India Trip 2025: Rajasthan – Majesty, Mayhem, and Memories

 

Started with success: two engine failures. My United Airlines flight from Chicago was delayed over 9 hours, and yes, we were deplaned twice like a bad reboot. Then after a 5-hour survival challenge in the rebooking line, I finally made it to India via London (instead of Zurich), a casual 29 hours late. Naturally, my Rajasthan plans (Ranthambore, Jodhpur, Jaisalmer) said, “Not today.”

First stop Ranthambore: 

But plot twist: landed in Mumbai international airport at dawn, slept like a champ at my brother-in-law’s place, and still caught an evening train from Mumbai to Sawai Madhopur. Vacation mode reluctantly activated.

For a refreshing plot twist for the second time, the train journey was blissfully uneventful; no delays, no engine failures, no surprise deplaning… just vibes.  The RTDC (Rajasthan Tourism Development Corp) hotel, Jhoomar Baori, turned out to be a total hidden gem, tucked inside the forest and formerly a royal hunting lodge. Because of course, why stay in a regular hotel when you can sleep like a king in the jungle?

The moment we entered the compound, the air turned magically fresh, especially after surviving the lunar-surface roads of Sawai Madhopur. Nature wasted no time welcoming us: deer with majestic antlers, peacocks doing their catwalk strut, and one very handsome nilgai (basically the supermodel of the antelope world). Our room came with a mountain view and a complimentary audience of about a dozen langurs, all peeking in like nosy neighbors equally curious about us.

The day began with a solid breakfast and tea so sugary it probably qualifies as a dessert. The staff were incredibly warm, friendly, and somehow looked permanently terrified, as if royal discipline from 400 years ago was still part of the job description.

With our forest safari booked for the next morning, we spent the evening visiting the legendary Ranthambore Fort, over 400 years old and still standing proud. The fort offers stunning forest views and dramatic landscapes but let me be clear: the “short climb” is over 250 steps. By the time we reached the top, the fort had won, and I had made peace with my life choices.

The next day’s much-anticipated safari turned out to be… gloriously pointless. Three hours of bone-rattling off-roading on what can only be described as “non-existent forest roads”, all in search of the legendary tiger, who, clearly, had other plans. Ironically, I saw far better wildlife just hanging around my hotel than inside the actual safari zone. The real highlight? Hearing exciting stories about how “someone saw a mother tiger with three cubs just yesterday.” Naturally. Doesn’t it always work that way?

As if that wasn’t humbling enough, the evening crocodile refuge visit took the chaos to another level. We spotted exactly one distant, possibly-a-crocodile-shaped object from a crowded boat packed with enthusiastic selfie professionals. These were not wildlife lovers, they were wildlife backdrops enthusiasts. Between elbows, phones, and dramatic poses, any hope of peaceful nature appreciation quietly swam away with the only crocodile we saw.

All in all, Ranthambore taught me two powerful life lessons:

1. Tigers operate strictly on their own calendar.
2. Never underestimate the disruptive power of a boat full of selfie warriors.

 

Second stop Jodhpur: 

The next day began with an early breakfast of bread, omelet, and “sugar-free” tea that still somehow tasted emotionally sweet, and then we braced ourselves for an 8–9-hour epic road journey to Jodhpur.

Our driver spoke very little and looked permanently terrified. Possibly because his ancestors were once tormented by some long-forgotten king… or maybe a different king. Hard to say, Rajasthan has had a generous supply of kings, so statistically speaking, the odds are high.

Rajasthan, I discovered, offers two official types of roads:

1. Beautiful, wide highways shared equally (and fearlessly) by cows, goats, dogs, and cars.
2. Pothole-themed roads that look like high-definition photographs of the moon’s surface.

We made exactly one civilized stop, for lunch at a strictly vegetarian place that shockingly featured a spotlessly clean ladies’ bathroom, which honestly deserves its own travel award.

