I went back to Delhi decades after my first trip, this hadn't changed

It is often said that a destination can weave its spell on us once but rarely twice, because things change over time. A recent trip to Delhi proved that some things stay the same.

They say you can never go back. That a destination can weave its spell on us once but rarely twice. Times change. People change. Places change. Everything changes. But on a recent return to Delhi I found some things had stayed almost exactly the same, decades on.

I was 22 and on my first international trip when I landed in Delhi. I’d fled to the Indian capital after a horrifying two days in Bombay which, in retrospect, wasn’t a great choice for my overseas debut.

Delhi, by comparison, felt like a big but sedate country town. We clicked immediately. I still remember meeting an elephant called Rajna on one of the main radial roads. And quiet moments in the courtyard of Yatri Paying Guest House watching my neighbour sweep the dirt laneway every morning and send clouds of dust spiralling skywards.

My diary entries from back then are naive and revealing. “Mohammad cleaned my ears in Connaught Circus, where there’s a park full of Indians selling you anything. Hurt a bit but he kept saying, “It’s okay, just relax!”

“Ice-cold flavoured milk in bottles is 25 cents! I love Delhi so much.”

The Imperial Hotel has a gorgeous palm-lined pool and the most beautiful spa I’ve ever set a slippered foot in. Picture: Supplied.

There’s a note about wanting to drop by the Imperial Hotel, then a rundown boarding house, because it had a tourist desk and I needed somewhere to stay. But I got waylaid by Mr Kumar the rickshaw driver and ended up instead at Yatri.

It’s funny how fate works out. This time round I’m staying at The Imperial, now a grand, character-filled address and member of the Leading Hotels of the World. They’ve put me up in a heritage suite and serve me lavish breakfasts overlooking the gardens. The hotel groans with history, its labyrinth corridors and public spaces richly furnished with art and memorabilia. It has a gorgeous palm-lined pool and the most beautiful spa I’ve ever set a slippered foot in.

I pop downtown to Connaught Circus, my old stomping ground, for lunch at the mock-colonial Kwality restaurant where a maestro plays the grand piano as I gobble down puffy bhatura bread and chickpea curry.

This time round I’m staying at The Imperial. They’ve put me up in a heritage suite. Picture: Supplied.

Afterwards I roam the circus with Rakesh Rati Kapoor, a historian, academic and guide with Banyan Tours. We’re both on a nostalgia trip of sorts. He reminisces about boyhood days spent wagging school in Connaught Place while I search for markers of my own past. Keventers, opened in 1925, still sells frosty flavoured milks to a new, Instagram-obsessed generation. Next-door bakery Wenger’s still does a brisk trade in the city’s best chicken patties.

The ear cleaners have disappeared from Central Park, now a beautiful botanic garden with sculpted hillsides and even an amphitheatre. But some of the street merchants look familiar. The footpath men with ancient scales offering to weigh people for a small price. The old man trying to sell me grubby-looking handkerchief packs. Their presence as peculiar as ever against the neo-Georgian grandeur of Connaught Circus, an architectural exclamation mark clad in marble and limestone in the heart of the capital.

I have my old diary with me and, inside it, a card for Yatri Paying Guest House. I ask Rakesh if we can stop by to see if it still exists. He smiles indulgently and says, “Sure, why not?” So we drive up Panchkuian Marg and count the streets down to Mandir Marg. Rakesh and I hop out of the car and wander down the laneway to number three.

The ear cleaners have disappeared from Central Park, now a beautiful botanic garden with sculpted hillsides and even an amphitheatre.

There’s a high wall and an unrecognisable three-storey building behind. He peeks over the top of the wall and tells me there’s someone sitting inside. He wants to go in but I don’t really recognise the place. The moment is gone.

We’re almost back at the main road when we hear voices calling and turn to see some men outside Yatri beckoning to us. So we head back down and find a man waiting outside the building. He looks strangely familiar. He’s the same guy who checked me in all those years ago, Sanjay Puri.

He still has rooms. Three at the moment but more to come. “All designed by me,” he says proudly. The place is now called Parigold and he runs it as a boutique B&B with his wife, Parul, who hosts cooking classes (parigold.com). He invites us in to have a look around but his French bulldog Pepper barks so furiously from the foyer that we don’t dare enter.

Rakesh reminisces about boyhood days spent wagging school in Connaught Place while I search for markers of my own past.

Rakesh and I thank Sanjay for his time and head back to the car. Both of us marvelling at how incredible it is to find a relic of the past in a city in constant flux. Sometimes, it seems, you can go back.

Haute hotel

No other Delhi hotel captures the city’s character like The Imperial. The pick of its 235 rooms are the suites, obviously, but if your budget’s limited, Imperial rooms – like 340 with its sweeping garden views – are a fine alternative.

Kendall Hill stayed in Delhi courtesy of Banyan Tours.

Originally published as I went back to Delhi decades after my first trip, this hadn't changed