Delhi Unveiled: A Tapestry of History, Culture, and Chaos

I was recently invited to give a talk on Delhi and I am just sharing the speech here.

In an incredibly fortunate turn of events, the woman who runs Delhi's oldest and largest expat community came across my last post on Delhi. She reached out, expressing how much she enjoyed it, and extended an invitation for me to speak at the group's weekly meeting.

I was admittedly nervous, as I'd never delivered a formal "talk" or speech before, especially one that would last more than 25 minutes.

At first, I thought about covering various aspects of Delhi—its rich history, the culinary wonders, or the endless things to explore. But considering many expats have likely heard or read about these topics repeatedly, I wanted to offer something different.

In the end, I decided to share my personal perspective on what makes this city so special to me. And thankfully, it went even better than I could have imagined. The response was overwhelmingly positive, far beyond what I had hoped for.

Below is the speech I delivered, which includes a fair share of impromptu jokes, but for the most part, it remains faithful to the version I shared. You’ll notice that some parts echo themes from my previous posts on Delhi, and if it feels like you've seen certain sections before, that’s because you have. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Opening: Delhi – A City of Layers and Extremes

There are moments in life that shape you—moments so intertwined with your identity that you can no longer tell where they end and you begin. I’m sure you all can think of many such moments, as can I. A lot of mine are rooted in the bustling streets and quiet corners of a city I call home—Delhi. And though I could talk about Delhi in every season, today, I want to pause and consider its spring.

When I think of Delhi in spring, I see boulevards lined with bougainvilleas, their vibrant colours a striking contrast to the golden hue of laburnums hanging from the trees, like drops of sunlight. The city, dressed in nature’s finest, feels like a celebration—reminding us how fleeting beauty can be, given that spring lasts for all of one week in this city. Delhi isn’t just a city. It’s a character in its own right—alive, breathing, ever-changing, yet unyielding. It calls you back, year after year, drawing you into its rhythm, forcing you to become part of its evolving story. A story that stretches back centuries, deep and ancient, yet always shifting.

Delhi is a city of extremes. And how could it not be, when everything about it—from the weather to its history—has been shaped by polar opposites? Bone-chilling winters, scorching summers, and torrential rains. A city built on the shifting sands (and dust storms) of time, weathered by countless invasions. Yet it survived—rising again each time, stronger than before. Ironically, Delhi’s destroyers also became its creators. Today, I stand here to talk about Delhi not just as a city, but as a living, breathing entity—layered with memory, history, celebration, and identity. More than just a point on a map, Delhi is the heartbeat of a nation, the pulse of its people, and the soul of its time.

Delhi Through My Childhood – Emotional Roots

I’ve spent my entire life in this city, a front-row witness to its supersonic evolution. Groggy-eyed on my school bus, lost in hand cricket with my friends, the view outside the window was constantly shifting and rapidly transforming. A defining phase in my relationship with the city came when I was ten. Delhi, like me, was entering a new phase, a post-globalization adolescence.

The Dhaula Kuan flyover, completed in 2004, became one of the city’s most critical junctions, symbolising the changes sweeping through Delhi. In 2002, the Delhi Metro began to spread its web across the city—a game-changer that would soon become its lifeline.

I remember it vividly. I was the first person in my family to experience the metro. As a 12-year-old, I was taken on a field trip by my school. Mesmerised by the simple magic of the metro—tapping my token, 150 boys, their mothers, and teachers hopping onto the train. Through the windows, I saw Delhi unfold in a way I’d never seen before—Karol Bagh, the towering Hanuman statue from Bollywood movies, Ramakrishna Ashram Marg. Then, the train went underground!We were in a tunnel, lights flashing by at what seemed like supersonic speed! And then the familiar and inevitable voice which graced anyone travelling via the metro in those days: “Agla station Rajiv Chowk hai, darwaze bayi aur khulenge,” followed by the lady’s voice in English, adding, “Please mind the gap.”

For me, that first metro ride wasn’t just about transportation—it was my first real window into Delhi’s soul. The metro became the lens through which I saw this vast, complex city. It's how so many outsiders first experience Delhi, its good and bad, its chaotic humanity.

The metro became the silent companion to my love life in college. I would take the train to Noida from Saket to meet my then-girlfriend, and then all the way back to CP where we’d wander through Janpath, where I would somehow stretch my college allowance to scrape together 300 rupees for a pair of earrings. It wasn’t much, but it felt like everything in those moments.

