'The Work of Goblins Rather Than Men'

In Bundi, the food arrives at its own pleasure, but what's the rush? Having ushered in the new year, our party of eight was in no hurry.

For the more evolved kind of traveller, New Year's Eve need not be celebrated in Goa or Bali or any other favoured "party" destination, for there are more lovely, off-beat destinations that give you a different vibe for the over-hyped end-of-the-year celebrations. Bundi in Rajasthan is the kind of place where you become aware of a clock only intermittently "" such as if there is an early morning train to catch from Kota, the nearest big town and the point from where we entered and exited this idyllic town. And this fleeting acquaintance with time means that the big New Year's Eve is just another evening of genteel, quality fun, the kind that Delhi and Mumbai seem to have forgotten a long time ago.

Being in Bundi is like sitting in a history book. A quick pit-stop to quench our thirst with a soft drink or a cup of tea in the middle of a bazar brings us to a haveli that the owners tell us is at least "350 years old". And that kind of age is easily bandied about. There are many havelis, and the proprietors work with their families to welcome you into their homes, those warm and well-built witnesses to history.

Bundi is part of the Hadoti and was dominated by Hada Rajputs for several centuries. Though Bundi lost relevance as a kingdom, losing what are now the districts of Baran, Kota and Jhalawar, it retained its place in the hearts and minds of people for its architecture and its school of art, the Bundi school. Rudyard Kipling had this to say about Bundi: "Jeypore Palace may be called the Versailles of India; Udaipur's House of State is dwarfed by the hills round it and the spread of the Pichola Lake; Jodhpur's House of strife, gray towers on red rock, is the work of giants, but the Palace of Bundi, even in broad daylight, is such a palace as men build for themselves in uneasy dreams "" the work of goblins rather than of men."

Though Bundi has enough monuments and stepwells to see, our party of eight travellers (a strange mix of ages and nationalities: the oldest member of this party was 70 and the youngest six; nationalities ranged from Greek, Indian, French, half-French, half-Indian, one-quarter Polish and three-quarters Indian) really wanted some peace and quiet away from the madness of Delhi, the incessant phone calls, equally incessant doorbell-ringings at odd hours, and other such aggravations.

And there was no dearth of peace and quiet. Bundi is yet to be discovered by Indian tourists. Foreigners, mainly the French, have in the last five years found Bundi to be an ideal destination, full of Rajasthan's beauty and history but without the commercialisation that popular tourist destinations often fall prey to.

A typical day would involve waking up at an hour of your choice and then wandering to find a place to eat breakfast. And no eatery, mostly run by the proprietors themselves, ever disappointed us when it came to the quality of food. It was always superb even if there were just two tables put out on a terrace with the family's laundry (including underclothes) hanging out to dry on the side.

If Bundi so far has attracted tourists for its historical monuments, its school of art and stepwells, it's time for it to be recognised as a destination for its food. The only hurdle is the time taken for it to arrive on your table from the time you place the order. Our first lunch in Bundi went something like this: we asked an Indian man who was looking down from his terrace if his establishment served lunch. Upon his assent, we clambered up to find two rickety tables, one occupied by a French women who was casually smoking a cigarette.

Once the order was placed, the Indian man walked off with a jhola to buy the ingredients for our meal (at one point during the meal, he just shouted across to a shop selling milk products to send up some stuff). When he returned, the smoking French woman got up casually to cook our meal, which came to us in fits and starts. The meal took almost three hours, because the food arrived as if it were part of a long-winded theatre play: the first dish was clearly act one, scene one; the next scene two. Sometimes two dishes were part of the same scene and act. The meal ended with each of us scavenging from whichever dish came first, and then, when our stomachs were full and still the entire order hadn't arrived, we tired before the French chef did.

And this was pretty much the story of all meals: order taken, the cook's helper steps out to buy the ingredients and the food arrives at its own pleasure. But when it did arrive, it did with a smile, and since none of us was in any hurry, waiting was enjoyable. Soaking up the sun, looking at the marvellous Bundi palace and fort and the lake, life in 2008 looked rosy. Happy new year!