A sea of Indians surge forward, defying the air stewardess's entreaties to stay in their seats, eager it seems, to step onto the hallowed horror of the carpet in Terminal 3. A horror imprinted on a lot of our minds. I too march on, momentarily confused as there seemed to be no passport check out for me. A guard redirected me to a new area entirely for foreigners, grouped into sticker visas and E- visas. Perplexed passengers in both columns as the wrong pieces of paper were held up. Eventually I escape to collect a very slothful suitcase that took almost 40 minutes to appear, while the first assault of the senses was well under way. Curry leaves. Suitcase in hand I exit and mercifully see my name, held up by a five foot Feroz, spiffily dressed, speaking perfect English, a Muslim who has become an atheist and now reads about religions and philosophy. The half of his face blackened by a terrible injury of a firecracker that had backfired and narrowly missed his eye. He explained that because of this injury he was unable to drive but would leave me in the capable hands of Massud, also Muslim, hennaed hair, very quiet by contrast. We drove into the city in a phalange of white cars, trucks and motorcycles that squeezed us into the smallest area of bitumen at any one time. It took a while, and the saving grace was seeing Rashtrapati Bhavan, the Presidential Palace on Raisina Hill silhouetted against the fading light and the hazy mist. Magical. It made me nostalgic for the elaborate and colourful celebrations of Indian Republic Day on the 26th of January which we would watch every year coming down the hill and the playing of the Last Post.
Into the Imperial Hotel, https://theimperialindia.com where the second assault to the senses takes place.This one very different. Jasmine scented corridors, rooms and atriums. Orchids suspended from the ceilings and history heavy on the walls, trophies and medals, paintings and sketches of the time since it was built in the 1930s and before. It has a freshness and smartness about it which is only achieved by the tireless work of many.
Looks wonderful, enjoy! shame you couldn’t do a stopover in London
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