Venice of the East

by Nita Bajoria

The yellow cap on the American’s head sitting in front of me in the bright orange boat read “Le Passage to India.” The twenty-seater glided away from the jetty just before sunset, carving gentle ripples across the waters of Lake Pichola. Golden light spilled over the lake, each wave reflecting the coming dusk. This was one of those rare moments when everything aligned—the perfect boat, the perfect light, the perfect feeling.

Udaipur—long known as the Venice of the East—had sat on my travel list for years. Yet it wasn’t until one quiet evening, watching an old James Bond film alone at home, that the city called me again. As Roger Moore chased villains through the bright-painted lanes of Udaipur, I felt the familiar tug of wanderlust. By the time the credits rolled, I had booked my tickets.

My chosen abode was Shiv Niwas Palace—not simply for its grandeur, but for its royal geography. The hotel is located within the sprawling complex that includes the City Palace Museum and the current Maharana’s residence, offering a unique privilege: waking up as a neighbour to Udaipur’s royal lineage. If the Maharana chose this vantage over centuries, there must be something extraordinary about its place.

From my balcony, Lake Pichola stretched like satin beneath a sky of pink-tinged clouds. Two islands floated like dreams: the Lake Palace and Jag Mandir, shimmering in the twilight as though jewels set in water. At night, they became even more pronounced—two white sentinels rising from the lake’s stillness. A boat ride to each island began from the City Palace, and that is exactly what I did on the first evening.

The City Palace itself is a living testament to five centuries of the Mewar dynasty—one of the grandest palaces of Rajasthan, a fusion of Rajput valor and Mughal elegance. I wandered through its carved jharokhas, watched sunlight filter through coloured mirrors, and paused in front of the queen’s velvet swing inside the Sheesh Mahal. In that moment I dropped my Canon on purpose. I wanted to walk through Amar Vilas, Mardana Mahal, Zenana Mahal, Mor Chowk and the narrow passages without a lens between me and the walls. Luxury? Yes. But I found something beyond the gold and mirror-work: a weight of legacy.

That evening, at Manek Chowk, I witnessed “Yash ki Dharohar”—a light & sound show that projected Udaipur’s history across the palace walls. The tales of Maharana Pratap’s patriotism, Panna Dhai’s sacrifice, the Jauhar performed by queens to protect their honour—they danced in lights and voices. It was here I understood that royalty is less about opulent beds and more about purpose, less about pomp and more about the story carried forward.

The next morning I made my way to the Crystal Gallery in Fateh Prakash Palace: to the shimmering furniture, ornate pieces and glittering glass that form perhaps the largest private collection of crystal in the world. From there I wandered into the Vintage Car Museum—Rolls-Royces, Cadillacs, rare Mercedes models—all silent witnesses to an era when kings traveled in style and the city’s streets whispered stories of power.

Then I walked the quieter lanes. Outside the palace gates lies a different Udaipur—an urban maze of narrow alleys, twisty streets lined with bright shops, goats and cows wandering, the odd camel perhaps, and bargaining in Marwari-accented Hindi at Bapu Bazaar and Hathi Pol. I purchased cloth putlis for my daughter, embroidered bags, handmade mukhwas for myself. Life here is as colourful as the market stalls, as lively as the scooter horns and cowbells mixed.

For an art lover like me, I dedicated a day to Shilpagram, the rural arts & crafts complex about three kilometres west of the city, nestled in the lap of the Aravallis. Each hut showcased a tradition, each artisan a story—if you visit Udaipur with a softer eye, you’ll find that the grandeur of the palaces is matched by the soul of its craftspeople.

And of course, for a foodie, Udaipur is a delight. The dal-baati-churma warmed me with comfort; for the non-vegetarian palate, laal maas—slow-cooked mutton with Jodhpuri Mathaniya chillies—was a revelation. I indulged in a vegetarian thali at Natraj, found myself under the stars at Ambrai for non-veg, and for the sweet-tooth came Diljani—a Udaipuri delicacy made of khoya and nuts, found in the bustling lanes of Bapu Bazaar.

Small city, yes. But that is its charm.

Udaipur is best explored not in a taxi but on foot, just like its Venetian parallel. Walk its ghats, drift on its lake, feel its stones under your palm. And now, having walked, glided, eaten, watched, I truly know why they call it the Venice of the East. The comparison is no mere label—it is an invitation to float gently, to wander slowly, and to let the city whisper its secrets.

Author Bio

Nita Bajoria is a travel writer and cultural storyteller whose wandering heart has taken her from desert forts to Himalayan monasteries. With a camera in one hand and a notebook in the other, she seeks places where history lingers and people greet you with stories rather than postcards. Her work has appeared in several leading travel journals and magazines, blending personal narrative with cultural insight.