The Maharaja and I - Same Same, No Difference

December 2015

Right from the start it was a day of striking, and for bleeding hearts like me, often disturbing, contrasts.  After a morning relaxing, reading, communicating electronically with geographically distant family and friends, catching up on the news, and then lunching on the quiet plant-filled roof-top terrace of our hotel, we descended into the squalor of the streets of Jodhpur, risked life and limb to cross the street, fording with false bravado the chaos and din of everyday Indian traffic, and got into a pre-arranged tuk-tuk with driver Govind.  He was an uncharacteristically slow driver who, even more uncharacteristically, did not beep his horn every two minutes as he drove.  Once we were a little ways out of the centre of town the roads became broader and quieter – we could almost relax and pretend, for those few minutes, that we were not in India. 

Umaid Bhawan Palace is situated atop Chittar Hill, just on the outskirts of the city.   At its base the hill is carpeted with green grasses and scrub vegetation, but higher up the landscape culminates in giant slabs of ‘pink’ sandstone, which in most lights appears either burgundy or orange.  The recently paved road up the ‘front-side’ of the Palace wound through a new, and very upscale, housing development.  I wondered who would live there – certainly not the vast majority of the people I saw daily on the streets and in the markets of Jodhpur.  Expats?  Political big-wigs?  It was disappointing, given the obvious expense of the development, to note that there were, at least as yet, no solar panels, despite adverts on India’s tv stations about the importance of, and India’s commitment to, green energy (solar and wind).  Ah well…

Once we got to the Palace gates, and paid our $2 ‘foreigners’ entry fee (after all, the Maharaja’s gotta eat!), we got our first unobstructed view of the Palace.  It was suitably impressive – a massive edifice on a 23 acre site, including 15 acres of gardens.  According to a sign inside the palace, it is the ‘last of India’s great palaces and one of the largest in the world’.  It has 347 rooms, including a throne chamber, an exclusive private meeting hall, a Durbar Hall where the Maharaja could meet with the public, a vaulted banquet hall that could accommodate 300 people, private dining halls, a ball room, a library, in indoor swimming pool and spa, a billiards room, four tennis courts, two unique marble squash courts, several courtyards, and multiple long passages connecting all the rooms.  It was built by Maharajah Umaid Singh over a period of 15 years (from 1929 to 1944), ostensibly as a ‘drought relief’ project.   Some 3000 ‘famine-starved’ people (men, women and children) were thus employed building an uber-luxurious palace for just one of the many royal families of Rajasthan.  

The chosen building materials – golden sandstone, marble, polished black granite and Burmese teak for the interior woodwork – were not nearby, and had to be brought in by train.  That of course required the construction of a special rail line… . The sandstone blocks used in the construction of the Palace are very large, and skillfully dry-fitted together without the use of mortar.  Because of the massive weight of many of the blocks, vast quantities of ice were also imported (there was no water nearby) to facilitate the exact placing of the blocks – the blocks were placed on ice supports, and fitted carefully into place as the ice melted.  Donkeys were brought in to haul tons of soil up the hill for the 15 acres of gardens.  The cost of all of this is estimated to have been well over 11 million dollars, which although it may have helped the drought-stricken population, pretty much bankrupted the people and the state of Rajasthan.

Very little of the Palace is open to the public at large.  Around two thirds of it is now a luxury hotel run by Taj Hotels. It has 70 guest rooms, including the luxurious "Maharaja" and "Maharani suites" with art deco style decorations.  The Maharajah Suite has black marble flooring and a curved mirrored dome.  The Maharani suite has an attached kitchen and a bathroom with a bath tub carved from a single block of pink marble.   Both the rooms are decorated with murals.  The Palace’s banquet hall is now the hotel’s (large) restaurant.  Most of the rest of the Palace is the very private residence of Maharaja Gaj Singh II of Jodhpur-Marwar, the grandson of Maharajah Umaid Singh.  

The Royals did manage to dedicate a small portion of the Palace to a museum, which is the only place most people can visit (at $800 plus per night the hotel is out of bounds for all but the rich and/or royal).  The museum is of course dedicated to the life and pursuits of the Royal Family as well as the construction of the Palace.  A special ‘Sporting’ section of the museum showcases the Royal’s love of polo (the Maharajah was known to take his entire team, and all their ponies, to matches in England, where he rented entire floors of upscale western hotels) and to his favourite sport, pig sticking.  There are also a couple of stuffed leopards on display in lifelike stances, presumably shot by one of the Maharajahs.

The entry door to the museum was guarded by a white-suited, orange-turbaned straight-backed, serious and mustachioed fellow whose photo I had to take several times to get him without back-pack laden, scruffy jeans and t-shirt wearing tourists.  Upon entering, I did notice that there were large holes in the toes of the guard’s shoes, and he of course had no socks, but he wore a big smile, and waved us graciously in to the sanctified main hall of the museum, where we were greeted by the first big portrait of the Maharajah himself.  Throughout the museum we saw many more large photos of the Maharajah – sufficient for me to coin the place the ‘All About Me Maharaja Museum’.  

Of all of the displays in the museum, perhaps the most fascinating one, maybe because of the current steampunk craze, was a collection of steam clocks – in the form of train engines, submarines, light-houses and windmills.  Otherwise the museum was somewhat disappointing.

Upon exiting the museum we heard a drum roll and trumpet fanfare from the direction of the hotel entrance, some 75  feet from the museum entrance (and the closest we were permitted to get), and saw a car drive up.  Two smartly uniformed (in a military style) men, a colourfully dressed bellboy and a beautifully dressed woman met the typically casually dressed, bag-and-backpack toting tourists who emerged, rather gracelessly, from the car.  We witnessed this ‘welcoming ceremony’ two or three times more in the course of a half-hour or so.  Not sure how the tourists enjoyed the show, but certainly the crowd of Indians watching from their vantage point, safely secured behind solid barricades, were enchanted.  Royalty and finery brings out the voyeur in all of us.