Fast forward to 2015, and I matched with a girl on Tinder. Yes, in 2015 Delhi had just turned old enough for dating apps and at the time the creeps had not yet infiltrated. I challenged this girl to compete with me on the knowledge of metro routes. However to avoid any chance of being defeated by an outsider- I had the route open on Google. Though we didn’t get together at the time (you can see why), similar to Delhi, I eventually stumbled onto the right path years later and married the very same girl 6 months ago. Much like it was for the city, the metro became my route to something greater—a life, and a future we never imagined.

Then there are the parks of the city. As a child my father used to take us to Buddha Jayanti Park and Nehru Park, the latter being one of my favourite haunts to this day. I visit it twice a week to get in my run- a silent green retreat right in the heart of the city.

Delhi’s sounds and smells are an experience of their own. The hawkers’ calls—some loud, others soft—peddling with a rhythm of their own. There’s the rain on red dust, that earthy scent that fills the air when the monsoon hits. The smells of street food—the smoky kebabs, spicy chaat—are as much a part of the city as its people. Winter fog wraps Delhi in a quiet embrace, but in the distance, you hear the azaan and temple bells, the soundtrack of a city balancing its traditions and modernity.

What stands out most about Delhi is its diversity. The city is a patchwork of communities, languages, and traditions. I learned this early on—how to listen to different voices, hear different languages, and respect different cultures. Delhi, the birthplace of Urdu, taught me the beauty of language and culture—where the poetry of Ghalib and the verses of Mir Taqi Mir still resonate in the streets of Chandni Chowk. Delhi doesn’t just give you a place to live—it gives you a space to belong. Amid all its chaos, there’s unity. A unity that transcends religion, language, and social status. It’s the feeling of knowing that no matter where we come from, we all share something that ties us to this city. And in those moments, you realize Delhi isn’t just a place on the map—it’s home.

You may have read about communal disharmony and intolerance—and yes, it exists. But have you ever walked the streets of Old Delhi on Ramzan nights? When the Jama Masjid looms large over every street, as inescapable as the Duomo in Florence, its presence a silent witness to centuries of history. The air is filled with the tantalising aroma of delicacies, and smiles shine as brightly as the lights that adorn the streets. In those narrow lanes, night never truly falls; in those large hearts, there is no room for darkness, only a shared warmth and light that transcends all divides.

Diwali in Delhi – A Festival of Life and Extremes

As October settles in, with a cool breeze stirring the air and summer bidding its final farewell, Delhi prepares for something truly magical—Diwali. The chaos of the streets, the vibrant celebrations, the music, the light—it all feels like a reflection of Delhi itself. It’s beautiful, it’s intense, and it fills the city with a sense of life that is palpable, almost electric. This is my favourite time of the year in my favourite city.

While most of the world marks October as the end of summer, here in Delhi, it feels like life is waking up. The markets are bustling with activity—families smile as they hop from shop to shop, eager to buy gifts for Diwali. The streets are adorned with colorful lights, each corner glowing with the promise of the festival. People’s pockets are filled with Diwali bonuses, but it’s the joy they share that fills the air, not the wealth.

The alleys are lined with yellow bulbs from local temples, and each house, no matter how modest or grand, is lit up in celebration. Every house tells a story—some with simple yellow bulbs may signify an elderly couple living there with the kids not yet home for the festival, some with flickering multicoloured bulbs signify the presence of youth, and others, more somber, without any lights at all. These homes, marked by the absence of light, remind us of those who’ve lost someone, yet even they find solace in the collective spirit of the festival, drawing strength from the surrounding brightness, a reminder that life continues.

For me, Diwali is a time for families to come together. The roads are filled not just with traffic, but with people heading home. Children return from their studies or jobs abroad to be with their families. There is a sense of completeness that fills the air. Families, once scattered, now reunite, and the joy of these reunions is woven into the fabric of the festival. The traffic isn’t the usual hustle and bustle of Delhi—it’s a gathering, a movement toward something certain, something that brings joy, not just in fleeting bursts but in its enduring presence.

