I wandered the ruins like a lost soul. There was no one else around. Only me, my sketch-book, and the forlorn sound of my pencil scratching on the paper. Somewhere in the distance a dove cooed to its mate. The ruins were splendid.

I could imagine them at their peak. Marble shining, the stables clean and full with life; Cavalrymen and soldiers marching about, talking, tending to their armor or giving orders to a sorry-looking stable-boy.

And then, to break the normalcy of the day, an elephant bedecked in jewels and precious cloths, holding the Khan aloft in a silk-draped lair. I walked around more, the scene coming to life around me.

Suddenly, the ugly beep of an old car shattered my little glass world. I stared around. I was back in the ruins. I sighed and put my sketch-book back. I had returned to the haunting shell of the glory this place had once shielded.

Yes, what they say is true. Delhi needs its Khans, Sultans, Sufis and priests now, more than ever.