In the Shadow of Qutub: A Decade of Hulo’s Growing Light

Under the ancient gaze of Qutub Minar, time folds into a single breath—then and now held in the same light.

Once, Hulo slept in my arms here, a tiny universe wrapped in blue, his thumb between his lips and the whole sky still waiting to learn his name.

Now, he leans into my shoulder with a knowing smile, taller, sharper, his eyes carrying questions, dreams and the quiet thunder of a mind waking to its own power.

The stones have not moved, the minaret still touches the same Delhi sky, yet between these two photographs lies a decade of laughter, scraped knees, late-night talks, and a father’s heart learning to expand with every heartbeat of his son.
In this sacred corridor of time, innocence has not disappeared; it has simply learned to walk beside intelligence, and the little boy called Hulo now walks as my friend, my pride, my forever growing poem.