Holy Family Asha Niwas
The road to Najafgarh is never smooth. Construction is constant. Rules of the road veer toward extreme independence. To my amazement, tight gridlocks form before my eyes: drivers, cyclists, tuktuks – all advance willingly whenever an inch presents itself, tightening the gridlock noose in a form of traffic suicide. Occasionally at those moments I hear the repetitive whoop whoop siren of an ambulance, equally stuck, the sound repeating itself over and over again without ever seeming to shift position. So it is always like a breath of fresh air when we hit Dichaon road out of town and approach Holy…