Here are the available villas for rental in Delhi.

Both sides of the India experience

From the Mail on Sunday

India? 'I love it here... but I hate it here.' In his witty gap-year satire Are You Experienced? William Sutcliffe tells a story of British youths struggling to get to grips with India. His characters - practically unable to breathe without the approval of the Lonely Planet guide ('the book') - are trapped in the ultimate travel writing cliche: the land of contrasts.
'India,' says one of Sutcliffe's characters, Jonah, 'is at the same time the most beautiful and the most horrific country - and Indians are both the warmest and the most brutal people on earth...'
People really do speak like this in India. At breakfast one morning in Agra, I heard an elderly English lady telling her companion: 'Ah, India. I can't wait to get home... but I can't bear to leave.'
'India, you'll either love it or you'll hate it,' people kept telling me before my trip. 'It's not a country - it's an experience.' So as soon as you get off the plane, freshly dosed up with shots of hepatitis and meningitis vaccine and stuffed with anti-malarial tablets the size of horse pills, you just hope you are ready to survive the India 'experience'.
As the British Airways 747 sank towards Delhi, I peered down anxiously for any sign of the sensational experiences I had been assured would be waiting for me.
Delhi airport came as a disappointment. An airport is usually a window to a country's soul, yet this was calm, well-ordered and pretty kempt. It was, however, in the wee small hours, and the city was calm in the way that most places tend to be at about two in the morning.
As I emerged from customs with my bags on a trolley, however, I was still ready to deal with the army of hustlers and scallywags that the guidebooks tell you are always on hand, trying to grab your baggage away. But on this side of Delhi's international terminal, at least, there was only dozing somnolence. It seemed no more Third World than, say, Faro or Torquay.
I was met by a driver and led past fleets of Morris Oxfords - the Ambassador, an ancient Morris Oxford clone, still serves as the standard India taxi. (In another curious throwback, India still has the same round-pin electric sockets that we had 40 years ago.) ... more

Oh, Mr Porter, just what would we do without you?

From the Daily Mail

I could only presume that the cow in front of us in the queue at Delhi train station was after a cattle-class ticket. Then again, with his nose pointed in the direction of the station's answer to McDonald's - an old man in a turban with a heap of samosas in his cycle basket - he might have been in line for breakfast.
'Make sure you take a train journey,' my friend Ravi said emphatically before I left for India. 'It's like nothing you'll have experienced in Britain, even in these troubled train times.' He was right.
Though 20,000 people arrive at Delhi station every weekday, few wear suits or carry briefcases. Most are rural poor who haven't worked for years, in the city for the slender chance of a new life. Overcrowding is such that around the station, vehicles can't set down their charges any closer than a quarter of a mile away.
The back doors of our van opened onto a scene of multicoloured life: painted rickshaws and rickety bicycles; children playing tag; and street traders gesticulating as they did business with women in flowing saris. In the middle stood what at first looked like a human statue: a man, more than 6ft tall, in a maroon and green turban, matching sash and sarong. Without a word, he suddenly bent down at the back of our van, and when upright again, he was wearing our M&S suitcases on the top of his turban.
Momentarily, he adjusted them then turned and began the quarter-mile walk to the station. We paid our driver and hurried after him. Our straight-backed porter not only did two strides for our one, he was used to weaving through this huge body of humanity. We lost sight of him and just concentrated intently on the aerial passage of our cases. ... more

Two faces of delightful Delhi

The story of my trip to Delhi is a tale of two cities — I found a thriving, fast-developing modern metropolis alongside traditional Indian culture.

I arrived at Indira Gandhi Airport on a sweltering hot July morning.
During the cab ride to my hotel I saw an eclectic mix of sights — funky modern buildings and flashy cars clashed with humble street stalls and rickety rickshaws.
I checked into a hotel in Pahar Gang, an hour from the airport.
The Woodland Deluxe hotel — don't be fooled by the name — is very basic. The rooms are small and shabby and there's no air conditioning or dining room.
But it's clean, with friendly service, authentic Indian cuisine, bustling markets on your doorstep and it's a snip at £7 a night.
My foray into heritage started with the food — one of the most fascinating and pivotal parts of the culture. My first taster was my hotel menu.
I had a traditional North Indian lunch for around £2. It was a scrumptious meal of chapati (wholewheat bread), dhal (lentils), tandoori chicken and palak paneer (cheese in pureed spinach).
I also had a chance to try one of the many South Indian vegetarian street cafes in Pahar Gang. My delicious masala dosa, a lentil-flour crepe stuffed with curried potatoes and served with coconut chutney, dhal and a spicy vegetable broth, came to £1.
My appetite sated, I set out to explore the heritage of Old Delhi.
The Red Fort, the 17th-century royal residence, boasts over a mile of magnificent marble buildings and gardens, ideal for a tranquil stroll.
For a change of pace I stepped into the nearby Chandni Chowk. One of the older street bazaars, it's colourful but congested. You can pick up silks, jewellery and deep-fried street food. ... more