The unmistakable scent of steaming batter rising from the bakery below immediately awaken my senses. Intent on finding the origin of the mouthwateringly sweet aroma, I leapt to my feet and threw on my robe provided by the Airbnb staff. I go down the stairs in a flurry, skipping every other step, unafraid of the plausibility of falling. In an unexpected turn of events, I start my day in a good mood.
Head already pounding, I pull my itinerary up on my phone in fear of missing my group’s pre-scheduled tour of our first day in Delhi. It had been a lifelong dream to travel to such a place, but could only fathom of falling in love with its culture and ambiance. I’m unsure which direction I should be headed, so I jog down the dust-blanketed street. I let my intuition guide me through the roads, kicking up dirt behind me in a cloud of beige. Gleeful children laugh amongst their group of foreigners, some playing games, some engaged in deep conversation. I quicken my speed into a jog after checking my watch. Rounding the corners of colorful, rundown buildings, I stumble and let my face smack into the solid dirt-clad road.
I whip my head back accusingly over my right shoulder, determined to catch who was at fault for provoking me to cause such an embarrassing scene (the attention of priorly frenzied bazaar-goers had now averted towards my dusted face- though I was sure the small crowd noticed the red warmth that began to grow on my cheeks beneath it all). However, after darting my eyes this way and that, I defeatedly assume an extensive tangle of roots belonging to the towering aerial tree beside a stand covered in layers of bright, handmade fabric must have been the culprit of my now throbbing foot.
Looking back now, I must have gotten over the small predicament rather quickly, as my most vibrant memories still come with a feeling of awe, contently gliding down every street after the next, the bliss surroundings of jovial families and various fragrances never failing to leave me. It was all a blur, because the next thing I remember is finding myself parked in front of a massive green lawn. And as I look up, my heart stops. Standing at the center of a vast square garden, divided into four main parterres by limestone causeways stood an immense Mughal style mausoleum, fit for nothing but royalty. From the center flowed shallow water channels which halted in front of the threatening gate-right at my feet. After a few final minutes of awestruck silence, I sit on the provided stone steps a few yards back and turn on my phone to investigate this colossal beauty in front of me. Humayun’s Tomb, is what it turns out to be. I learn it was commenced fourteen years after the death of Mughal emperor, Humayun, by his long grief-stricken wife, Haji Begam- a similar story to the Taj Mahal’s.
The sun had already begun to set when I remembered I forgot to tend to the group tour I had so badly wanted to be apart of. I soon realize that though the small cluster of tourists had visited many sites regardless of my absence, I wouldn’t have appreciated all of them combined as much as my own company here, blissfully sitting amongst my surroundings, young couples sitting on the cool ancient steps, perhaps wondering if they’ll ever love someone as much as Haji Begam loved Humayun