we stepped out of the station , and delhi hit us hard - the steaming sun , the thin , chaotic streets , the clamor of sellers and buyers bargaining and arguing , the scents and smells mixing in the air , forming a heavy perfume dominated by strong flowery notes from the enormous garlands of fresh rose being weaved right in front of our eyes ; the ittar ( perfume ) shops with their own magnificent aromas , hording the scents of an entire religion ; the distant-but-still-nearby sound of prayers coming from the dargah ( mosque ) nizamuddin ; the uplifting , insistent tunes of mournful , soulful qawwali ; the spiraling minarets and clock towers ; the very mughlai air - all of it hit us hard , like we had just woken up to a dream suspended in an era bygone .