The Best Exotic Rajasthan Trip

This is no country for a girl to travel alone. So I’ve heard.

And, of course its all I’ve wanted to do.

A smarter traveler now, armed with a single backpack and enough planning to leave room for surprises. I felt ready for that solo India trip. But, you see my country is unpredictable. This is a source of joy and fear, I’ve yet to overcome.

I made the Rajasthan trip. Yet I see my expectations were no different from a foreigner in a foreign land. Despite the advantage of language, a shaky grasp of Hindi, there was little difference from the characters in the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel also shot in Rajasthan. So ha, my retelling echoes the movie I saw a week after.

I had the usual fears. Some were named — would the trains/buses be unpredictable or unclean, would I be subjected to unflinching stares (both genders), will there be unwanted advances/episodes, could I make it now that I was used to a better life. Others remain unnamed, the stop at Jaisalmer for some reason.

For every un-something, the only answer was to take the ride. All the un-s got me on the trip, even the unnamed. The trip was all the better.

The family connection

[when a guest faints] “Let me through. My brother is a doctor.”

Family is the axle in India. Every Indian I met asked me about family, every Rajasthani man (no women found in hearing distance) asked me if I had a brother or about my family. They hung up this line of questioning, when I explained I was travelling alone. I became a foreigner.

A dame on the move. I came away thinking, I got off easy because I was seen as an outsider. This was temporary.

My trip began in Delhi with a flight. No chance I was betting on a train that would lumber late into the Delhi fog. So I chose a flight and a friendly face. It was delayed but I had podcasts, ebooks, music and woollens. My train, bus and hotels were booked in advance. I was ready for anything that could not be planned. Or, so I thought till I realized I’d booked two midnight trains. Such eventful rides, which I’ll come to later than sooner.

Dilli, oye
An assault on the senses. A great wave…Resist and you’ll be knocked over.

Delhi remains a mystery. I won’t navigate it, I suspect I can’t. When in Delhi I leave and this time was no different. Call it paranoia. The flight I took was on its way to Russia and dropped me at the international terminal. Of course, a present was due from the duty free aisle. So what if I was a domestic tourist, I am a traveler. Travelers belong to a secret society, I was sure, as I jumped the line to ask for a favor. Armed with Bailey’s manna, I claimed my bunk at a friend’s place. Sheltered in Gurgaon.

The next day I set off on a train for Jaipur, the inter city express at 5.30 AM, in a lovely seat by the window. I inhaled 1 breakfast, 2 biscuits, 3 chais and 4 hours of the BBC’s Museum of Curiosity show. Then, the pantry chap puts down a tray for tips. Ever wonder, why there’s always an extra charge on services in India if you’re the one being served. I was too content at the time to follow that train of thought. It does make me petty on a whole new level.

The hotel in Jaipur, Madhuban was a pretty place. It bloomed this romantic rose in my path as the rain took over one morning. My friend clearly chose the place closest to Hotel Diggi Palace — the destination for my Jaipur trip, the Literary Fest 2015.

A free literary event in India, open to all. It appeals to the democratic spirit. Even as you stand in a line or stay standing up at every session far, far away. For four days I heard authors and poets, I’d only heard of yet. I left on the fourth and my last day armed with a to-read list and a sense of well-being about the intellectual class. They may be talking yet, but I was left hopeful. Conversations ranged from the LGBT community to India’s economy. Much poetry and partying, an experience only overshadowed by Bollywood celebrity. Still thrilled I got to sketch the location of my favorite conversation.

I ate my way through Jaipur with glimpses of Hawa Mahal and Joharee bazaar. The evenings led to wonderful after-party conversations with friends of friends, some with poetry and all in a freezing ride. A taste of urban India I rarely saw in Goa. Not too soon, I waited for my first midnight train.

Day Zero
This is absolutely ridiculous. We could be stuck here for hours.

The train from Howrah was my only sleeper class seat reservation. I’ve done this at 24, I could do it. I spent 6 hours in the Jaipur sleeper class waiting room. The elderly aunty from Gujarat was convinced that a train running late, will only get further delayed. I bought a general ticket for another, drank chai, tried to sleep and all entertainment forgotten, waited as only Indians can.

A sleepless night behind me, I stumbled into the same train I’d booked anyway. I was partied out in a way you only enjoy in your own bed. It was every train I had dreaded, which I noticed when I got off. I got to Jodhpur only because I said I would.

