Across her work, Delhi rarely appears as a place she is grateful to. In her poem “Dilli is sheher ka naam hai”, in one long, unsparing sequence, she surveys the city in eight scenes and offers it no mercy. scroll.in/article/1095258/am… Kanupriya Dhingra writes

Amrita Pritam's fiction pushes the diagnosis further. Dilli ki Galiyan (1972) follows Kamini, a newspaper columnist trying to hold a career together in a press world run entirely by men. scroll.in/article/1095258/am… Kanupriya Dhingra writes.

Even Rasidi Ticket, one of #AmritaPritam's autobiographies, drops the romance the moment it reaches Delhi. scroll.in/article/1095258/am… She doesn’t describe arriving in the capital as a sanctuary or a homecoming; in her own account, she came strictly for work and a place to live, claiming nothing grander, Kanupriya Dhingra writes.

Cities discard their writers’ houses often enough that it barely counts as foresight. If it isn’t the physical wrecking ball that claims them, it is a gridlock of legal paper. scroll.in/article/1095258/am… Kanupriya Dhingra writes.

"In July and August, the bazaar looks like this: bodies everywhere, backpacks grazing each other, the stacks of exam guides reduced by mid-morning to half their height." scroll.in/article/1093577/ho… An excerpt from ‘The Sunday Book Bazaar: Daryaganj and the Making Of a Reading Public in Delhi’, by Kanupriya Dhingra. @speakingtiger14 #bookexcerpt

At one point, Amrita Pritam compares the city to a printing press – “machinein khad-khad kar rahi hain/ sheher jaise chhapkhana hai/ is sheher mein ek ek insaan/ ek-ek akshar ki tarah akela hai”. scroll.in/article/1095258/am… Every resident is alone, like a single piece of type that is never permitted to join a sentence, Kanupriya Dhingra writes.