And as we explored the Ridge and its ruins, played in the dry moat that encircled Shah Jehan’s walled city, or strolled along the battlements above the battered Kashmir Gate, I had only to ask any casual passer-by (and I was always doing that) why there were so many holes in the wall and who made them, and what happened here, to get a reply that nine times out of ten would begin: ‘Ah! now my father told me —’ or, surprisingly often, ‘I myself, when I was young —’. A story would follow; either a description of something seen and experienced at first hand, or else recounted at second hand from someone who had been there and witnessed it. For as I have said, every foot of Delhi is soaked in history, and at that time the most recent bucketful of it (if one did not count the two great Durbars) was the Mutiny, which had ended less than sixty years previously. And what is sixty years to India? No more than a blink of an eyelid! There were still a great many people around in their sixties, seventies and eighties, whose memories were excellent, and the tales they told of that time were far more exciting than anything in a children’s annual or boy’s book of adventure stories.
What do You think about The Sun In The Morning (2015)?