The roads inside Jodhpur were somehow even more moon-like, I’m convinced NASA uses this city for suspension testing. At last, we arrived at yet another palace-turned-hotel: WelcomHeritage Bal Samand Lake Palace. The property is massive, surrounded by towering, perfectly maintained trees, winding pathways, and a stunning lake view that instantly made the punishing road trip feel (almost) worth it. Even better, the air was astonishingly clean, a true miracle after eight-plus hours in a car through heavy pollution.

The palace grounds came fully preloaded with wildlife: well-mannered langurs, peacocks, assorted elegant birds, and actual pure-bred horses. During one of our leisurely strolls, we even ran into another impossibly handsome nilgai, Rajasthan clearly has a very high beauty standard for its antelopes.

Our room? A garden room with our own private backyard, because apparently, we were now living a royal-adjacent lifestyle. Once again, the staff were exceptionally polite, helpful and noticeably frightened. At this point, I started to suspect that the common people of Rajasthan are either genetically programmed for politeness or simply running on centuries of royal trauma.

Dinner was glorious: sizzling chicken kebabs followed by the dangerously famous Laal Maas—goat cooked in red chilies, red chilies, and, just to be sure, more red chilies mixed with yogurt. We attempted to cool the internal fire with Indian beer, which, scientifically speaking, contains more calories than alcohol. After that heroic effort, we slept like true royalty.

The next day was dedicated entirely to exploring Jodhpur, starting with Jaswant Thada, the royal cremation ground of the Rajas. Our guide greeted us with “Khama Gani,” meaning “excuse my faults”—which instantly explained the citywide, deeply respectful, slightly terrified tone of every interaction. Apparently, this is how people traditionally speak, because you never know if the person you’re talking to belongs to some powerful royal lineage. Honestly… fair.

From Jaswant Thada, we moved on to the crown jewel of Jodhpur, Mehrangarh Fort, which does not sit politely on a hill, it dominates the entire city like it’s still in charge. The fort is massive, intimidating, and absolutely stunning, basically the architectural equivalent of “I dare you.”

The drive up itself felt like a loyalty test: steep, winding roads hugging sheer cliffs, designed to make invaders nervous and modern tourists question their life insurance coverage. Once inside, the fort unfolded like a royal Netflix series, grand courtyards, intricate carvings, mirror palaces, war galleries, and enough weapons on display to confirm that Rajasthan solved all its problems with dramatic flair.

Every room had a story, and every story involved either victory, betrayal, or extreme revenge energy. Our guide was in full performance mode by now—explaining battles, sacrifices, and royal drama with such intensity that by the end, even I felt personally involved in a 400-year-old war.

Then came the balconies and the rooftop. Oh, the views. The entire Blue City stretched below us like a living painting: endless blue houses, tiny moving vehicles, and the faint sounds of everyday life far, far below.

By the time we finished exploring Mehrangarh, my legs were requesting retirement, and my brain was overloaded with royal politics. We left the fort feeling equal parts awe, exhaustion, and deep appreciation that we were tourists and not medieval soldiers.

And just like that, Jodhpur had fully delivered: royalty, drama, heat, history, डर (fear), and beauty… all in one perfectly overwhelming package.

After Mehrangarh Fort thoroughly humbled us with its size, history, and vertical staircases designed to destroy knees, we headed toward the current palace of the king, Umaid Bhawan Palace. Yes, the king still lives there. Not “descendants,” not “former royals”, the actual, present-day, still-very-royal king. A portion of the palace is a museum, another is the royal residence, and the rest is… the Taj Hotel, because when you’re a palace, you multitask.

This place is less “hotel” and more “architectural flex.” Sweeping domes, endless sandstone corridors, manicured lawns that probably have their own staff-to-grass ratio, and an overall vibe that whispers, “You are underdressed.” Room rates start around $1,000 a night, which means I explored the property with great respect, zero touching, and strong financial self-control. Even my shoes behaved better here.

We wandered through the museum section, admired vintage cars, royal portraits, and artifacts that silently screamed generational wealth. Meanwhile, somewhere in the restricted royal wing, the king was probably having lunch, casually living his palace life while tourists like me tried not to look too broke.

