Delhi is one of those cities that hits you all at once—heat, history, horns, and color. It’s chaotic and fascinating, exhausting and energizing. I always get pulled into the swirl, especially in Old Delhi, where the narrow, dusty streets are loud and packed with people, cows, scooters, bikes, market stalls, and food vendors. Tangled wires hang overhead, and the energy never lets up. There’s just so much happening—all the time.
New Delhi feels completely different—wide, manicured boulevards, colonial buildings, quiet green spaces. It’s calmer, more orderly, almost like a different city. That contrast is part of what makes Delhi so compelling.
I’ve been several times now, including on a Golden Triangle trip (Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur), and even after seeing the major sights, I still manage to find something new every time.
This visit was part of a longer journey through South Asia. I started with a week in Nepal—first exploring the temples and busy streets of Kathmandu, then heading out to villages and hilltop monasteries.
I spent three full days in Delhi before heading north—mostly revisiting favorite spots and trying a few new ones. From there, I continued to Dharamsala, where we were incredibly lucky to be granted a brief audience with His Holiness the Dalai Lama and to attend one of his public teachings in McLeod Ganj.
Afterward, I wrapped up the trip with four days in Amritsar (10 Must-Do Things in Amritsar).
But first, back to Delhi…
Indira Gandhi International Airport is sleek and modern—huge, polished, and surprisingly calm for how busy it is. Still, after a long flight, it can feel a bit overwhelming just because of its scale. Signs aren’t always clear, and it takes a minute to get your bearings.
But nothing inside prepares you for what’s waiting outside. The moment those sliding glass doors open, it’s a full-on sensory jolt: a wall of heat, honking horns, shouting voices, headlights cutting through the dark, drivers holding signs, cars swerving in every direction. If you don’t already have a ride arranged, figuring out where to go can feel completely overwhelming—at least it did for me.
On one of my earlier trips, I thought I’d outsmart the mess by booking a hotel in the airport. I was flying to Dharamsala the next day and figured I’d just crash somewhere close. But once I landed, I couldn’t find any signs pointing to the hotel, and no one I asked seemed to know what I was talking about. I started second-guessing everything. Maybe it wasn’t in the terminal itself but just somewhere on airport property?
So I exited the airport to look for it—a huge mistake. In Delhi, once you leave the international terminal, you can’t get back in without a valid same-day ticket. Mine wasn’t until the next morning. Suddenly I had no hotel, no way back inside, and no prearranged taxi. Not my finest hour. (A story for another time.)
These days, I don’t mess around.
I reached out to Dhruv who runs Masterji Kee Haveli—the company I toured with years ago on my first visit. I asked if he could help with transportation, and he sent one of his drivers, Raj, who was waiting with a sign, fresh marigold garlands, and cold bottles of water. After a long flight, stepping into his comfortable car felt like a small luxury.
On my past few visits to Delhi, I’ve stayed at Hotel Palace Heights in Connaught Place. The location is hard to beat—central, safe, and easy to get around from.
The rooms are reliably comfortable, the staff warm and attentive, and the in-house restaurant, Zaffran, is freakin’ amazing. I always make a point to eat there—it’s the perfect way to unwind after a packed day in the city.
The one thing I didn’t plan so well this trip was the timing. I usually visit India in April or September–October, when it’s still hot but not brutal. But this trip came together late, and I scheduled everything around the Dalai Lama’s teaching dates in Dharamsala—which meant traveling in the peak of summer.
One day, it hit 108°F (42°C). The heat was smothering. If you’re visiting during that time of year, avoid going out in the middle of the day and if you must — carry water.
Most of the cars I rode in either didn’t have AC, or if they did, it barely worked—so the heat really hit hard.
We grabbed a cab and got dropped off near the Chandni Chowk Metro Station, on the east side of the bazaar—where I met my guide and stepped straight into the thick of it: honking rickshaws, narrow lanes, and a swirl of people moving in every direction.
