Astute article by Rana Dasgupta published 2 years ago in Granta Magazine. Hubris in Delhi is not hard to come by, and he captures it in a gripping narrative. Of course he leaves out any potential for charm or artistry in this historic city, which I would argue there ought to be some room for, but that perhaps for another more buoyant day.
Delhi is a segregated city; an impenetrable, wary city – a city with a fondness for barbed wire, armed guards and guest lists. Though its population now knocks up against 20 million, India’s capital remains curiously faithful to the spirit of the British administrative enclave with which it began: Delhiites admire social rank, name-dropping and exclusive clubs, and they snub strangers who turn up without a proper introduction. The Delhi newspapers pay tribute every morning to the hairstyles and parties of its rich, and it is they, with their high-walled compounds and tinted car windows, who define the city’s aspirations. Delhi’s millionaires are squeamish about public places, and they don’t like to go out unless there are sufficient valets and guards to make them feel at home, and prices exorbitant enough to keep undesirables out.
More here