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My First Trip to Delhi
The day I first set foot in Delhi is etched in my memory like a vivid painting. I was sixteen, wide-eyed and bursting with curiosity. It was summer vacation, and my parents had finally agreed to let me visit Delhi with my cousin Anuj, who was studying there. I had read so much about Delhi in textbooks—its majestic monuments, crowded bazaars, and rich history—but experiencing it in person was an entirely different adventure.
We boarded the train from Lucknow early in the morning. The journey was long but thrilling. I spent most of the time gazing out of the window, watching the fields and villages rush past like scenes from a movie. As we approached Delhi, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation and energy.
The moment I stepped off the train at New Delhi Railway Station, I was hit by a wave of sounds, smells, and movement. Rickshaws honked, vendors shouted, and travelers rushed in every direction. It was chaotic—but exciting. I gripped my backpack tightly and followed Anuj as he expertly navigated through the crowd.
Our first stop was his hostel in North Campus. The streets were lined with bookstores, tiny cafes, and students chattering in every language imaginable. After dropping off my bag, we set out to explore the city.
We began with the majestic Red Fort, its red sandstone walls towering above us like a silent guardian of centuries past. As I stood in front of the Lahori Gate, I imagined the voices of emperors and soldiers echoing in the arches. Inside, the Diwan-i-Aam and Diwan-i-Khas spoke of grandeur and lost glory.
Next, we headed to Chandni Chowk, a whirlwind of colors, scents, and people. We tried parathas at the famous Paranthe Wali Gali, and for dessert, I had the sweetest jalebi I’d ever tasted. Every bite felt like a celebration of flavors. Rickshaws wove through narrow lanes, brushing past people who barely seemed to notice. It was overwhelming but strangely beautiful.
The next day, we visited India Gate and Rashtrapati Bhavan. Standing beneath the towering arch of India Gate, I felt a strange sense of pride and solemnity. The names etched on the walls reminded me that the freedom we take for granted came at a great cost.
One of the most magical moments of my trip came at Humayun’s Tomb. The quiet beauty of the place was in stark contrast to the noise of the city. The symmetry, the Persian-influenced architecture, and the lush gardens transported me to another era. I sat on the steps and watched the sun set behind the dome, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.
Before returning, we made a quick trip to Connaught Place. The colonial-era buildings and modern stores blended the past and present perfectly. I bought a small model of Qutub Minar as a souvenir—it still sits on my desk, a tiny reminder of a big journey.
As the train pulled away from the platform on my way back home, I looked out of the window, just like I had on the way there. But something had changed. Delhi had left its mark on me—not just through its monuments or food, but through its spirit. It was chaotic yet calm, ancient yet modern, exhausting yet exhilarating.
My first trip to Delhi was not just a travel
