Land of mystical charm!

As November settles in, Rajasthan’s allure grows impossible to ignore. The chaotic hum of Mumbai fades with each passing mile, replaced by the silent stories of sand dunes and palaces. This time, I’ve set my sights on Jaipur, Udaipur, and Jaisalmer, hoping to soak in Rajasthan’s traditions at the turn of winter—a season that brings with it a unique romance, one that resonates deeply with this colourful land.

The “Pink City” is a riot of colour even before winter settles in, but November lends a certain magic to Jaipur. The sunlight turns softer, casting warm hues over the palaces and the bustling bazaars. My first stop is the iconic Amber Fort, where golden walls seem to glow under the winter sun. As I walk through its grand corridors, I meet an older man named Shyam, a guard with a fondness for storytelling. He points to the Jaivana Cannon and shares stories of ancient battles and kings who once defended this land. His voice lowers conspiratorially as he tells me that, even now, they say the fort is filled with whispers from the past.

Outside, in the courtyard, I spot a group of women dressed in Rajasthani attire—vibrant lehengas with intricate embroidery, paired with stacks of silver bangles that jingle with every move. The sight is mesmerising, and I find myself drawn to one woman who sits painting delicate designs on her hand with henna. I ask her if she would paint my hand, and she smiles, nodding eagerly. As she works, she shares snippets of her life, the pride she feels in Jaipur’s heritage, and the age-old tradition of henna art that has been passed down for generations. Her skill is undeniable, and as she finishes, she tells me, “Henna is not just art—it’s a blessing for health and happiness.”

In the evening, I find myself in the Chokhi Dhani, a village-themed resort on the outskirts of Jaipur. As the chill of the night settles in, bonfires are lit, and locals in traditional attire gather around to sing and dance. A young boy performing the Kalbeliya dance, known for its snake-like movements, captures the essence of Rajasthani culture in every graceful spin. I join the dancers, clapping along, and my laughter mingles with the tunes of the dhol. By the time I leave, the winter chill has sunk into my bones, but my heart is warmed by Jaipur’s spirit.

From Jaipur, I head to Udaipur, the “City of Lakes.” Arriving here feels like stepping into a fairytale, with the serene Pichola Lake and its majestic palaces welcoming me. I check into a haveli on the lake’s edge, a building that seems to whisper secrets from the past. The room has arched windows, and as I look out, the City Palace stands on the other side of the lake, glowing against the sunset like a golden crown.

The following morning, I take a boat ride across Lake Pichola to the Jag Mandir. The water is calm, reflecting the surrounding architecture in a picture-perfect panorama. I sit next to an elderly man from a nearby village, who points out the temples and speaks of Udaipur’s history as if it’s a tale told by his grandparents. He talks of Maharana Pratap with reverence, sharing stories that turn Udaipur’s monuments into memories. As we dock, he advises me to return at night, when the palaces are illuminated. “It’s like Diwali every night here in the winter,” he chuckles.

I spend the afternoon wandering through the City Palace, where each room is a world in itself—colourful mosaics, ornate mirrors, and intricate carvings. At one point, I meet a young woman studying art, who is sketching the peacock mosaics. She speaks of her dream to paint the spirit of Udaipur, to capture how it feels to be here in winter when life seems gentler and every corner breathes romance. I watch her sketch with a focus and grace that mirrors Udaipur’s own elegance.

By evening, I heed the old man’s advice and head back to Lake Pichola. As darkness settles, the palaces light up, casting their reflections on the lake. It’s a sight that defies words, an image so enchanting it feels surreal. I watch in silence, realising that Udaipur, with its lakes and lights, doesn’t just exist; it dances.

Jaisalmer, my last stop, lies farther west, in the heart of the Thar Desert. Known as the “Golden City,” it lives up to its name as I approach, with the Jaisalmer Fort rising like a golden mirage from the sands. The desert air is colder now, biting but bracing. Winter here, I quickly learn, is the only time to truly experience the desert—when the sand is cool underfoot, and the desert winds carry stories on their breath.

The fort itself is alive; people still live within its walls, and narrow streets twist like the coils of a snake. I meet Salim, a local musician, who plays the khartal, a traditional Rajasthani percussion instrument. Salim invites me to a small gathering on the fort’s terrace that night, where a few musicians have come together to perform for no one in particular. The moon rises over the sand dunes in the distance, casting a silver glow on the fort’s sandstone walls. As Salim’s music begins, the night becomes a spell of Rajasthani rhythms and echoes that seem to dance through the fort.

The next morning, I take a camel safari into the desert. My camel, an old creature named Sultan, plods steadily through the dunes as our guide, Arif, shares stories about the life of the camel herders. He speaks with a mix of pride and nostalgia, of a lifestyle that’s fading but refuses to vanish. We stop at a remote sand dune as the sun begins to set, and Arif pulls out a small kettle to brew chai over a makeshift fire. Sitting there, watching the sky turn from gold to deep blue, sipping chai in the desert silence, I feel a profound connection to this land and its people.

The night in the desert is both harsh and beautiful. Wrapped in blankets, I lie on the sand, watching the stars, which seem impossibly close, like diamonds scattered across the sky. There’s a silence here that I haven’t experienced elsewhere—a silence filled with presence, as if the desert itself is breathing around me.

Leaving Rajasthan is harder than I anticipated. Each city has left a mark, from Jaipur’s regal vibrancy to Udaipur’s tranquil beauty, and Jaisalmer’s vast solitude. November and December are more than just seasons here—they’re a window into Rajasthan’s soul, where the state’s rich traditions, colours, and warmth are on full display without the scorching heat of summer or the harshness of the monsoon.

As the train pulls out of Jaisalmer station, I watch the golden sands fade into the distance, carrying with me stories of Rajasthan’s people, its palaces, and its undying traditions. The henna on my hand has faded to a soft orange, but the memories remain vivid, etched into my heart like patterns in the sand. And as Mumbai looms closer, I already know I’ll be back next winter, ready to let Rajasthan’s stories unfold once more.

The writer is a freelance travel journalist.