I’ve already written a full post on this experience (A Day in Old Delhi’s Chandni Chowk), so I won’t go into too much detail here. I always book through Masterji Kee Haveli—Dhruv runs the place, and he still leads tours himself sometimes. His team is great, and they’re happy to customize if you reach out ahead of time.
They show you hidden corners of the market and introduce you to a ton of local food—and luckily for me, there are always plenty of vegetarian options. One thing I really appreciate is that they take photos for you along the way, so you can just enjoy the experience without worrying about capturing everything yourself.
Chandni Chowk is a maze of shops, food stalls, traffic, and people, all layered on top of each other. Everything’s happening at once: men ironing clothes on the sidewalk, women selling incense and sweets on cloths spread out along the curb, and cows weaving through rickshaws like they know exactly where they’re going. I passed a guy pushing metal milk cans on a bike and another frying rounds of puffed puri in a tiled corner shop. Another man made his way down the crowded street with a cart piled high with bananas. And another sat at a sewing machine on the sidewalk, his bare feet working the pedal as people moved past on either side. Everywhere I looked, there was another snapshot of life.
And then, around the corner, two men were bathing right there on the street—splashing water from a bucket, completely unfazed by the traffic going by.
The smells hit you first—frying dough, cardamom, hot oil, something sweet, something smoky. The spice market is especially intense. One deep breath and it’s cumin, coriander, chili—so strong it nearly chokes you. The air hums with sound: vendors calling out prices, the clang of metal carts, temple bells, honking, bargaining, shouting.
And then you turn down a side lane, and everything is suddenly quiet. I stepped into a few havelis—there are dozens in the area. Most were once single homes, but many have been divided into apartments now, like the ones I visited. They felt very lived-in, with laundry strung across the courtyards and the sound of families inside. Even with the wear, the old details made it clear these weren’t ordinary houses.
I got henna from a street artist near the jewelry lane—he worked freehand, no stencils, just steady lines and instinct. Then I wandered into a side alley where flower garlands were being made by hand. A woman sat under an umbrella threading marigolds in the middle of it all. That’s what I love about this place—it’s full of opposites. It’s dusty and loud, but then you stumble on something quiet and beautiful, like this.
The tour always ends at Dhruv’s family home, a restored haveli, where we’re treated to a home-cooked feast: fresh puri, rice, matar paneer, and more. Once or twice, I’ve even helped make pakora in the kitchen. Sitting down in a cool, quiet room with a simple meal after all the sensory overload outside—it really is the perfect way to start a trip to Delhi, especially if it’s your first time.
The city can be overwhelming at first, and having someone guide you through it makes a difference. That said, as much as I love the tour, I’ve done it enough times now that next time, I think I’ll go on my own—moving at my own pace, stopping where I want, and lingering a little longer in the places that catch me.
With stomachs full, we headed to Gandhi Smriti, a sobering and deeply moving place. This is where Mahatma Gandhi spent his final hours. His room is preserved just as he left it—a small bed, simple surroundings, and a quote on the wall that reads, “Simplicity is the essence of universality.”
I’ve been here before, but it still gets me. There’s something about how ordinary it all feels—just a bed, a pair of sandals, and that quote. Outside, a stone pathway traces his last walk to the prayer ground, ending at the spot where he was shot. It’s not peaceful exactly—more like serious.
That evening, we returned to the hotel and had dinner at Zaffran—always a favorite. The tandoori paneer was fresh and incredible. Honestly, after the feast at Dhruv’s house and all the snacks in the market, I didn’t need dinner. But when in Delhi…
Kasumpur is in the Vasant Vihar area of southwest Delhi. It’s often labeled a “slum,” and maybe technically it is—but being there, that word didn’t feel right. When people hear “slum,” they picture piles of garbage, tin roofs, and rows of makeshift shacks. Kasumpur wasn’t that. It was crowded and under-resourced, sure, but also clearly a neighborhood—concrete homes, corner shops, temples, schools, and families who’ve lived there for years.
