Journey across centuries on a Mughal trail through Delhi

Squeezed into the back of a rattling cycle rickshaw, I feel Chandni Chowk rise around me like a living tide. My driver darts through the impossibly narrow lanes of Old Delhi’s 17th-century Mughal market with the precision of someone who’s spent a lifetime navigating them. It’s far from a comfortable ride and all my senses are overwhelmed simultaneously.

We brush past the burlap sacks of a spice shop, which exhale aromas of warm cardamom and sharp anise; a sudden turn reveals a burst of marigold garlands cascading from a window, ready to be sold as temple offerings. The shouts of jalebi vendors — who wave their sizzling, syrup-soaked amber pastry coils in the air — fill the street. Passing motorbikes, rickshaws and bicycles blend into a cacophony of beeps and bells. As the rickshaw thrusts forward, I get a pulse-quickening glimpse into the restless yet steadfast heart of Old Delhi.

It’s my second day in the Indian capital and slowly the story of how it’s been shaped by centuries past is starting to make sense. “Delhi is one of the historic cities in the world that never sleeps,” local guide Vasu Akhtar tells me as we arrive at Humayun’s Tomb. Dressed in a fuchsia-pink kurta (tunic) and matching trousers, she cuts an eye-catching figure. “It’s truly a place where ancient history and modern life collide.”

Her embroidered shawl shimmering in the pale morning sun, Vasu forges a path directly through the heart of a group of visitors to the gate where the tomb reveals itself, rising from the earth in elegant tiers of red sandstone and white marble. It was completed in 1572 as the first grand Mughal garden tomb for emperor Humayun after his passing. Its symmetrical pathways, reflecting pool and soaring Persian arches served as the architectural blueprint for another, much better-known Mughal heirloom — the Taj Mahal, in nearby Agra.

The Mughal dynasty was founded in 1526 by a Muslim ruler from modern-day Uzbekistan. From controlling most of India at its peak, the empire was reduced to little more than Delhi and its outskirts until it was overthrown by the British in 1857. With near-encyclopaedic knowledge, Vasu recounts this history as we climb the tomb’s steep steps and I take in the white marble walls, latticed windows and arched alcoves of its central chamber. Delhi served as capital for most of the Mughal era and this relic is just one example of the rich architectural legacy left behind — from tombs and one of India’s largest mosques, Jama Masjid, to the Red Fort, now a national symbol.

Surrounded by busy streets, lined with food-vendor carts and cows searching for respite from the midday sun, the green lawns of the complex feel like an oasis. It’s a relatively clear day and from the tomb’s elevated position, a cityscape of residential high-rises comes into view. It puts into perspective how the modern city creeps up on its historic monuments, yet seems to hold them in a protective embrace.

The Mughal dynasty had a profound influence on Delhi in other areas, too — from city planning to cementing its position as the legislative, executive and judicial centre of India. Today, Mughal influence can still be tasted in dishes such as biryani — developed in imperial kitchens, blending Persian pilaf with native Indian spices — and heard in Urdu, the lingua franca of the Mughal court, which is widely spoken in northern India.

Later that day, my driver and I emerge from the chaotic, narrow streets of Old Delhi into the wide, double-lane avenues of Connaught Place to travel through New Delhi. I can’t help but think of Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities — except here it’s one city with two halves, like two chambers of a single heart — one throbbing with commerce, opportunity and innovation, the other still dealing in whispers of a world that once was.

There are records of British officials showing interest in Delhi preservation initiatives as early as the mid-19th century. Although those were halted after independence in favour of new developments, that all changed in 1994, when the Delhi Urban Heritage Foundation was established. Since then, the city has focused on finding modern uses for once-neglected spaces.

I meet guide Reetika Tripathi, intending to explore one such place — the Mehrauli Archaeological Park, in south Delhi. It consists of more than 100 significant monuments yet is largely unknown to international visitors. Its earliest structure — the ruins of a fortification built by the Tomar Rajputs, who ruled the Delhi region during the 8th to 12th centuries — dates back to around 1060. Other architectural remnants throughout the park serve as reminders of each wave of subsequent rulers, including the Mughals and the British Raj.

