Gali Guleiyan

In the tangled arteries of Old Delhi, where every alley holds a story and the scent of spices mingles with the clatter of daily life, a solitary shopkeeper makes his home. Khuddoos has turned his modest workshop into a quiet observation post, concealing tiny cameras that glimpse the world beyond his muted routine. The city’s perpetual hum becomes a silent film he watches from behind glass and wire, a private audience to lives he never touches.

His only regular contact is a genial neighbor who drops by with groceries and a steady stream of conversation. Ganeshi offers a pragmatic counterpoint to Khuddoos’s withdrawn habits, reminding him of the simple necessities of food and friendship. Occasionally, the distant echo of family arrives when Shaukat, Khuddoos’s brother, steps back into the cramped space, bearing the weight of old obligations and subtle judgment. Their exchanges hint at a past that lingers just out of view, as the shop’s walls keep secrets both mundane and profound.

The fragile equilibrium shifts the night Khuddoos’s lenses catch a fleeting, unsettling moment—a young boy caught in a sudden, violent disturbance. The glimpse rattles his insulated world, awakening a curiosity that feels both urgent and unnerving. He becomes drawn to the boy’s invisible trail, compelled to trace the echo of that brief encounter through the maze of streets, markets, and whispered conversations that define the neighborhood.

What begins as a quiet habit of watching evolves into an inward journey through the labyrinth of his own mind. The narrow lanes of Delhi mirror the narrowing focus of his thoughts, blurring the line between observation and participation, reality and reverie. As he steps further into the city’s hidden crevices, the atmosphere thickens with anticipation, promising a path that may lead him to answers about the world outside his lenses—and perhaps, about the shadows that dwell within himself.

Last Updated: September 20, 2025 at 16:46