Like many informal areas in Delhi, it runs on a kind of patchwork system. There’s electricity—though the wiring is makeshift—and water gets delivered by truck a few times a week. When one pulled in while I was there, women appeared almost instantly, hauling large plastic containers. Everyone seemed to know the drill.
People were sitting out front, chatting. Laundry hung overhead. A woman invited me to sit with her and her neighbor on the stoop. We took a photo together, buckets at our feet. Her home was simple but spotless. Another woman peeked out from behind a curtain and waved.
We passed boys playing with a puppy and families washing clothes in tubs. There was a sense of routine—open fruit stands, crisscrossed clotheslines, music coming from a small speaker somewhere. Was it clean? Not really. Were there problems? Definitely. But it felt lived-in, not abandoned. Structured, not chaotic.
I had mixed feelings about visiting—no one wants their home to feel like someone else’s spectacle. But the people we met were open, warm, and welcoming. No one asked for money. No one tried to sell us anything. They just seemed to appreciate the interaction for what it was.
That’s what stuck with me. It wasn’t about pity—it was just about showing up. I felt a little awkward at first, but I was curious, and it was good to see a part of the city I wouldn’t have gone to on my own.
The people genuinely seemed to welcome us, and that made it feel worthwhile.
That said, if you can arrange your own transport, a guide isn’t really necessary. I think I would’ve enjoyed it more without one—had more time, wandered more freely. Personally, I wish we’d stayed longer.
After some time to cool off at the hotel, we headed back out for an evening tour of New Delhi, which I booked through Tours by Locals. Our guide, Vivek, was originally from Punjab and knew his stuff—smart, easy to talk to, and good at adjusting the pace to match the heat.
We started in Connaught Place (convenient, since that’s where I was staying), a huge circular plaza built during the British colonial era. It’s made up of concentric rings of white buildings that now house shops, restaurants, banks, and a big underground market—Palika Bazaar.
Maybe it was just because the temperature had dropped a bit, or maybe because people were finally out and about again after the worst of the heat—but the whole area felt calmer than it had all day. For the first time in hours, it felt like you could breathe.
Then we visited Gurudwara Bangla Sahib, a major Sikh temple I’d seen before—but it still made an impression. The golden dome shimmered against the evening sky. I’ve also been to the Golden Temple in Amritsar, which is bigger and more elaborate, but Bangla Sahib has its own kind of calm. Even with so many people around, it never feels overwhelming.
We did the usual—covered our heads, left our shoes, and joined the line for the main shrine. Our guide took us deeper into the langar—the community kitchen.
Inside, we watched volunteers flipping chapatis on massive hot plates, stirring huge vats of dal, and stacking bread into metal tubs lined with plaid cloth. Everything was spotless. The whole operation ran with quiet efficiency—everyone moved with purpose, and you could feel the rhythm of it.
Afterwards we drove past Parliament House and the Presidential Residence, then made a quick stop at Ajmeri Gate, one of the last remaining Mughal-era gates in Delhi. It’s easy to miss—wedged between noisy traffic—but there’s something about seeing it still standing, holding its place.
From there, we headed to India Gate, lit up in the colors of the Indian flag. The area was packed with locals enjoying the cooler air. Kids were running around with ice cream cones while vendors worked the crowd—selling balloons, roasted corn, and those glowing toys that spin through the air.
Dinner that night was at Saravana Bhavan, a South Indian spot our guide suggested. We waited nearly 40 minutes for a table, but it was absolutely worth it. I ordered a potato and onion dosa—crisp, buttery, perfectly spiced and huge. I could barely finish it, but I wasn’t about to let any of it go to waste. It was ridiculously good. Even as we left, there were still crowds gathered out front waiting to get in. That’s how good it was.
