Agra had presented to us the worst hotel experience of the trip. After Jaipur and Udaipur it had been a disappointment, a combination of factors. We were tired as a group, we had slowed down and were not the perfect tourists at this moment in time.

Our schedule meant taking the train back into Delhi for the day before heading north into the foothills of the Himalayas.

We took the 14211 Intercity express and thankfully had an uneventful journey. As a group we were experienced train travellers now and chatting to locals as we journeyed brought many insightful conversations. The students had always been far more comfortable than me but I was relaxed knowing that we were heading back into Delhi. In a strange way it was good to know that for the first time in a couple of weeks I would be getting off of a train and know exactly where I was. Even though I was 7000 kilometers away from home in Dorset, this was a comfort.

Over our travels we always knew that the Foundation was going to allow five students and a teacher the opportunity to see more of their work in the slums. For some reason I was absolutely determined that it would be me rather than Gilly who would take part in this. Considering how uncomfortable I had felt I felt compelled to push myself forward,

The five students chosen were obvious candidates, they were the ones who had used every opportunity to experience the country, mix with the people, try new foods and always kept the morale of the group up.

From the station we rushed back to our original hotel to put our bags in the basement. It was a dark cellar, in a corner a few people stirred who were sleeping on old beds. Don’t ask any questions. We left them to their slumber.

While Gilly and the rest of the group planned their day out in Delhi the intrepid five, and I, were feeling rather intrepid, returning to the metro to head north. The Metro was its hot, bustling and manic self. We were to have some adventures on the way back, but more of that later.

Jimmy met us at the station, they had a van that could sit us all and we went into the slums again.

He took us to areas where the streets were covered in litter and children sat wading through the dust and dirt to find something that could be of value. But the children were smiling, content, they knew nothing else.

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They had the clothes on their backs, they had a purpose and every day was a test of survival. This would be their whole life though. What the foundation attempted to do was to take these children off the street for a few hours a day and try and give them an education. Just offer them the ability to read and write, and also offer them the chance to save what little money they had to try and secure a better future.

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These teachers were, and are, an inspiration to me. They live in their small classrooms in the slums. They are paid a small amount but it is a totally encompassing job. And they are offering a chance of a future to those who would be without any opportunities.

We moved through different classrooms in concrete buildings. We climbed stairs and across rooftops to find the different rooms in various parts of the slums.

Jimmy took us to the small classrooms before we returned the van. We drove deeper into the slums. The streets became narrower, no room for vehicles. Square concrete rooms, unlit, housing families crowded onto each other. A gulley in the middle of the street took sewerage away, but still their was a warmth in the greetings and attention we received.

Back in the van, and deeper again. Here the small squared rooms became darker and smaller. There was no electricity. A few broken pieces of wood were placed over a hollow in the dirt floor to provide light, heat and fuel for cooking. Old mattresses were placed against walls ready for the evening. Men huddled inside these rooms and children still played in the street.

As the crowd gathered to a good number and became quite enthusiastic we were speedily taken back to the van. Not deeper? Yes, we were taken away from the congestion and into a refugee camp. It was explained that these were the Bengali families. They could not speak Hindi or English and were looked down on by the rest of society. Their buildings were not concrete but corrugated iron and sacks tied together. They had no electricty, but again the children played as if they did not have a care in the world.

Rubbish was tipped into these sites and the women would sit in the garbage sifting it, looking for anything that had an value.

And so we had been more shocked as we went deeper and deeper. This was the final point. People living in small squared ‘buildings’ made from sacks and sitting in rubbish all day.

Humbling.

The Asha Deep Foundation works within these camps. Helping the mothers and children, offering education – offering hope. A day that I will never remember, probably the ‘highlight’ of the trip because you forgot any problems that you had, and you realised what you had living comfortably in the western world.

We said our goodbyes knowing that life would never quite be the same again.

In the van the dirt road was pot-holed and almost impossible to get any speed up. This being Delhi meant the driver, seeing the other side of the road having a smoother surface, went over the middle and drove on the other sode of the road. And there was traffic coming towards us. Horns were blazed, Vehicles passed by it all seemed normal to our driver. Madness to us.

By now the metro was getting busy. Not busy in terms of London or Paris, more than that, chokingly busy.

The girls were able to sit in the front carriage but me and the boys were in the normal carriages.

First stop and the carriage became full very quickly. A throng of humanity. We were able to stay quite close to each other. Still able to talk over the heads of the locals, businessmen, young men, a young boy in cricket gear, old men, Hindi and Muslim.

And then the train stopped at the next station. There was no room in our carriage, but that did not stop another twenty or so men forcing their way inside. It became a crush. It was slightly worrying. I tried to keep eye-contact with the boys, but knew that they were not going anywhere.

And then the train stopped at the next station. Again, men forced their way into the carriage. I am sure that I was lifted off my feet. It became hard to breathe. I caught sight of one of my students and all we could do was laugh at the madness. Absolute madness. More people than was safe – and then a few more. A crush.

Thankfully as we approached the centre, people started to leave the carriage and breathing became easier. Eventually we arrived back at our stop and we made it to the platform. An unbelievable journey ending an unbelievable day.

It took a long time to process what we had experienced that day. We met up with Gilly and the group. They were in excellent spirits, she had broken one of her food rules and allowed them to eat in a pzza restaurant!

As we were moving north that evening, this was my last experience of Delhi on this trip. Unforgettable.