By evening, we shifted gears from royalty to reality and headed straight into the Jodhpur markets—where the energy hits you like a sensory thunderstorm. Colors everywhere. Spices in the air. Bangles, textiles, antiques, handicrafts, puppets, metalwork, snacks yelling at you from every direction. If chaos had a favorite shopping destination, this would be it.

Traffic here follows a highly advanced system known as “Everybody Goes, God Decides.” Cows, bikes, autos, pedestrians, scooters, carts, and the occasional confused tourist all moving at once in perfect disorder. Bargaining is not optional, it’s a full-contact sport. Shopkeepers casually start at five times the price just to see if you look confident enough to argue.

Street food tempted us at every step, samosas, kachoris, jalebis, chaat, everything fried, spicy, sweet, or all three at once. My inner voice said “be careful,” but my stomach said “we did not travel across oceans for salads.”

And just like that, Jodhpur wrapped up our day perfectly:

1. From forts and kings… to bargaining and pani puri.
2. From $1,000 hotel rooms… to street snacks under $1.
3. From royal silence… to market chaos.

The next day began yet again like royalty—with a sumptuous breakfast featuring heavenly French toast, chicken sausages, and freshly squeezed melon juice. At this point, I briefly considered canceling the rest of the trip and simply living out my days at breakfast tables across Rajasthan. Live life king-size, indeed.

Next/final stop: Jaisalmer

And surprise—once we left Jodhpur, the roads magically improved. Smooth highways, open skies, and after a modest lunch at yet another place with a clean ladies’ bathroom (still the most consistent luxury metric on this trip), the true beauty of the desert and the Aravalli range began to reveal itself. Golden landscapes, endless horizons absolutely stunning.

But then came the stone buildings. Everywhere. And suddenly, the mighty Aravalli started looking less like a mountain range and more like a milking cow tied outside a slaughterhouse, being slowly, relentlessly carved away. It was painful to see how the very mountains that once protected this land from invaders and extreme cold are now being destroyed daily by the people they once protected. Beautiful… and heartbreaking.

By evening, we reached the desert camp, which featured a cluster of tents that had clearly seen better decades, arranged around a central courtyard. The setup was… let’s say rustic with emotional damage. But the real entertainment was scheduled after dusk, under the banner of “cultural activities.”

The night began well: three male singers warmed up the air, followed by two talented traditional dancers who were genuinely impressive. Grace, rhythm, storytelling, it was beautiful… for about ten peaceful minutes. Then a few drunk co-tenters decided they, too, were part of the cultural program. What followed was not dance, it was chaos disguised as confidence.

Watching trained performers struggle to hold dignity while being forced into cheap, chaotic entertainment was honestly uncomfortable. Talent was present. Respect was not. Thankfully and mercifully the whole circus wrapped up by 10 p.m., and silence gracefully returned to the desert.

The desert was calm again. My patience? On life support. But the stars above? May be still undefeated.

 The next day brought us face to face with the crown jewel of the desert, Jaisalmer Fort, the legendary Golden Fort (Sonar Kella made famous by Renowned Oscar winner director Satyajit Ray ) that rises straight out of the sand like someone casually dropped a fairytale into the Thar Desert. Unlike most forts that proudly retired centuries ago, this one is still very much alive, people live here, shop here, pray here, and somehow manage tourist traffic like absolute professionals.

Instead of feeling like an ancient military stronghold, large parts of it felt more like a golden shopping mall with excellent historical lighting. Shops everywhere. Souvenir stalls. Cafés. Displays blocking actual pathways and structures. At times, it was hard to tell where the fort ended, and retail therapy began. The fort wasn’t just being preserved, it was being fully monetized.

Many areas were obstructed with temporary displays and commercial setups, making parts of the fort feel less like a heritage site and more like an exhibition venue that forgot it used to be a fort. The romance of history had to fight its way through racks of scarves and fridge magnets.

But then came one of the most fascinating contrasts of the entire trip, we visited a merchant’s haveli (house) preserved exactly as it once was. And instantly, everything changed. Unlike royal forts where every doorway is deliberately low, forcing you to bow your head in submission, the entrances here were tall, open, and unapologetically equal. No one bows inside a businessman’s house. Power here didn’t demand posture. It was a perfect reflection of the Marwari mindset: kings demand respect, but merchants demand only business. Everyone enters as equals… wallets and negotiation mandatory.  That quiet architectural detail said more about power, pride, and social structure than any battle story ever could.