Our destination is the Jamali Kamali complex, comprising a mosque and two tombs. The site is one of Delhi’s most significant examples of the particular Indo-Islamic architecture so significant to the Mughal era. Although much of the original decoration has been lost to time, its fluted pilasters, ornate spandrels and pointed arches are immediately reminiscent of similar architectural elements found in Islamic cities such as Marrakech. What surprises me most, though, is that we’re the only two people here.

Reetika, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, grew up in south Delhi. Passionate about leading the way for female tour guides in India — a profession dominated by men until very recently — she talks warmly of Delhi’s heritage always being a big part of her life as we stroll through the ruins. “Walking from my home to Shri Jagannath Temple was a daily ritual, often ending my day at the Hauz Khas Fort next door. It would take me back to a different era and that resonated with me deeply,” she says, as we cross a rugged sweep of scrubland. Reconstruction works at the complex are still underway, yet there’s a remarkable stillness and quiet in the air, totally at odds with the frenetic energy I’ve experienced elsewhere in Delhi.

Roots of tomorrow

If Humayun’s Tomb and Mehrauli Archaeological Park are echoes of Delhi’s past, Sunder Nursery is proof that Delhi’s heritage has a place in the city’s future, too. The city’s first arboretum opened in 2018 after a decade-long transformation project. Once a neglected patch of Mughal-era gardens and ruins, it was lovingly restored by the Aga Khan Trust for Culture into what many now call Delhi’s Central Park.

Just like its Western counterpart, the park has become a gathering space for locals. As Reetika and I stroll through the gates and into the peaceful, green sanctuary in the middle of New Delhi, we find children flying kites, their laughter bouncing off the walls of a restored 16th-century tomb. Couples are out on late afternoon walks and families are picnicking next to the geometric flower beds.

With over 30 million people living in Delhi, it’s one of the world’s busiest cities and today faces immense pressures from the ever-growing population, challenges around pollution and conflicts about new developments. Yet, amid this expansion, there’s a growing awareness that the city’s strength lies not in erasing its past, but in integrating it.

Architects and city planners now speak of ‘adaptive reuse’, transforming historic havelis (traditional townhouses) into boutique hotels and forgotten Mughal-era baolis (stepwells) into community hubs. The city will grow by embracing its ghosts. An apt metaphor for this connection between the old and the new is the Delhi Metro — a point of pride among the city’s residents due to its exceptional punctuality and cleanliness. Opened in 2002, it passes beneath centuries-old buildings, linking diverse neighbourhoods such as the nearby IT hub Cyber City with Chandni Chowk, where you can step off an air-conditioned train and walk straight into a market largely unchanged since the 17th century.

“We don’t demolish anything,” says Reetika. “We don’t tear things down and rebuild everything Indian, or everything modern — we are more, and better, than that. If it’s Mughal history, we embrace it; if it’s colonial history, we embrace it, too. We are very proud that the past has made us who we are today.”

It’s clear that Delhi’s Mughal heritage survives not because of the buildings themselves, but because of people who continue to find meaning among them. Reetika tells me there’s a rising consciousness among Delhi’s youth, who see heritage not just as nostalgia but as part of their identity. Largely thanks to modern connectivity via online message boards, forums and social media, volunteers organise clean-ups, spread awareness of lesser-known monuments and help revive more forgotten corners of the city.

A sudden gust of wind sweeping through Sunder Nursery brings an unexpected rain shower that signifies the start of the coming monsoon season. We grab a couple of jaggery (unrefined cane sugar) ice creams and seek shelter beneath a thick canopy of centuries-old palm trees. “I wish people could understand that Delhi is not just a city that’s all about the crowded streets and crazy traffic,” Reeteka says, scooping up a spoonful of ice cream. “It’s a city worth slowing down for. It has an old soul and a vibrant personality that shifts with your surroundings.”

Despite our previous conversations, Reetika is quick to stress that people in India, and Delhi especially, are very forward-thinking. “We certainly don’t live in the past,” she says solemnly, her jaggery ice cream an apt metaphor for innovation shaping heritage. Jaggery has been used in India for centuries and is deeply rooted in ayurvedic practices, but its use in ice cream is a far more recent development. “We embrace the past, sure, but always look to the future.”