Traffic jams in Delhi are noisy, exhausting and, if you happen to be driving, stressful. The besura orchestra of impatient horns can test the calmest of temperaments. But if you are a passenger and a street photographer and nowhere urgent to be, Delhi’s traffic becomes a front-row seat to the city’s unscripted theatre.
There is always something worth observing. A toddler in the car beside you presses her nose against the window and stares at the world with complete fascination. A man rides a motorcycle through the chaos while his dog sits behind him with the dignity of an old aristocrat. Street vendors move effortlessly between vehicles, selling pirated books and lots of innovative stuff that keeps changing every few weeks.
I almost always carry my camera, and traffic jams often turn into unexpected photography sessions. On one such afternoon, while we waited for an impossibly long line of vehicles to crawl forward, my attention drifted from the road to the buildings beside it. On the terrace of a modest house stood a young boy with his pigeons. The terrace overlooked what Delhi generously calls a footpath, though there is barely enough space left to place a foot on it. The backdrop was the familiar geometry of concrete, tangled wires and weathered walls. The air carried the unmistakable smell of burnt fuel; it was the official season of polluted Delhi. The boy seemed oblivious to the city around him. With the slightest gestures, he called out to his pigeons. I couldn’t even see where they were perched; they understood every signal. One by one, they fluttered down to his waiting hands. He picked each bird up with remarkable tenderness before placing it inside a simple wooden shelter. I hesitate to call it a cage because it didn’t feel like one. It looked more like a home built with affection.
As I clicked photographs, I was reminded of the iconic pigeon scene from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. Amrish Puri, surrounded by pigeons, calls out in his booming voice, “Aao… aao…” while Shah Rukh Khan watches silently. The scene unfolds beneath blue skies, with mustard fields glowing in the Punjab sunshine.
My traffic signal offered none of that. There were no golden fields, no postcard skies, no cinematic lighting. Only polluted air, cracked terraces and the relentless soundtrack of impatient horns.
The boy didn’t need a dramatic “Aao… aao.” His pigeons returned of their own accord. They already knew where they belonged. Their quiet understanding no screenplay could have captured. In the middle of one of Delhi’s most frustrating traffic jams, on an ordinary terrace overlooking a broken footpath, I witnessed a conversation between a boy and his pigeons that said more about trust, love and companionship than words ever could.
If you are willing to look beyond the bumpers and brake lights, during traffic jams, every red signal carries the possibility of a photograph, a story, or a small moment that would have passed unnoticed had the traffic been kinder.
Photos and text by Prerna Jain