And then, because Rajasthan never does anything halfway, we headed out for the sunset camel ride in the desert. Yes, an actual camel. Tall, judgmental, slightly annoyed, and very aware that it has seniority in this landscape. The ride was bumpy, slow, majestic, and mildly humiliating all at once, but the sunset made up for everything. The sky melted into shades of gold, orange, and crimson, and the dunes glowed like they had their own internal lighting system. Absolute magic.

But once again, beauty came with a quiet discomfort. At every turn, near the fort, in the city, and even in the desert, we encountered traditional performers: singers, dancers, musicians, all immensely talented… and painfully begging for a few notes of currency in exchange for a few moments of art. Their voices carried centuries of culture, yet their survival depended on whether tourists felt generous that day.

It was impossible not to feel conflicted. On one hand, music, color, rhythm, history. On the other, poverty dressed in tradition, struggling to survive in the shadow of luxury tourism. The applause felt heavier here. The silence afterward felt even heavier.

Jaisalmer gave us everything that day:

1. Golden fort. Living history. Desert dreams. Camel drama. And a quiet reminder that behind every postcard-perfect moment, someone is still fighting to survive.
2. And just like that, the Golden City left its mark, not just on the camera roll, but somewhere much deeper.

The desert, unfortunately, had one final test for my patience. That night at the camp brought another fresh batch of drunk men who once again felt morally obligated to forcibly “participate” in the cultural dance performances. The performers, graceful, talented, exhausted, were trapped in a loop of unpaid dignity management. At this point, I had seen enough forced fun to last several lifetimes. The desert was majestic. The night sky was perfect. Humanity? Still under construction.

Thankfully, escape arrived the next morning in the form of a flight back to Mumbai.

Now, let’s talk about Jaisalmer Airport; a tiny, beautiful, shockingly efficient miracle in the middle of nowhere. Clean. Calm. Organized. No chaos. No shouting. No drama. Check-in, security, boarding, everything moved with military precision. After surviving moonscape roads, palace-sized luxury, chaotic markets, forts turned shopping malls, and drunk cultural critics, this airport felt like a spiritual cleanse.

And just like that… Rajasthan came to an end.

Rajasthan, In Summary:

Rajasthan gave me:

• Kings and palaces that whisper power
• Roads that question suspension systems
• Forts that dominate skylines
• Markets that dominate senses
• Wildlife that ignored safaris but visited hotel rooms
• Tea with dangerous sugar levels
• Food that burned sins clean
• Businessmen who built equality into doorways
• Artists who carry centuries of culture on exhausted shoulders
• And drunk tourists who carry none of the above

It showed me royal grandeur and quiet ruin, pride and pain, glory and survival, often in the same square mile.

Rajasthan was not just a destination. It was a history lesson, a cultural contradiction, a visual masterpiece, and occasionally… a test of emotional self-control.

And yet, despite the dust, the heat, the chaos, the discomfort, and the absurdity, Rajasthan is magical. It doesn’t just show you beauty. It shows you truth, unfiltered and unforgettable if you want to see it.

After returning to Mumbai, I took a full day of much-needed rest—the kind where even thinking felt like an Olympic sport. The plan was simple: recharge, then fly back to Chicago. Spoiler: it was not so simple.

My United Airlines flight from Zurich decided to add one final twist. An engine oil leak forced an emergency landing at Heathrow. Passengers and crew faced health issues and chaos. Another ordeal. Because apparently, my travel karma wasn’t done yet.

Finally, I reached Chicago boarding a flight from Heathrow via Newark at midnight, in freezing temperatures, bleary-eyed and exhausted. The cherry on top? Paying an astronomical price for a rental car to drive the final stretch to home to Wisconsin. By the time I opened my front door, I was fairly certain I had earned at least a medal, or at the very least, a lifetime supply of coffee.