The Jodhpur sketch
One wants to trust in general, but you never really know……the voice said just trust me, and I did.

I’d seen The Fall and the even more artsy Road, movie. The first had the elaborate re-painted view of the blue city. The second, also a tale of journeys had the best establishing scene in a coming-of-age film. The angsty young hero talks to his father about finding a bigger life, while the scene fades from the bottles his father sells medicines to the city itself. I had to sketch the blue city, which I did eventually.

This romantic vision of Jodhpur was no match for the garbage bin that was the city itself. Ismail, the auto driver however found me. One kachori and much too wary, still partied out, I reached Kesar Heritage Guest House. The path up ate away any remaining hope, the lack of a reception at the guest house reminding me something. Oh yes, I’d forgotten how to take it as it comes. So I did. I had more chai. I stayed the night. 

The zipline tour with Flying Fox was booked in advance at sunset and I promptly took off to the fort. I had two days and much to sketch. What a vision is Mehrangarh. It was more intense than I imagined, more to me than any fort I was going to see on the trip. With the audio tour, the views from the ziplines and the post sunset glow from Pal Haveli’s rooftop, there was no looking away from Mehrangarh Fort. I was buzzed and tired, but no sleep was on the agenda. That was the first night I spotted Orion the Hunter in the sky. 

I ran into tourists from other countries at both hotels, I assumed because I’d used TripAdvisor. At Jodhpur, I met an Italian who would tell me her horrible escape later in Udaipur. The next day, I sat at Vicky’s omelette shop and did a street scene while we chatted away. Then, up the clock tower to see the view when Ismail whisked me off to a handloom house, where I was smooth-talked into buying clothes. Did I mention I’m a girl. He made sure I was on the bus, as I reported my location to Amma, something I stopped doing years ago. She has volleyed prayers out-of-my hearing I’m sure. After all this time, I can admit its nice to have your mother on your case.

Name, place: Udaipur
To see life as a privilege, not a right

I was pre-disposed to like Udaipur. I shared my name with the city and knew it would be a great conversation starter. It is also the one city everyone gushed about, as will I. My bus reached 3 hours early, at 4.30 AM. A sweet boy at a quaint haveli turned guest house by Hanuman Ghat, the Panorama Guest House cued me into Udaipur’s charm before I woke up in the city. Around the corner at 9 AM, all blessed faculties in working order, I met Jamil who runs a business, that lucky day his auto too. The friend I made in Jodhpur came down on my last two days there. And, in between several other locals, made my experience of Udaipur a true privilege.

Little things you only know, if you care

Everything I liked in Udaipur was circumstantial, one of the charms of travel. Still, there’s something about the generosities of kind strangers.

A stumble into Bada Bazaar left me treasures in conversation and crafts. Near City Palace, the antiques an old man from Goa dusted up had me spending hours hearing stories. At the clock tower in Ashok Gallery with miniature woodwork and the artists at Shilpgram who shared so much. I woke early everyday, saw silly movies on superb wi-fi at night and walked all over the city minting time in Udaipur.

There were the many little things the people of Udaipur revealed with warmth and infectious awe. So I bought what I could, knowing what I cared for most was mine in the experience. I sketched least in Udaipur, and met the most interesting people instead. Shows at the haveli, every view of Lake Pichola and a miniature painting class later I had to leave. The temptation to alter course was the reason I’d learned to plan my tickets in advance. I only had a vague misgiving about Jaisalmer. Time to find out.

Things haven’t worked out as I expected.
Most times, they don’t and what happens instead is the good part.

My reservations about Jaisalmer came from the notion that desert cultures seem misogynistic. The weather is hard, people are hard and the life has been hard here. I was hesitant to flaunt my independence like a peacock in a desert. There was some truth to this as it turned out, with advances-de-unwanted accounted at one for each day in Jaisalmer; happily the least of the surprises in store.

Surprise A, I found kinship in this leg of my journey. Maybe because I’d done a week on my own so far, but surely because of the blazing warmth of Jaisalmer. Abu Safari’s guest house was a commune the three days of the desert festival. Here I met a small family of tourists in the melee that is the Indian festival. At other times I was fending off the village boys and then some. It was on my last day that I finally saw the fort with one of my Jaisalmer girlfriends. The girls were two solo-travelers from Germany and New Zealand who’d covered far more ground than most men I know; who spoke more German in that day than I spoke Hindi during my time in Jaisalmer. Funnily enough instant soul sister kind. The best find in Jaisalmer.