We skirted the gardens (do not walk on the grass, do not pluck flowers) to view the Maharajah’s vintage car collection, housed in a glass-fronted garage the size of an airplane hanger.  Several Rolls Royces, a couple of BMWs, Cadillacs and, improbably, a Morris Minor – maybe it belonged to one of the kids, or was purchased in a time of relative Royal austerity. 

As we were about to leave we stopped to chat with one of the many Palace guards.  His job was to keep people off the grass – Indian children have a way of straying from their parents.  We asked him how much it cost to stay at the hotel.  His response was 40,000 Rupees per night – with no food included, just the room (and not one of the fancy suites).  That’s $800, more or less.  We whistled – ‘that’s a lot of money for just a room’.

‘Yes’, but that’s nothing to you,’ he asserted.  ‘ You are airplane people – you came here on an airplane, and that costs a lot of money.  I am a cycle person.  I am a poor person.  You are rich like the Maharajah.’  We pointed out to him that the gap between us and the Maharajah, in terms of wealth, was no less than the gap between him and us.  But he would have none of it.  ‘The Maharajah is an airplane person.  You are airplane people. You and he are the same.’  In the end, he is right.  We are the same: white foreigners = Maharajahs.  If we really wanted to, we could pay the $800 or $1000 to stay at the Umaid Bhawan Palace Hotel.  He will never be able to do that.

We left the Palace by walking down the quiet ‘backside’ road which leads directly into town.  (Interestingly, we were the only tourists who chose to walk down – the rest took tuk-tuks or taxis, which come and go by the more dramatic front road.)  Nearest to the Palace entrance the road was lovely, flanked by well-tended grass and trees; we spotted a couple of peacocks on the top of a wall, silhouetted by the sun.  But not that far from the Palace, certainly still within its grounds, we noted the ubiquitous piles of litter and garbage, and the yellow-stained and pungent smelling walls that locals have marked as public ‘latrines’.  It must feel good, at times, to piss on the Maharajah and all he embodies.

As we reached street level we came upon a shabby, ragged tent colony of homeless – people about as destitute as any we’ve seen – right under and in view of the Palace.  Across the street from them were a row of expensive tourist antique shops showcasing the old doors, statuary and other artifacts that have apparently often been taken (some would say stolen) from old Rajasthani havelis.  Their price tags were well out of our reach.  A very old broken-down wooden cart, good for nothing but a garden decoration, was priced at $1000.  Well, why not?  I wondered what it would cost to ship it back to North America – about as much as a one night stay at the Umaid Bhawan Palace – with breakfast, of course. 

But I don’t think I’ll be staying at the Umaid Bhawan Palace Hotel any time soon, or any time at all.  Having moved among the people of Rajasthan and India, having witnessed the incredible hardships and deprivations that they live with and accept as given, I’m afraid I would feel nauseated at even the sight of a sumptuous multi-course dinner, served in a dining hall large enough to seat 300.  I may be a Maharajah (or Maharani), to the guard at the Palace, but I’m just a Western working gal counting my rupees in order to stretch my budget for as long as I can to explore this amazing place – Incredible India indeed.

Further Information

Umaid Singh (1903-1947) was Maharaja of Jodhpur from 1918 until his death. During his reign, Umaid Singh reformed and reorganized the Jodhpur State Forces and the judicial department, introduced a scheme for extending primary education, revised the land revenue settlement and established state pensions and a Provident Fund for state employees.

Umaid Bhawan Palace is one of the largest private residences in the world, with over 347 rooms.  Part of it is still the principal residence of the former Jodhpur royal family. Another part is a museum, and yet another part is run by the Taj Hotel group.  

For more information on the Palace go to: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umaid_Bhawan_Palace

For more information of the Hotel go to: 

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Here's what the site has to say about the Maharaja suite: “A much earthier and certainly a more masculine mood prevails in Maharaja Umaid Singh's suite just across the crystal fountain separating his suite from his Maharani's.  Obviously, Norblin saved his finest works for his generous patrons' personal apartment. The Maharaja Suite has murals of leopards, tigers, horses and even of the famed Jodhpur sport, pig sticking. Flaming torch lamps in chrome, plush Ruhlmann sofas in faux leopard skin, the delightful mirrored bar in the drawing room and the original artifacts that still adorn the shelves make this an incredibly handsome suite." 

Maharaja Suite Amenities

• 3700 square feet.
• Exotic painted murals by self-exiled artist Stefan Norblin.
• Chrome flaming torches.
• Plush Ruhlmann sofas.
• Mirrored bar.
• Original artifacts.
• Wifi services for resident guests (terms and conditions apply)
  * Basic access - complimentary
  * Premium access - at a nominal charge
• 5 fixtures bathrooms, including a double vanity counter, bathtub, shower stall and WC cubicles.
• LG or Samsung 33 inch LCD TV with DVD Player with a centrally located DVD library.
• In-room electronic safe.
• Dual line telephones with voicemails.
• 24 hour in-room dining.
• Evening turndown service with sweets.
• Glass tiled bathroom with private steam room & en suite couple therapy room.”
• Bath menu with four distinct choices.
• Rani Padmawati milk bath - rejuvenating Bath.
• Rajput princess bath - Healing Bath.
• Narangi bath - Energizing Bath.
• Vishuddhi Bath - Detoxification Bath