Tales of food, love and adventure in Jodhpur

By Mowna Ravikumar and Anisha Oommen.

We reached Jodhpur late on a Thursday afternoon. With 48 hours to explore the city, we had chalked out an itinerary that filled every waking minute. Rajasthan was to be a trip of many firsts for us – the first time ever in a desert, first time walking through sand dunes, and the first time tasting thick makhaniya lassi; we couldn’t wait to get started.

We spent our first evening at the Ghanta Ghar market in Jodhpur, which turned out to be a great way to get a feel of the city, living and breathing, before we explored its history and heritage. As we approached the old gates, heaps of deliciously brown rusk on carts stopped us in our tracks. In the nippy late-evening air, nothing was more tempting than crisp rusk with tea. The tea stall at the gate made us a thick, creamy brew flavoured with sweet spices (but left us baffled with their cryptic signboard).

Walking through the market, the energy was chaotic, loud and lively. Bandhani dupattas, bangles and the most beautiful crinkly old women. We stop to chat and share a plate of Jodhpur’s famous kachori, stuffed with potato and spicy onion. Once we get started, we can’t bring ourselves to stop; browsing through Janta Sweets’ varied assortment of mithai and savories, we ask for a glass of thick makhaniya lassi, a plate of samosas and sickly-sweet mawa kachori. On full bellies we slowly make our way back to the hotel, the lovely heritage palace, Ranbanka. Despite every intention of restraint, we share a bowl of dal and roti, with a generous portion of laal maas. We couldn’t possibly leave Rajasthan without having tasted its famously tender slow-cooked mutton.

The following morning, our chatty cabbie took us to the Umaid Bhawan palace first; stories of the Maharaja’s opulence and whimsical lifestyle had our curiosity piqued. Umaid Bhawan was commissioned by Maharaja Umaid Singh in 1929 on Chittar Hill as a famine relief project for the people of Marwar. Three thousand men and women worked for fifteen years to complete the construction; built of pink-tinged stone, it can be seen rising above the city from miles away.

The Maharaja is remembered for his grace and style, his opulent and jet setting lifestyle; he was an avid traveler, journeying to all corners of the world to enjoy every kind of sport, from foxhunting to salmon fishing. But he was also loved by his people. The many projects he undertook for their welfare still bear fruit, most remarkably the dam about 40 kilometres outside Jodhpur.

The furniture and fittings of the palace were made to order in London, but when the ship carrying the cargo sank en route, everything was lost. The Maharaja then commissioned Stephan Norblin, a Polish artist who had fled war-torn Europe, to do the interiors of the palace in Art Deco style that was at its pinnacle.

The palace is now a heritage hotel, and parts of it a museum, open to the public. The Maharaja’s grandson and his family still live in one wing of the palace.

Close to noon, the weather was building up to sweltering temperatures. We treated ourselves to a stick of malai kulfi as we made our way to Mehrangarh Fort. At a spectacular 400 feet above the city of Jodhpur, Maharaja Man Singh built the fort to celebrate his victories over the armies of Jaipur and Bikaner. The fort still carries those battle scars; our guide points at holes on the outer wall, souvenirs from cannon balls attacks.

As we enter the magnificent gates of the fort, a mural of sati handprints dating back to 1843 marks the wall at the entrance. It the year of the King’s death. In hushed tones our guide narrates the tragic story of the murals. On news of the Maharaja’s death, his wives left the palace, dressed in all their finery, to join him in the afterlife. As they walked through the gates of the fort, they marked the wall with vermillion-stained handprints. A silent procession followed them to the Maharaja’s funeral pyre, where they took off their jewelry, gave it away to the women of Jodhpur, and climbed into the flames of the king’s funeral pyre.

The air of grief lingers. As we went further in, it was fitting then that music greeted us: a musician playing a song on the Ravanhatha. Our guide informs us that this ancient folk instrument was fashioned in the shape of King Ravana’s arm, its melancholic music a reminder of his tragic misdeeds.

A more joyful song played on the nagara, a folk drum.

From traditional costumes and carefully preserved palanquins, to hand-painted curtains, artillery, jewelry boxes and art, the Mehrangarh Fort protects and showcases some of Rajasthani royalty’s most treasured possessions. Of the many exquisite palace rooms, the Moti Mahal or the Palace of Pearls is the most intriguing. It was the meeting place of the king and his closest ministers (hence the naming of the room) for matters of State importance. As the King discussed urgent matters of state importance with his cabinet, the prince would watch and learn the nuances of governance and the science of warfare. But the room’s most interesting feature is its hidden balconies, from where the women of the palace, the queen and her daughters, could be privy to the politics of state and conversations of national importance.

Jodphur is full of such enchanting vignettes. Colourful stories were everywhere, all we had to do was listen; every turn of road brought us new characters, another fascinating tale.

Anisha and Mowna travelled through Jodhpur, Jaisalmer and the sand dunes of Khuri, Rajasthan.
Follow them on Twitter @anishaoommen and @mowna_r
For more desert adventures read:
15 things we loved about Ragasthan
Jaipur, the golden city in the desert