Old Delhi Tour Love Story

Love in Chandni Chowk: A Tale of Romance and Heritage

My name is Shagufta, a student at the National School of Drama, staying at Malka Ganj. Ever since my first year, I've been in love with Harry, an Old Delhi tour guide. Every day, Harry comes to the gate of my college at Mandi House, and we take the metro to reach the bustling heart of Chandni Chowk.

As we walk through the vibrant markets, holding hands, the world around us fades into a blur of colors, sounds, and scents. Our first stop is always Jalebi Wala, a 100-year-old shop where we savor the delicious combination of crispy samosas with tangy tamarind sauce and big, juicy jalebis. The taste is an explosion of flavors, much like our love – sweet, intense, and unforgettable.

After our snack, we often visit Gurdwara Sis Ganj Sahib. Sitting together in the serene atmosphere, listening to the holy music, I find a profound sense of peace and connection. Harry's presence, always respectful and caring, makes me feel secure and cherished. His charismatic nature and deep knowledge of Delhi's heritage make him an enchanting storyteller, captivating not just tourists but my heart as well.

By sunset, we reluctantly part ways. I take a tuk-tuk back home, while Harry heads to Hauz Khas via the metro. Each moment we spend together in Old Delhi adds another layer to our love story, blending the romance of our hearts with the rich history of the city. As I dream of a future with Harry, I cherish every second of our time in Chandni Chowk, a place where our love story continues to unfold amidst the timeless charm of Delhi.

Love in Chandni Chowk: A Tale of Romance and Heritage 

One day, as usual, I was waiting for Harry at the college gate. The campus was nearly empty, and many of my friends offered to drop me somewhere, but I was looking for my Old Delhi tour guide, Harry. It was getting dark because of the monsoon clouds, and just when I started to worry, I saw Harry running fast towards me, crossing and jumping over roads and traffic.

As per his humble and gentlemanly nature, he knelt down in front of me, holding a flower and apologizing. I couldn’t help but smile at him. "Harry, you are my stupid tour guide. Get up," I said playfully. We walked together, and he explained that his tourists took a long time at India Gate. We took a tuk-tuk to Delhi Gate and got off at Jama Masjid.

As we climbed the stairs of the mosque, the Adhan echoed in the air. We sat on the steps, waiting for Namaz to finish. Harry suggested we eat some kebabs at Karim’s, a restaurant famous for its Mughal-era non-vegetarian delicacies. We devoured chicken seekh kebabs and Afghani tandoori. Harry then brought a gown for me, and while helping me put it on, he took a moment to touch my breast, sending a delightful sensation through my body.

The rain started pouring heavily, turning the night pitch dark. The lights on Jama Masjid illuminated it like a jewel. We both sat under the gallery where royal ladies once sat for prayers. Harry sat close to me and began telling stories about the mosque’s construction, the daily visits of the emperor, and the nobles, queens, and princesses who graced its premises. His storytelling transported me back in time, and I felt like a princess.

Harry took many photos of me near the pool where devotees sat for ablutions, while we listened to the rain falling in the large courtyard. I didn't realize when I took a quick nap. An attendant, Irfan Sahib, came to us and said, "Mohtrama, it's time to go." We retrieved our shoes from the gate and walked to the metro to go back home.

As we boarded the train, Harry looked at me with a mix of affection and mischief in his eyes. "Shagufta, I have a surprise for you tomorrow," he said. My heart fluttered with anticipation.  What could it be?