On a recent late summer evening, we were taken to meet one of old Delhi's (allegedly) famous pigeon racers. I've not really a pigeon person, but rising out of the clamour of old delhi to Mr Pigeon's quiet rooftop, as the sun dipped lazily over the horizon, was quite a nice moment. We climbed from the rear of a packaging shop, pungent with glues, up a dark spiralling staircase and emerged just as a flock of Iranian racing pigeons landed in synchronised formation. These were not your standard flying-rat pigeons, we were told, these were prestige pigeons! They had each been named after a different bollywood star, and of course Mr Bachchan was the biggest and pluckiest of the lot - demanding to dig his head into the scattered seeds before the rest. Mr Pigeon's son had learnt to speak pigeon and with clicks and whistles instructed the birds to rise into the air, to circle the platform a few times and then to return. Set against the pink sky, with the call to prayer echoing across the rooftops from Jama Masjid (the city mosque), this was a sight of delhi I won't forget in a hurry.
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