
    She turned to walk out of the room before she remembered, ‘Oh Savitri, Adi’s summer clothes have become small. So we’ll give some of them to the Blind Shelter. But all of Sahib’s and my clothes I want packed in the large trunks. Bahadur will help move the suitcases. We might as well put away as much as we can in one go, na? No point in working again later.’
    Savitri nodded and went about her job. She was accustomed to her mistress’ needs. She had come with her from Allahabad and looked after Ayesha and Adi as her own family. In the last ten years, the family had shifted five times. From a small D-1 quarter to a C-2 apartment (the types that government servants were given according to their rank and entry into the system), a bungalow in Lucknow to a flat in Moti Bagh, Delhi, and finally to a lovely, posh three-bedroom large corner plot in Vasant Vihar with a garden, where they had their last two Diwali parties. Savitri had helped Ayesha pack, shift and set up home repeatedly. She could see her mistress didn’t want to move but such was the life of an IAS officer. She was just glad that Ayesha relied on her far more than she did on anyone else.
    Ayesha went into the kitchen to supervise Hari Prasad, their long-time cook, for the evening meal. She tasted the soup.
    ‘A little more salt. Oh and Sahib likes his casserole with cheese and since I’m just having soup, put it into the oven just before he comes so it’ll be nice and crisp.’
    Ayesha had a large staff, something that most IAS officers were entitled to. These were the few perks they had. No money of course, because the stipend was meagre. Working for your country should be an honour. Being a bureaucrat meant that you were admired, revered and respected in circles that went beyond Delhi. It meant that you would have a driver, a cook, a gardener and a few maids to clean and manage your children if you needed them but you would hardly have money to buy an expensive car, fancy clothes or luxurious jewellery.
    Ayesha touched her solitaire earrings, her favourites. Ten years she had worn the one-carat diamond earrings that her father had given her on her wedding day. As a gesture of gratitude. Her husband’s side had given her two gold sets. One for the sangeet and one for the reception. They were kept away in a locker. She only wore these earrings. And her wedding ring. She would have loved for her husband to gift her something special on their tenth anniversary but he had just given her cash to buy whatever she wanted. How thoughtful, Ayesha thought, with a bitter taste in her mouth.
    It wasn’t as if she wasn’t grateful. She was happy that she had a loving husband and a happy home. It was just that sometimes she wished there was more to her life than being a housewife.

9
    There are three things a Delhi woman loves to do: