I never cared much for Delhi until I read Ravish Kumar’s short Hindi love stories. My old bias — perhaps from too much Premchand, and not enough ChetanBhagat — had me seeing more authenticity in Bihar’s villages than in Delhi. The city was just a necessary stop on the way to the village. At home in Australia, I told this to my university Hindi students when they began reading Ravish’s book a month ago. Some of them know Delhi well. Others have never even been to India. Together, we are constructing a poetic map of Delhi from the perspective of couples in love. Ravish breaks down barriers between city and village. And he asks us to fall in love with Delhi, which contains both.

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