The first memories of my very early childhood are of Delhi Cantonment where my father was surgeon in the military hospital. Fifty-five years later, as with many cantonments, it remains the last bastion of calm, orderly cleanliness where old trees still stand, bugles sound in the distance and somewhat run-down but friendly bungalows bear testimony to an age that was... Ours was a family of inveterate picnickers and amateur archaeologists, so... The first memories of my very early childhood are of Delhi Cantonment where my father was surgeon in the military hospital. Fifty-five years later, as with many cantonments, it remains the last bastion of calm, orderly cleanliness where old trees still stand, bugles sound in the distance and somewhat run-down but friendly bungalows bear testimony to an age that was... Ours was a family of inveterate picnickers and amateur archaeologists, so visits to all the famous monuments and some derelict ones were de rigueur. One could still climb to the top of the Qutub and we knew intimately all the tombs and ruins around it, including the eccentric ‘Norman ruin’, built by some homesick Englishman a couple of centuries ago. Our favourite spot for moonlight pictures was an abandoned Lodi period mansion called the Bistadari building. This lay within cycling distance in the kikar jungle on the other side of Kitchner Road (now Sardar Patel Marg).” (Anjolie Ela Menon, “The Age That Was”, India Seminar #515, July 2001, online, accessed via india-seminar.com)

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