A giant flowerpot is standing under the blue sign for Brijmohan Chowk. Nothing is growing in the pot. Its wide mouth is holding plastic bags, empty cigarette packs, wrappers and other rubbish. The paving around it is cracked. Cars are edging past on either side in the afternoon rush.
But neither the underpass nor the subway is anywhere to be seen. Pedestrians crossing the road are obliged to run, stop, run, stop, then run again. On safely reaching the other side, they must feel grateful to have escaped the bus tyres. Right now at the chowk, buses, cars, autos, battery rickshaws, and motorbikes are jammed side by side. Just beyond them, a man on a rickshaw is standing over the handlebars, looking for a gap. Now look up from the afternoon jam. An old corner building overlooking the chowk has long rows of windows under sloping shades. A hanging lamp is lit in one of the rooms. You want to go up to that room and sit silently under the lamp.
A 2009 newspaper report announced plans to dismantle the bridge and build an “underpass cum subway”. Today, the bridge is gone.
