The hidden destiny

Dr Fahim Chand | Friday June 20, 2025 12:26

Framed by Parliament and a soft mist, it feels less like architecture and more like London’s crown, unmoving, iconic, quietly magnificent. I glanced left as I stepped onto Westminster Bridge toward Southbank.

Even blindfolded, if you’d erased Big Ben from view and only removed the covering once I was here, I’d know instantly I was in London. It’s not just the majestic red double-decker buses or the vintage phone booths, now mostly Instagram props, it’s the pulsing, technicolor soul of this sprawling, multicultural city that gives it away.

I crossed the bridge slowly, each gust of cool air clearing my mind and sharpening my senses. Shabana, Ayaan, and Azeem flanked me, our little party pausing to snap photos and point out the quiet marvels hidden across the sprawling view.

We weren’t alone. Locals and tourists alike shared the crossing, their footsteps in rhythm with the city’s pulsating heartbeat. At the base of the bridge, we turned left down the steps toward the London Eye.

The air buzzed with anticipation. People crowded food stalls, sampling curious delights, some perhaps born from the far corners of the once-sprawling British Empire, whose imprint still lingered in these flavours.

To the left, the Thames flowed steadily, carving its signature into the city’s skin, unchanged through wars that had tried to redraw London’s face. Today, though, there was peace. The crowd came not to conquer, but to enjoy. We were eager for the London Eye, ready for the promise of its panoramic views. Tickets in hand, we were surprised at how quickly the line moved.

Before long, we stepped into one of the spacious glass carriages, each of us gravitating toward what we thought was the best vantage point, phones ready to catch London from a new angle.

As we rose, the city unfurled below us. From this height, only birds usually enjoy such a view. The Thames stretched like a silver ribbon through the jumble of ancient and modern, while Big Ben, once commanding, now looked almost toy-like in the distance.

We took our pictures, preserving the view not just in pixels but in memory. At the top, time felt suspended. The cabin fell into a hush, broken only by the soft sharing of awe. It was a sharp contrast to the lively chatter on Westminster Bridge.

Up here, it wasn’t just beautiful, it was unexpectedly serene. As we descended and stepped back into the Southbank crowd, we carried with us something more than photos. The moment had settled quietly inside each of us, tucked away where memories live long and safe.

Having savoured the city’s spectacular skyline, it was now time to indulge in its culinary treasures. We chose a restaurant tucked just off the path and refueled, ready to dive back into our metropolitan adventure. Rather than retracing our steps to Westminster Bridge and rejoining the city’s energetic buzz, we opted to continue along the Southbank, strolling beside the Thames.

A few others joined us on this quieter stretch, where the rhythm of London slowed and softened. Boats and barges glided along the river, bound for destinations unknown. The Thames, ever-present and timeless, shimmered in shades of silver, occasionally taking on a murky brown hue. It lacked the turquoise brilliance of Mauritius, but it held a different kind of beauty; calm, familiar, grounded. As we wandered, delightful surprises emerged.

A skatepark suddenly came into view, where skaters decked in graphic tees, hoodies, and Vans performed tricks that defied gravity and expectation. We paused, captivated, adding yet another spontaneous moment to the growing collection of memories.

We walked for what felt like hours, until the sun began its descent and the evening chill crept in. Eventually, we climbed the steps to Blackfriars Bridge and made our way to the Underground, descending into the arteries of the city to continue our exploration below street level.

We try to walk as much as possible when we travel. It’s how we catch a city at its most honest, through quiet alleys, hidden corners, and small joys you’d never notice from a car, bus, or train. But to truly enjoy a city this way, you need a decent level of fitness.

Which makes us wonder when we look at each other, can we tell who’s built for endurance? Who might have that extra spark of physical potential tucked beneath the surface? For centuries, palm readers claimed our hands held our destiny.

Now, science agrees, sort of. Turns out, if your ring finger’s longer than your index, you may be built for endurance sports. But hold the victory lap: that same ratio’s linked to psychopathic traits. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be keeping my fingers, and my secrets to myself.