After a while we came to a small square in the passageway, maybe some 10 feet by 10 feet. Occupying one corner was a man who said "Shoes here sir, shoes here", and took our sandals, placing them on a set of rickety metal shelves with "New Delhi Station" painted in green on one side. Barefoot, we continued along the passageway for perhaps another 200 yards, seeing a number of other shoe-guards who had not taken advantage of being the first to trap customers on their way in. Eventually the alley ended, in a square without a roof, and with some tombs around the edges, each guarded by a fiercely bearded man. Off the right of the area was a larger square, perhaps 80 by 50 feet, with a canopy suspended over it, cutting out much of the afternoon light. In the centre was the tomb, with a queue of men waiting their turn to go inside (women are not allowed), and all around were crowds of men, women and children, sitting, eating, drinking, chatting, and singing. A man was playing a hand accordion, and children were dancing in front of him. We were collared by a cleric, who took us through the crowds to a Sufi guard of the shrine, sitting on the outer stone ledge of the tomb. He asked us where we were from, before telling us about the saint and his teaching.

The first cleric then lead us to a small room where the poor are fed – by 4:30pm vats of rice were being boiled and lentils soaked. People waiting for the food outside looked calmer than in most parts of Delhi, and the cleric spoke to several of them and blessed others. He showed us a small school for orphans on another side of the shrine, which was packing up for the day. We offered a donation to the work of the people, which he accepted, wrote in a ledger, and took to another cleric to be countersigned as accepted for their work. Then we left the shrine, filled with the mystical experience and feeling refreshed and calm.

If you are in Delhi, I urge you to make the effort to come here. Despite recent problems in America, there was absolutely no air of hostility or antagonism; on the contrary we were made to feel most welcome and valued visitors. We saw no other non-Indians while we were there, and it doesn’t appear to be a popular destination, but it is an incomparable one.

On our last day in Delhi my mother and I visited the shrine of Nizam-ud-Din, a Muslim Sufi saint who died in Delhi at the age of 92 in the early 14th century. On my previous visit to India I’d bought and read a book about Delhi called City of Djins by William Dalrymple, a wonderful book about a year in the city which combines his modern day experiences in Delhi with history, geography and culture. The description of the shrine made me very keen to visit it, and my mother was also enthusiastic, having read the same book. Our guidebook’s (Lonely Planet) description of the place was so brief and inaccurate we found it hard to believe they’d actually visited the place at all.

The entrance to the shrine is just off the Mathura Road, near Humayun’s Tomb in New Delhi. The area is only a short distance from British New Delhi, but it’s also a world and centuries away. It’s a good idea to take a rickshaw or taxi to the site, as the entrance isn’t marked or obvious, other than the large number of men in mosque caps coming in and out of it. After several false alarms, when we got out of the taxi at various other tombs and shrines in the area, we found it. We walked down the alley, which is only about 10 or 15 feet wide, passed men on the left selling pink flowers in strings and wreaths, or fruit, or cool water, and women and children on the right begging for alms. About 200 yards along the alley, there is a crumbling mosque on the left-hand side, which is still in use judging by the number of men coming in to it. Just past this mosque is a fork in the alley. Follow the majority of people down the right-hand side. The path gets narrower and narrower and enclosed all around, with shops lining both sides, and a roof over the passageway. People were surging and pushing in both directions, avoiding the flower sellers, restaurants, food and drink sellers, going past the Halal butcher and the fruit stalls. We avoided having our fortunes read and horoscopes cast, and managed not to buy mosque caps, beads, or scarves. We were not particularly targeted by the sellers, though, which is an unusual and pleasant experience in India.