City of Djinns

This was the wrong book to read prior to my trip to India. All of the fantastic stories that the author relates seem to end with, “these wonderful sights/monuments/environments/people have all been completely destroyed, and nothing is left except worthless ruins”. He makes Delhi seem like a wasteland, all the more disgusting and pathetic in light of its former splendor. The only positive of this book is that the stories he relates are interesting. In short, this book was a major downer.

As a 25 year-old, Dalrymple and his wife Olivia set themselves up in Delhi to live. This book is the result of their first year. Published in 1993, their time in Delhi was in the early 90s.

The reader is offered up continuity with their landlord, Mrs Puri and favourite taxi driver Balvinder Singh.

... Mr Singh is a kshatriya by caste, a warrior, and like his ancestors he is keen to show that his is afraid of nothing. He disdains such cowardly acts as looking in wing mirrors or using his indicators. His Ambassador is his chariot, his klaxton his sword. Weaving into the oncoming traffic, playing ‘chicken' with the other taxis, Balvinder Singh is a Raja of the Road.

‘...During the Partition [his parents] went into hiding, and for a fortnight their good Hindu friends brought them food and water. But one day they were betrayed; a mob came in the night and burned the house down. We learned later that the traitor was a neighbour of my father's. My father had helped him financially. This was how the man repaid him...' Dr Jaffrey shook his head. ‘In this city,' he said, ‘ culture and civilization have always been very thin dresses. It does not take much for that dress to be torn off and for what lies beneath to be revealed.'