My sole connection to the former desert kingdom of Bikaner in Rajasthan lies in the fact that my great-grandfather, Frank D’Souza, was instrumental in setting up the Bikaner State Railway in the early 1940s. As a little girl on my gran’s knee, I heard multiple tales of life there with her father, and their encounters with the royal family. Over the years I’ve revisited the city in pursuit of stories, which conjure up my grandma’s life and times with the erstwhile Maharajas. This time, however, I’m visiting Bikaner with a slightly different mandate. I’m here to experience design-hotel Narendra Bhawan. The invitation suggests that this will be more than a formulaic historic-mansion-turned-hotel encounter. What used to be the palatial home of Maharaja Narendra Singh, promises, in its new avatar as Grand Residence, to be a re-telling of the life of this charismatic monarch, through experience and artefact.
Arriving at the property itself is a bit like landing in an ornamental painting. The entrance is stately and the staff exudes friendly informality, both in the personalised welcome they proffer and the ease of their attire. The difference between novelty and utility begins to blur, in the indoor-outdoor lounging area — that is the Verandah, a satisfying recasting of a typical hotel reception. Influenced by the Bombay Art Deco movement, the space is peppered with modern Indian furniture, Portuguese tiles and tribal artwork. The Baby Grand Piano “Edith” sits at one end, lofty in her presence.
Regal recreation
Unlike the frequent narratives of palace encounters, with their emphasis on the stately and the sophisticated, and distinctive protocols to be followed, which my gran often narrated to me, there’s an exhilarating sense that Narendra Singh’s old home doesn’t take itself too seriously. What seems to me at first theatrical, in its representing of quirky aspects of the personality of the modern aristocrat, starts quickly to feel comfortable. Especially when I stumble upon stacks of Penguin Classics that inhabit assorted nooks in the Verandah, in what could possibly be described as a contemporary recreation of the library.
The design mandate lets the eccentricities play out, while retaining elements of traditional style. The Drawing Room for instance, is a haiku of rich velveteen fabric, stylish furniture and modern paintings. The all-day dining space is called P&C, in tribute to the preferred attire of the Maharanis, pearl strings and chiffon saris.
I stay in the ‘Prince’s Room’ that bears the stamp of the personality driven by influences from both East and West. Here, an armchair with English prints, there, glittering mirrors and mosaic, a writing-desk with a colonial-style lamp and pastel pink note-cards. When the subject of the erstwhile royals comes up, it is often through tasteful allusion. Photographs of the former royal family in the corridors, for instance, illustrate their obvious fondness for dogs.
Dine like a king
Narendra Singh evidently also bore a penchant for sumptuous repasts. I am told that his thoughts on gastronomy directed the course of a series of carefully-curated culinary experiences, which have been christened ‘meditations.’ I sign up for a ‘Museum Lunch’ in the Gold Room of the nearby Lakshmi Niwas Palace. It’s a recreation of a palace menu from a regal dinner around Christmas time in the mid 1900’s, similar copies of which my grandmother long preserved, to keep alive her nostalgic memories of extravagant dining experiences in the palace.
All the dishes have, as was the tradition of the time, appropriately French-sounding names, starting with the Mousse aux asperges (asparagus mousse). The notable difference is that unlike times past, there’s no hierarchy as to where we sit at the table. We plonk ourselves next to those we most connect with, according to interest and ability, rather than status, a characteristic which, in some sense, distinguishes a new elite. The courses arrive, in relentless assault. By the time we reach the plat du Bikaner, a litany of local specialties on a thali , I’m wishing I’d worn the pants with the elasticated waistband.
To break up all the nose-to-tail eating and work up an appetite, I head to the rooftop pool, and finally out on the hotel’s curated excursions. ‘The Royal Exploration’ focuses on palaces, museums and royal cenotaphs, all a short ride away from Narendra Bhawan. I witness the latticed trellis work suspended between roof and balcony in the Junagadh Fort, and remember my gran’s account of how the royal ladies would peep through it to observe the goings-on at the grand receptions below.
The paradox, I suppose, of royal life is that while existing in an oasis of art and architecture, the only clouds the ladies were really permitted to adventure under, were the painted ones on the ceiling.
Rooms start at ₹12,000 per night, on narendrabhawan.com.