Then comes the best part—the parties. The days leading up to Diwali are filled with celebrations, laughter, and fun. The invites pour in—two, sometimes three in one day. These aren’t just gatherings; they are events where people come together in their finest ethnic wear, ready to drink, dance, and celebrate life. The spirit of Diwali comes alive in these moments—moments that I look forward to all year long. The laughter, the shared memories, the ridiculous dance moves, the "teen patti" games where fortunes are made and lost—it’s not just about the money; it’s about the stories we create together. And after years of the pandemic, these moments feel all the more precious. The city’s energy, the collective joy, is something that Delhi does best.

Yet, for all the light and festivity, there’s a reason why Diwali in Delhi feels so full of life. Delhi is a city of extremes. It’s a place where tempers flare as easily as friendships bloom. A city where love and rage exist side by side, sometimes in the same breath and even the same abuse. Go to Old Delhi for a kebab, and you’ll be served not just food but love. Go to someone’s home, and you’ll be enveloped in warmth and questions by the grandparents (usually centring on your marital life), no matter how long you’ve known them. Delhi’s extremes make its celebrations feel all the more alive, and during Diwali, those extremes are what give the city its pulse.

At this time of year, as the city shines brighter than ever, the air is full of laughter, light, and life. The chaos of Delhi seems to soften, just for a while, as it welcomes the festival. The city’s heart beats with collective joy, and for a moment, it feels like no one is left behind. Every corner, every street, every home, shines in celebration, reminding us that no matter how far we’ve fallen, Delhi will always embrace us, lighting the way forward.

So, next time, as the lights flicker to life on every corner and the sounds of celebration fill the air, take a moment to pause. To embrace the joy of the city, of this festival, and to carry that joy with you, for it will give you the strength to face whatever lies ahead. The light of Diwali in Delhi isn’t just about the decorations—it’s about the warmth that fills the city and its people, a warmth that stays with you long after the lights are gone.

The History of Delhi – A Tapestry Woven Through Time Delhi, like no other city, wears its history on its sleeves. The layers of time and empires have carved it into what we know today. A critical point in the city's story stretches back to the 12th century, when the first Sultanate, led by Qutb-ud-Din, made Delhi its capital in 1206, beginning an era that would forever change the course of its history. But this was only the beginning.

Through centuries, Delhi has been invaded, conquered, and rebuilt time and time again. From the Delhi Sultanate to the mighty Mughal Empire, the city witnessed its fair share of power struggles and dynastic shifts. It was looted, ransacked, and burned, yet it rose like a phoenix from the ashes. The Mughals, in particular, left an indelible mark—one that remains embedded in the very soul of Delhi. The Red Fort, Jama Masjid, Humayun's Tomb—these monumental structures still stand as testaments to an empire that once dominated much of the subcontinent.

But the Mughals were not the only ones who wrote Delhi’s history. The city was also shaped by the colonial forces—the British came, and with them, the imprint of imperial architecture that now forms the canvas of New Delhi. Connaught Place, India Gate, and the sprawling colonial bungalows are remnants of a time when India was part of a global empire. The poetry and music of the city reflect these turbulent times, where every invader became part of the city’s ever-evolving story. Delhi is not only about kings and rulers; it’s about poets like Ghalib and Mir Taqi Mir, who found the soul of the city not in its palaces, but in its people. Their verses resonate through the streets of Chandni Chowk, the lanes of Old Delhi, immortalising the spirit of a city that was often broken, but never defeated. The language of love, loss, and resilience that they wove into the fabric of the city lives on in every corner, in every whisper of Urdu that still graces the streets.

Through all its battles, all its hardships, one thing has remained constant—Delhi’s resilience. The city has seen every possible kind of destruction, but it has also seen the rise of every kind of beauty. Through every invasion, the city adapted, absorbed, and transformed. Every empire that ruled here left a piece of themselves in its architecture, its culture, and its people. Delhi may have been conquered many times, but it has never been defeated. It has always emerged stronger, its identity shaped by each empire, each poet, each ruler who passed through it.

