A vintage car rally preceded the tournament’s final match, with 22 gleaming classics—including a hot-red 1939 Delahaye and the maharaja’s own cream-and-burgundy Buick Road Master—descending on the hotel’s main driveway. I was invited to participate and ended up in roomy 1950s Plymouth. On the short drive to the polo field I felt like I was part of some royal entourage; passersby waved and cheered, and motorists stopped to wind down their windows and snap pictures on their smartphones. More pomp and ceremony awaited at the grounds, including a bagpipe recital by a band of turbaned Rajasthani men, and a Marwari horse show where a couple of stallions reared up, paddling their forelegs like toddlers attempting a spat. Light applause trickled through the audience. “Big hands ladies and gentleman, I can’t hear you!” urged the commentator.
The game started, clouds of dust rising as the horses tore off, tearing up the clumpy soil. Central Academy dominated the first two chukkas, surging into a five-point lead. In the second half, I crossed to the other side of the field and found a spot next to Borwick. “The game here is challenging, you really have to adapt. In Argentina the grass is immaculate and you can pass your way up the field, like tiki-taka. Here, you have to improvise.” Suddenly, as if scripted by a seasoned Bollywood screenwriter, IPG Bedla staged a comeback, and by the time the final buzzer rang, they’d won 8½–7. The result was a triumph on many levels—for the local boys from Mayo, for a team with no foreign players, for the underdogs. “They played like a team all the way from the back. That’s why they won,” mused Borwick.
That night, as the climactic event of the week, the maharaja held a party at Mehrangarh Fort, which he still owns. A line of garlanded camels greeted guests at the entryway and the cast of entertainers within included wizened folk musicians, female dancers who balanced six water pots on their head while spinning, and Brooklyn Asian-electro-fusion superstar Karsh Kale. A gargantuan spread included Rajasthani dishes I remember from my youth, like gatta (nuggets of cooked chick-pea flour) and sangri (thread-like beans from the khejri tree). After the performance, we packed into a courtyard—the same courtyard I’d stood in a day earlier, taking photos of the intricate doorways—to shake our moneymakers while illuminated by strobes and blinking purple lights. It was all a little surreal, women in saris and men wearing safa turbans, dancing to “La Bamba” in the tight spaces of a 600-year-old fort, the stars glinting above. I wondered what the pigeons, peering down from the rooftops and sculpted windows at these gyrating interlopers, made of it all?
THE DETAILS
Getting There
Jodhpur’s small airport, founded as a flying club by Maharaja Umaid Singh in the 1920s, is serviced by daily Air India flights from Delhi and Mumbai.
Where to Stay
Set amid 10 hectares of manicured gardens on the outskirts of town, the Umaid Bhawan Palace (91-291/251-0101; doubles from US$320) was once counted among the largest private residences in the world. Today, its 76 guest rooms and suites, done up in an Art Deco style, are as grand as you’ll find in Jodhpur.
For a more immersive stay, the Raas (91- 291/ 263-6455; doubles from US$260) is centered on the pavilions of a restored haveli in the heart of Jodhpur’s ancient walled city. Rooms are sleek and minimalist, while a cabana-flanked swimming pool offers a picturesque vantage point for admiring the 15th-century majesty of Mehrangarh Fort.
As for Polo …
Jodhpur’s December polo season includes tournaments and one-day exhibition matches, highlighted by the invitation-only Royal Salute Maharaja of Jodhpur Golden Jubilee Cup.
This article originally appeared in the April/May 2014 print issue of DestinAsian magazine (“Rajasthan by the Reins”).
