The milkman, a person easily recognisable by his vibrant red turban and traditional clothing, cycled along the road with four large brass urns attached to his bike—he was impossibly well balanced as if his load was nothing more than himself. Palm trees and chattries lined his path—it was like a scene that one would imagine…
Delhi Diaries: She welcomes me home…..
Step off the plane and the aroma of Delhi hits you. A stroll along the now famously hideous airport carpet, luggage out in record time, skip through duty free, a taxi ride in a cab that should have been scrapped 20 years ago, the 3 inevitable questions from the taxi driver, ”Your country madam, your…