We started the day with a walk through the Lodhi Art District in South Delhi—just a quick 15-minute drive from Connaught Place. It’s India’s first public art space, with huge, colorful murals painted across apartment buildings, shops, and walls throughout the neighborhood.
You could easily spend an hour or so just wandering—every wall has something different to offer. One of my favorites was a mural of parrot painted across an archway—bold, geometric, and full of color. It felt like such a playful, creative contrast to the older, more historic parts of Delhi.
From there, my guide suggested a stop at the Jain Charitable Bird Hospital in Old Delhi, beside the Jain temple—just across from the Red Fort. I’d never even heard of it, but I’m glad I went. It’s been running since 1929, based on the Jain principle of “live and let live.”
Because the hospital sits on temple grounds, I had to take off my shoes before entering. Jain spaces are considered sacred, and footwear isn’t allowed out of respect and to maintain cleanliness. That meant walking barefoot across a blazing hot marble courtyard—very painful, and I had to move fast just to make it across.
Inside, it felt worn and quiet. The lighting was dim, and the space stretched farther than I expected. Rows of numbered cages lined the hallways, most holding an injured bird or one on the mend—some bandaged, others eating from little trays piled with food. You could tell the people working there really cared, but it was still a lot to take in. Sad and tender at the same time.
One worker was cleaning the floor, and another invited me to feed a paralyzed bird using a dropper—gently showing me how.
The hospital cares for over 2,600 birds—most injured by traffic, electric wires, or falls. Some recover and are released. Others stay for life, surrounded by people who treat them with real compassion.
On one wall, a quote caught my eye:
“Lord Buddha provided care & service to a bird wounded by his cousin Devdutt – Establishment of kindness to all living beings.”
In the afternoon, we made our final stop: Humayun’s Tomb. Built in the 1500s, it’s the resting place of the Mughal emperor Humayun and one of Delhi’s most iconic monuments. The mix of red sandstone and white marble is gorgeous, and there’s something really balanced and clean about the design. The whole complex is surrounded by well-maintained gardens.
Even with a steady flow of tourists, it felt calm. You could still hear the city in the distance, but just barely. The fountains were running, the grass was green, and for a moment, everything just kind of felt still. I’d almost go so far as to say peaceful—even being that close to the city.
I know there are tons of great restaurants in Delhi I could’ve tried—but after a long, hot day, I just wanted something familiar. I went back to Zaffran, ordered the paneer tikka, garlic naan, and a cold Kingfisher. Still hit the spot. No regrets. I left dusty, full, and sunburned—but reminded that Delhi isn’t meant to be easy. It’s meant to be unforgettable.
On past trips, I’ve also visited some of Delhi’s better-known sights that didn’t make it onto this itinerary. A few favorites include:
– Qutub Minar, with its intricately carved sandstone tower and surrounding ruins
– The flower-shaped Lotus Temple
– The Red Fort, especially beautiful at sunset
– Jama Masjid, where you can climb the minaret for a panoramic view over Old Delhi
If it’s your first time in Delhi, these are absolutely worth seeing. For me, this trip focused more on smaller moments and lesser-known places—and it turned out to be exactly the kind of experience I needed.
Part 1: Discovering Nepal — Kathmandu’s Cultural Treasures
A walk through sacred spaces, royal courtyards, and the prayer-wheel rhythm of Kathmandu.
Read more →
Part 2: Discovering Nepal — Scenic Paths and Cultural Gems in Nagarkot, Bhaktapur, and Pharping
From Himalayan sunrise to underground shrines and storybook hill towns.
Read more →
8 Days of Momo: The Best Bites in McLeod Ganj, India
A dumpling-fueled trek through Tibetan cafés, mountaintop views, and chai-stained menus.
Read more →
10 Must-Do Experiences in Amritsar, India
Golden reflections, thali plates, and standing ovations at the border.
Read more →
A Day in Old Delhi’s Chandni Chowk
Rickshaw rides, spice markets, and cows crossing through the chaos like they own it.
Read more →
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