Surprise B, the desert is a mixed bag. In Udaipur, someone told me that anyone who can feel affectionately towards a camel would find love in the world. I don’t know about all camels, but King Kong let me sketch on the ride into the desert. I wish he was mine. On that safari were other loving advances. A pinch and a talk did the job. Unfortunately sleep was a dream come undone, though after a patch of rain we had an inky black sky. I was more tripped up by the tough love I finally doled out. Who knew.

But, the desert. The desert.

Looking back, in Jaisalmer I see Rajasthan’s spirit. Whatever its colors are, they shine brightest in the desert sands. However nature or history has bled them, its people are alive in their swirling culture. The sun, the camels, the performances and the dunes haunt me. The fireworks hang in the desert sky longer than you would believe. I could still see them as I stood near the lake with friends who felt like old ones, as I left for my second midnight train.

Everything will be alright in the end.

If its not alright, its not yet the end.

Hang on, one more surprise. I boarded the train on the wrong day. My train with my reserved AC ticket had left the previous night. I had mistaken the train’s arrival time in Jaisalmer [11.30 PM] for the departure time [1.20 AM]. This departure time fell on the next day. That day I boarded the train without a ticket. So much for planning in advance.

On the same train in the sleeper class, was the other new-old girlfriend from Jaisalmer. I crawled into an empty berth, dazed by my amazing feat. The Train ticket collector turned up and yet another miracle hit me in the head. His daughter had been married to someone in Goa and he was delighted that he could point her to me in case of any emergency. He went the extra mile and before you know it, I woke up to a ticket. How do you prepare for these things.

I landed in Jaipur after a minor entertainment featuring a student’s lost phone. After half a day in Jaipur poking around Jantar Mantar and picking up blue pottery, I chased coffees at Indian Coffee House. Trussed up like a camel (of course I bought beautiful, silly things), I took the superbly punctual train for a pleasant yet completely uneventful journey to Bombay.

This was not the end of my trip. It is however the end of the trip-I’ve- waited-to-take-alone-in-India story. And it was extraordinary.

I really should not be sitting home digging up patterns as I watch the film, some really vague coincidences come at me. Like seeing a photograph of Dame Judy Dench at a local tailor shop in Udaipur, during the shoot. Or, others like this one.

Only someone equally mental will note: He’s wearing my bag!

All my bags are packed

Hosted a traveler on a trip? The annoying kind who throw experiences at your daily life. Who won’t shut up about how great it is to drift in out of routine, yours and theirs. I get it. Both sides.

Growing up I did not know any travelers firsthand. In my sheltered childhood, the only real place outside home was my father living away, for work. Fiction-fueled curiosity made everything from Enid Blyton’s breakfasts to Tolkein’s sagas exotic. I still remain in that realm of fantasy. On the other hand, family visiting from Bombay seemed exotic. I’m glad to have found travel is exotic. A different kind of exotic than I imagined. At once the sharpest knife life can throw at you and the kindest lesson in experience.

Travel was a ruse to get away. Then, the reason to earn a living. Now, its the only adventure for the urban-civilized routine. Or, what a brotherhood of men would call civilized. Just saying.

The first journey I took on-my-own was at 19, with a wheeled suitcase that could not climb said mountain. On-my-own then meant no family, no agenda and very little money. Luggage though meant all you can carry. On the next trip I bought a backpack and luggage still remains all you can carry. At 29, on-my-own is finally travelling solo. 

From these journeys are sights worth showing and stories worth telling. Most of all, there are things and people worth knowing. Little truths outside and within. That is the wonder of a journey.

Most of these stories come from travel diaries I’ve kept at the time. The rest from memory, which will have to do. I write to remember. I owe my appreciation for independence to the random kindness of events, time, people and places — but its when I travel that I hold it closer. Here's a log of times I've moved onwards and hopefully how I get to otherwise.

This it the third time I'm trying to write. Bits and pieces float in memory. Maybe that's why I'm walking backwards. Some sights you don't forget. Some feelings you carry with. 

So a decade to put down from 2015 to 2005.