Intro
If the City Palace is Udaipur’s crown, Bagore ki Haveli is its memory box. And when the haveli gave us stories, the lake gave us drama. That evening, as the skies broke open, Lake Pichola turned into a stage where storm, water, and light performed together.

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Bagore ki Haveli — Echoes of a Bygone Era

Leaving the City Palace, we strolled along Gangaur Ghat until Bagore ki Haveli came into view. Built in the 18th century by Amar Chand Badwa, Prime Minister of Mewar, this grand mansion once housed nobles and later became a royal guest house. Today, it is lovingly restored into a museum that preserves the daily life and artistry of Rajasthan’s past.

Stepping inside, we were greeted by courtyards lined with arched windows and intricately carved balconies. Each chamber told a different story:

• Rooms decorated with frescoes of royal processions.
• Jharokhas overlooking the ghat, where queens may once have sat.
• A puppet gallery filled with Rajasthani kathputlis, each frozen in mid-dance.
• A miniature painting gallery alive with tales of Krishna and local deities.

One room surprised us with a collection of turbans, each style linked to a region of Rajasthan — Marwari, Mewari, Shekhawati. Another chamber displayed an array of hookahs, paan boxes, and ornate swings, each detail offering a glimpse into domestic life centuries ago.

Perhaps most charming was the doll museum, filled with figurines in traditional attire. To some, they may seem childlike toys, but to me, they felt like frozen fragments of culture, carefully preserved.

By the time we stepped out onto the terrace, Bagore ki Haveli had left us with a quiet sense of connection — not to kings and warriors, but to ordinary lives that once filled its rooms.

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The Storm on Lake Pichola

Evening had deepened, and we walked to the jetty for a boat ride across Lake Pichola. Tickets in hand, we climbed into the boat with other passengers, the water calm at first, reflecting the glow of the City Palace.

Halfway across, the skies shifted. A low rumble rolled over the lake, and suddenly the monsoon unleashed itself. Sheets of rain slashed the water, lightning cracked across the sky, and the palace’s glowing reflection fractured in the waves. The boat rocked gently, and for a moment, it felt like we had been transported into a cinematic scene — part romance, part storm, part timeless drama.

Everyone in the boat gasped and laughed nervously. Some covered themselves with scarves and jackets, while others simply leaned into the experience, wide-eyed at the spectacle nature was performing. My wife held onto my arm tightly, half thrilled, half wary, her eyes bright with the reflection of the lightning.

As quickly as it began, the worst of the storm passed, leaving the lake glistening and the city lights twinkling brighter than before. The return ride felt calmer, as if the storm had cleansed the air and left behind a fresh clarity.

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A Change of Plans

Our dinner plans had originally been at Upré, that exclusive rooftop restaurant where entry is only by prior reservation. But soaked and shivering, the idea of a formal dinner lost its appeal. Instead, we found comfort in the simplest of local pleasures — mirchi bada and steaming cups of chai from a street vendor.

Standing under a dripping awning, munching on spicy fritters while the rain still tapped softly against the tin roof, I realized that sometimes the best meals are the ones that come unplanned.

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Farewell to the Hunter

That night, I returned the Royal Enfield Hunter to Harshit, who greeted me with his easy smile and asked about our experience. I told him the bike had carried us faithfully through rain and hills, temples and palaces. Parting with it felt like saying goodbye to a companion.

With that done, I arranged a cab for our next adventure — Chittorgarh.

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Outro / Teaser
The city had given us palaces, havelis, and stormy lakes. But the road ahead would carry us to something even grander — Nathdwara’s devotion and Chittorgarh’s epic fort, where legends of valor and sacrifice still echo in stone.