Delhiwale: That peculiar Chandni Chowk loneliness

Hindustan Times

25-07-2025

Loneliness, a poet says, is a horror not to be surveyed. But loneliness lurks across Delhi. This is after all a megacity where men come from across the country to make a superior living, leaving behind their families and communities in the village. A loneliness unique to such citizens is markedly discernible in Old Delhi's Chandni Chowk. Rajesh Kumar is sitting alone on a Chandni Chowk bench. (HT)
The so-named 'moonlit' avenue is a historic market over-saturated with iconic landmarks. Plus, Chandni Chowk happens to be an unlikely home to multitudes of homeless labourers and rickshaw pullers. Here they work, as well as sleep. Very often at different times of the day and night, these men, when momentarily idle, are seen sitting alone on the avenue's picturesque stone benches—the very benches that were installed some years ago during the area's redevelopment project. Forlorn and solitary, these ubiquitous figures of loneliness form a poignant element of Chandni Chowk's modern-day character.
Actually, the Walled City's Chawri Bazar too is home to multitudes of labourers from similar backgrounds. But the men there are rarely seen seated alone. Can it be something to do with the public architecture of these two places? The cramped and crowded Chawri Bazar doesn't have stand-alone utilities, such as benches, that might give the citizen a space to be alone. The Chawri men, when momentarily idle, are in fact often seen packed in bunches of three or four—sitting atop push carts, in the back of mini vans, around pavement chai stalls, etc. Sometimes they are chatting noisily; sometimes they are silent.
Now, take Rajesh Kumar. This afternoon, he is sitting alone on a Chandni Chowk bench—see photo. A daily-wage labourer, he has been living in Chandni Chowk for 25 years. Stubbing out his beedi, he says he feels lonely all the time. 'Haven't been to my home in Bihar for yeas. Parents gone. No idea about the brothers. Never married.' Adjust his seating posture, he says, 'I have trouble breathing, it makes laboury harder.' He shows some prescription medicines in the front pocket of his black bag. The bag constitutes Rajesh Kumar's entire possession, he says. 'It contains one pant, two chaddar, my PAN Card and Aadhar card, 300 rupees, a weighing machine—sometimes I earn extra cash by measuring people's weight.' His mobile phone was stolen some months ago, when he was asleep at night in a corridor nearby.
'I'm friendly with a few men in Chandni Chowk, they are beldar like me—Arun, Shiv Kumar, Manoj, Saroj,' Rajesh Kumar says. 'Sometimes I sit with one of them, and pass the time.'