standing tall like a doorway to stories untold.
Beneath it, I placed tiny dots of people—
tourists, school kids, dreamers, all walking through history.
Next came rickshaws, buzzing like cheerful beetles,
and a tea stall where steam curled into the winter sky.
I shaded the domes of Rashtrapati Bhavan,
imagining them as golden crowns balancing on the horizon.
Even the pigeons in Connaught Place looked proud,
as if they knew this was no ordinary city—
but the heart that beats for millions.
I smiled as I signed my page.
Today, my passport had Delhi stamped in pencil.
✨ Where would your Pencil Passport take you today?
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