Travelling to North India: A magical Adventure

After Dubai endured one of its most intense rainfalls on record, my mum decided she didn't want to spend the remainder of her holiday in the Middle East. Opting for a change of scenery, she chose to journey to India, and like an attached puppy, I eagerly tagged along. After nearly a decade, I felt it was time to revisit the vibrant nation. Delhi has never really been my cup of tea, but visiting Punjab was connived me to go.

As soon as we touched down at Indira Gandhi International Airport, the humidity enveloped my senses. Delhi, with its unique blend of old-world charm and modernity, exuded a palpable aura of transition. The taxi we had booked from the airport sported the iconic colours of a 'Tuk Tuk', instantly immersing us in the city's busy energy. However, as we settled in and I nervously inquired about the seat belt, both of my parents responded in unison, 'There isn't one.' My heart skipped a beat as the car swayed onto the busy main road, leaving me visibly pale with apprehension.

The 'highlight' of navigating Delhi's roads was the incredible phenomenon where, despite the presence of two or three distinct lanes, drivers would spontaneously create three additional ones, resulting in a cacophony of honking cars, often for reasons unbeknownst to anyone. It was a chaotic yet strangely captivating sight. Alongside the roads, vibrant stalls adorned with fruits, vegetables, and ice creams added to the sensory overload. The abundance of food was exhilarating, but unfortunately, so was the presence of India's notorious mosquitoes, which seemed to have a special affinity for me. On previous trips, their relentless pursuit left me with itchy, swollen bites so this time it was me and my mosquito repellent spray against them. I had already dispatched three of the bloodthirsty pests, putting me in the lead. Amidst the chaos, the reassuring sight of cows ambling along the roadside brought a sense of familiarity. However, my heart sank as I noticed their gaunt frames and anxious demeanor. It was evident they were hungry and distressed. In a shocking moment, one of them charged at a passing motorcyclist, sending him crashing to the ground and breaking his arm—a stark reminder of the complexities of coexistence in this bustling city.

With our plan to depart for Amritsar at 5am looming ahead, we had a few hours to spare in Delhi after our arrival. While my dad opted for a quick nap, my mum and I ventured out for some shopping. As she indulged in her retail therapy, I found myself captivated by the noisy nightlife. Sweetcorn vendors steaming away, offering their tempting wares, and a stall adorned with 'Shahtoot' (mulberries) caught my attention. The rickshaws, now equipped with motors, beeped their way through the lively streets, a testament to the city's ever-evolving landscape. Stepping into a clothing store, my mom's eyes sparkled at the sight of vibrant traditional garments and elegant chandeliers. Meanwhile, as soon as we stepped out, relief flooded over me, though my ears still echoed with the cacophony of noise from within. Accompanied by my mum, we ventured to a street food spot where 'Aloo Tikki' sizzled in the intense heat of the frying pan, sending oil splattering in all directions. As she placed an order for 'Kulfi Falooda', I observed a scene unfold next to me: a woman, her expression contorted with irritation, sharply questioning the vendor serving Gole Gappe about payment, all while dabbing her mouth. My inner monologue couldn't help but label her attitude as less than pleasant.Yes, in my head I used the 'b-word' to describe her attitude...

Turning my attention back to our order, I witnessed the skilled hands of the vendor as he deftly sliced a small kulfi from his icebox and adorned it with falooda sev since they kept slipping out of the spoon. Curious about the unfamiliar delicacy, I inquired about the proper way to eat the falooda sev, prompting a chuckle from my mum, who observed from a distance, and a warm smile from the vendor. Anticipating a typical milk-based ice cream experience, I was pleasantly surprised as the flavours of the kulfi danced on my palate, creating a heavenly sensation I hadn't imagined possible. Despite my desire for more, I heeded the unspoken advice ingrained in eating street food in Asian countries: moderation is key, unless you want to spend an extended period confined to the nearest restroom.