Last weekend, Simran and I set off for Udaipur (the 'City of Lakes') on an impromptu trip. Which is to say, we booked a hotel, planned a rough itinerary, checked numerous lists of “Best Restaurants/Cafes in Udaipur” and carried copious amounts of sunscreen. At our age, an impromptu trip no longer means stuffing a couple of t-shirts into a backpack and heading out for an adventure with nary a hotel booking or travel schedule in sight. We have reached a stage where any travel that involves less than three months of planning qualifies as spontaneous.
Udaipur is a delightful city, particularly the central district bordering Lake Pichola. The narrow, undulating lanes snaking through antiquated buildings leaning on each other like tipsy companions, possess an old-world charm.
Occasionally, the continuous line of buildings is broken and one can catch a glimpse of the lake, feel the cool breeze rush in through the breach. It is all rather soothing and picturesque. Until you are forced to jump out of the way of a scootie hurtling towards you, driven by a person who seems intent to rid Udaipur of tourists.
Truth be told, the two-wheeler-riding populace of Udaipur is masterful at manoeuvring its way through traffic, pedestrians and cows. Cows abound in Udaipur. Plonked in a busy intersection where vehicles honk at each other (but never at the cows) as they try to thread their way through a maze of cattle, our bovine friends serenely gaze at the world bustling around them, wondering what all the fuss is about. You can meditate all you want but until you’ve sat in the middle of (and diverted) traffic, can you ever claim to have attained nirvana?
For our stay, we had booked one of the many havelis (mansions) refurbished as hotels in the central district. It was a quaint three-storeyed building dating back to the nineteenth century, with the rooms built around an open courtyard. The room was intimate. I mean this in every possible sense of the word - the wall separating the living space and the bathroom stopped a few feet short of meeting the ceiling.
Perhaps the masons got lazy or they were not paid to complete the work, we can only hazard a guess as to the cause. Whatever the reason, this architectural innovation meant one of the very few places that remain private after marriage, now lay terribly compromised. I know readers of this newsletter expect a certain sophistication of content so I will not delve into the details. Let me just say when you reside in such a room you inevitably share more than you wish to with your roommate.
On the plus side, the haveli-hotel had a spectacular rooftop view.
Udaipur is known for its lakes, palaces and mansions but the city is all about rooftops. Rooftop seating is ubiquitous in hotels/restaurants/cafes in Udaipur. Some sources say that while having a kitchen is optional to acquire a license to run an eatery, having rooftop seating is strictly mandatory. As you can imagine, rooftop seating in slender buildings can tend to get a little cramped. Proprietors wish to squeeze as many tables as they can into this coveted real estate, which results in patrons not just enjoying the views but also their neighbouring table’s conversation.
As we sat at a cafe overlooking Lake Pichola, we were treated to an interesting scene playing out between a couple at the table next to ours. Now let me clarify, my wife and I are not nosy people. We do not eavesdrop on others in order to glean details of their private lives. We prefer to be categorized as keen students of human psychology. We enjoy observing people, purely from an academic standpoint. Does that mean we shift our chairs ever so slightly to be able to better hear the conversations of others and surreptitiously message each other our observations and hypotheses? Sure, but we do so in the interests of science.
Casual onlookers, who do not possess our astute observational skills, may have assumed the couple were merely friends or perhaps on a lakeside date. But to us, it was apparent right away that there was more to this story. We assessed that the couple were discussing a potential marital alliance which seemed to have originated from a matrimonial website. Negotiations were at an early stage and parties were tentative in their dealings with each other. Their texting game, it seemed, had been poor. The boy complained that she didn’t text enough and the girl rebutted that she didn’t always understand the jocular tone of his messages. The boy waxed eloquently about his friends and cousins, while the girl seemed uncomfortable by the subtextual suggestion of having to win their favour.
To experts such as us, it was evident the prospective bride and groom had fairly different personalities and, though it pained us to arrive at this conclusion, would not make a good match. Unfortunately, our studies were interrupted when the cafe staff unceremoniously told the couple to leave1. Thus deprived, we returned our attention to the view.
Overwhelmed by the beautiful vista and saddened by the thought of the marital disappointment that would soon befall our erstwhile neighbours, I thoughtlessly remarked, “When a man can have views like this, what need has he of marriage and a wife?”
By the time I realised what I had done, it was too late. My travel companion’s jaw was clenched as she stared into the distance, a cold fire burning in her eyes. I gulped and asked for the bill.
I could tell the sun had set on our vacation.
P.S.: If you want to discover other newsletters as cool as this one, check out The Sample.
The couple didn’t seem too bothered by this forced exit, but we were appalled by the staff’s behaviour. Maybe Udaipur cafes look askance at young couples discussing marriage on their premises?