Delhi – A City of Contrasts: A Fusion of Past and Present

In many ways, Delhi is a mirror to my soul. A paradox in existence. There are parts like Chandini Chowk where there isn't space to walk and where you can easily get lost in the labyrinth of lanes and alleyways, and then there are roads which are wide and lined with lush green trees, which make driving on them feel like an honour. A luxury which Mumbai or Bangalore can't even dream of. An urban metropolis with buildings reaching for the skies, but made more beautiful by the existence of its ruins. Like me, Delhi is not scared of its past, no matter how ravaging. It welcomes it. The beautiful tombs of the Kings that adored the city and some who ravaged it. However, it does not matter if you had a big role in its past or an insignificant one. A small gully may reveal the tomb of a ruler long forgotten if ever remembered. This urban centre can seem like a concrete jungle, and yet you'll find a park in every corner, a forest in the middle of the city, and small theatres and bookshops to be found in the middle of a billion offices, fighting their fight to preserve the arts. Its people who are angry at the drop of a hat, and that's precisely the amount of time it takes them to become warm and welcoming. The city is nothing but a penetrating mirror to me.

When I think of Delhi, I think of contrasts. It is a city of extremes—where the old and new coexist, each influencing the other, where ancient ruins stand in stark contrast to modern skyscrapers. Walking through the city, it’s not uncommon to pass a bustling office building, only to look left and see the remains of a Mughal fort or an old havelis still standing, despite the years. It is a place where centuries of history, culture, and architecture come together, sometimes awkwardly, but always harmoniously.

In many ways, Delhi can remind you of Rome. Both cities have witnessed the rise and fall of empires, both have been centres of culture and power, and both are cities where the past refuses to be buried. Rome has its Colosseum, Delhi its Red Fort; both stand as reminders of once-great civilisations, forever etched into the urban landscape. But Delhi is a city in perpetual transition, constantly shifting between its past and future.

Imagine standing on Raisina Hill, looking at the Rashtrapati Bhavan, a symbol of the British colonial legacy, only to turn around and spot the ancient Qutub Minar piercing the sky. Or perhaps strolling through the lanes of Old Delhi, with its bustling markets, and then suddenly seeing the gleaming glass facades of a modern office building. That juxtaposition—the ancient with the modern—is what makes Delhi so compelling.

Unlike many other cities, where the past seems to be relegated to museums or specific historical areas, in Delhi, the past and present sit side by side. You don’t need to go far to witness this fusion—right outside the gates of the Mughal-era Jama Masjid, you’ll find modern-day rickshaws and street vendors selling everything from mobile phones to kebabs. It’s a beautiful clash of cultures and times, where the old and the new are not in opposition, but are blended seamlessly, telling a story of survival and adaptation.

The old forts, tombs, and mosques are not just relics; they are part of the living, breathing fabric of the city. The modern malls, luxury cars, and glass towers don’t replace them—they coexist. And that is the spirit of Delhi—a city that doesn’t discard its past but embraces it, learns from it, and allows it to influence the future.

It is in these contrasts, these extremes, that Delhi’s true beauty lies. It is a city where history isn’t something you visit; it’s something you live. And every time you look at an old monument standing tall amidst the rush of traffic or walk through a market filled with the sounds of the past and present colliding, you are reminded of the city’s eternal cycle of rebirth, reinvention, and resilience. Delhi is a city where the ruins are not just a part of its past—they are a living part of its future.

Conclusion

Delhi is not just a city—it’s a pulse. A thrum beneath your feet, a rhythm you grow into. It doesn’t reveal itself to those who pass through, maps in hand. It opens slowly, stubbornly, like the city itself. In conversations with cab drivers who have seen a hundred versions of Delhi. In the familiar nod of the guard who watches your comings and goings without a word. In the quiet transaction between a bookseller and his regular—an unspoken pact to preserve the old as the new rushes in. In the shared laughter over a plate of chaat under a flickering streetlight, even as the metro hums past above your head. It lives in the contradictions—the chaos and the calm, the memory and the momentum, the grief of what was and the hope of what could be. In the smooth, sweeping flyovers and the gnarled maze of alleys that still carry the footsteps of history. Delhi isn’t a place you simply live in; it begins to live in you. Quietly at first, like a song you didn’t realise you knew, and then all at once. Until one day, whether you’re across the country or halfway across the world, you’ll hear its familiar echo in your bones. And you’ll know—it never really left.

As Zauq said in his immortal couplet:
"Kaun jaaye Zauq par Dilli ki galiyan chhod kar,
Yeh sheher dil walon ka hai, dil ki galiyan chhod kar."
Translation:
Who would leave the streets of Delhi, Zauq, to wander elsewhere?
This is a city for those with heart, who cannot leave the lanes of the heart

---