Adaah Sharma’s Lucknow Reverie: A Whirlwind of Poetry and Cityscapes

When Adaah Sharma first thought of catching a train to Lucknow, it was almost on a whim – a spur‑of‑the‑moment idea sparked by a lull between shoots. Little did she know that the city would greet her like a stanza waiting to be read aloud.

She recalls stepping onto the platform, the whistle of the locomotive echoing like a metronome, and feeling a curious flutter in her chest. "It was as if the world had pressed pause and handed me a fresh page," Adaah says, smiling as she remembers the bustling crowd that seemed to sway in rhythm with her own heartbeat.

Lucknow, with its grand colonial arches and the soft, lingering scent of kebabs wafting from street stalls, quickly turned into a living poem. The morning light fell on the historic Bara Imambara, casting shadows that danced across the marble floors. "I kept thinking the light itself was a verse," she chuckles, admitting that even the pigeons seemed to be reciting something quiet and timeless.

But it wasn’t just the monuments that struck a chord. A simple ride on a rickety cycle rickshaw, guided by a cheerful driver who sang snippets of folk songs, felt like an improvisational rap session. "He sang, I hummed, and the whole city became our chorus," Adaah recounts, her voice softening as she reflects on that spontaneous duet.

Food, of course, played its own lyrical role. From steaming plates of Tunday Kababi to sweet gulab jamuns that melted like metaphors, each bite seemed to translate feelings she couldn’t yet put into words. "One bite, and suddenly I could hear the city’s heart beating in my ears," she admits, eyes twinkling with the memory.

Even the evening walk along the Gomti River was steeped in metaphor. The river’s gentle murmur reminded her of a steady rhyme, while the city lights flickered like punctuation marks. "I felt like I was reading a story that never ended," Adaah whispers, a hint of wonder lingering in her tone.

When asked what lingered most after she boarded the train back home, Adaah’s answer was simple yet profound: the sense that Lucknow had whispered a secret poem into her soul, one she would keep revisiting whenever life grew too noisy. "It’s a memory that reads itself whenever I close my eyes," she says, smiling genuinely.