Bundi, Chosen Quietly
A slow family journey from Chandigarh to Bundi, via Jaipur
Some journeys begin with certainty. Ours began with adjustments, patience, and a quiet decision that slowly reshaped everything.
In this post
- How we chose Bundi when plans refused to settle
- Holding together a family journey
- A train ride that changed shape mid-way
- Jaipur as a pause, confusion, and threshold
- A leopard safari without a leopard
- The road that finally led us to Bundi
It was in November when we first began thinking about travelling together as a family. We would be starting from Chandigarh, and the idea was simple enough — a short break, everyone together.
Hill stations were ruled out because of the cold. Goa didn’t appeal; we had been there many times. Andaman was ruled out by me — I had visited just a year ago. I wanted to go to Kerala, since kids were very young the last time we had been there, but my husband wasn’t keen.
I researched Bhuj and found it a wonderful option, but bookings for the Rann Utsav had apparently begun months earlier and were already full. Plans went back and forth, and before we realised it, December was upon us — without any travel plans at all.
Rajasthan came up in our mind, but most places were far. Jaipur seemed possible, but children had recently visited the city on a school trip and didn’t want to go again. That made things harder. Air tickets during the Christmas season were astronomical, so flying was ruled out almost immediately.
Still, we needed to finalise something.
We tentatively decided on Jaipur considering it was closer to Chandigarh — perhaps we would do a little sightseeing there and then go further on. I wanted a journey where my eighty-plus father could also travel comfortably. About ten days before we were due to leave, things finally shifted. After days of uncertainty, we managed to secure a hotel booking in Jaipur. With that one fixed point in place, the rest of the trip slowly began to arrange itself.
I began researching itineraries on the net occasionally using AI — and started looking for a quieter place near Jaipur, something removed from the usual circuits yet close enough to make sense.
That was when Bundi entered the picture.
Bundi was close to Jaipur, unfamiliar, and promised a slower rhythm — the kind of offbeat Rajasthan experience we were quietly craving. Many people tried to dissuade us. You’ll get bored, they said. But the more I read, the more I liked it. By the time we packed our bags, we already knew we would go on to Bundi.
Holding the Shape of the Journey
Once Bundi was decided, the shape of the journey needed holding.
No one else seemed to have the time — or perhaps the inclination — to plan anything in detail. And yet, I wanted this to be a family outing, not just moving from one place to another. So I began researching Bundi, preparing an itinerary that would ensure there was always something to do, somewhere to go — enough texture in the days that no one would have time to feel bored.
Without realising it at the time, I was planning not just an itinerary, but a form of slow travel in Rajasthan — one that left space for rest, wandering, and surprise.
The plan did not arrive fully formed. It grew, shifted, and rearranged itself — even after we reached Bundi. Some ideas were added, others dropped, and a few revealed themselves only while walking through the town. The itinerary remained fluid, more a guide than a rulebook.
Once Bundi was fixed, my husband added another dimension. Concerned that we might eventually run out of things to do, he announced that we would also go to Sawai Madhopur to visit Ranthambore Tiger Sanctuary. Hotels were promptly booked in both Bundi and Sawai Madhopur.
With the stays in place, the rest quietly returned to me — making itineraries, booking tickets, planning transitions, and shaping the remaining days before the journey had even begun.
The Journey Before the Journey
Since air travel wasn’t an option, we turned to trains. The trains, however, refused to cooperate.
After trying every possible option, we managed a confirmed three-tier berth for my father as a senior citizen on the Garib Rath train. My sister and I also got the bookings for this train. My husband and children remained on the waiting list.
Plans rearranged themselves yet again. My husband decided to drive from Chandigarh to Jaipur. My father, unimpressed by the discomfort of a three-tier night journey, chose to go by road as well. It was then decided that my sister and I would take the train, with my teenage son accompanying us instead of my father.
The train, however, had ideas of its own.
After boarding, officials refused to allot my son the berth my father had vacated, asking us instead to “adjust” him on our seats. By then, my husband had already started driving towards Jaipur.
Somewhere between frustration and practicality, a new plan emerged: my husband would pick up our son from the train at Panipat, allowing us to rest on the train while my son spent the remainder of the journey with his sister.
And so he did.
We had ordered pizza online for my son, which was to be delivered at Panipat station — and after he left, my sister and I ended up eating it ourselves, faintly amused by the absurdity of it all. Our compartment was filled with students heading home for the holidays — lively, loud, and wonderfully awake. Sleep became optional. Laughter did not.
By the time we reached Jaipur around six the next morning, we were exhausted, slightly disoriented, and oddly light. Nothing had gone smoothly — yet everything was moving forward. It was already becoming clear that this would be a family road journey through Rajasthan, shaped as much by adjustments as by destinations.
Arriving Without Arriving
My sister and I arrived in Jaipur by train. My husband, father, and kids had arrived earlier by car. We came together not with excitement, but with shared fatigue — the kind that leaves no space for curiosity.
Since our hotel did not allow early check-in, my husband had to search for another hotel where my father and all of us could sleep. He finally found one, left my father and children there, and came to pick us up from the station. Slowly, we all surrendered the day to sleep. Jaipur waited. We did not.
We were too tired to negotiate, too sleepy to argue, and entirely uninterested in sightseeing. Jaipur, at that moment, was not a destination — it was something to get through.
A Forest That Asked for Patience
That same evening, despite the exhaustion of travel, we went for the Beed Papad Leopard Safari — a newer forest area, separate from the famous Jhalana Leopard Safari, for which we couldn’t get tickets.
As daylight faded, sounds sharpened and shapes softened. We saw monkeys moving easily between branches and deer pausing briefly before slipping back into cover — life present, alert, and quietly continuing.
At one point, we came upon the fresh carcass of a nilgai, unmistakably killed by a leopard. The signs were recent. The forest felt suddenly attentive.
We waited.
Fatigue had not entirely loosened its hold on us. My husband, exhausted from the long drive and unimpressed by the absence of a leopard so far, kept drifting off to sleep in the jeep. When we stopped near the carcass, he dozed off again — and this time began to snore softly.
The children reacted instantly, nudging him awake, anxious that even the smallest sound might scare the leopard away. Our driver, however, was convinced that the snoring sound was that of the leopard and insisted we wait longer.
So we did.
The leopard did not appear — but the moment stayed with us, suspended somewhere between tiredness, hope, and quiet laughter. Even without a sighting, the forest offered something rarer than spectacle: an understanding of how slow travel experiences often stay with us longer than the ones built around checklists.
Finding Our Way Again
After the safari, night had fully settled in. We left the forest and turned our attention to a more ordinary but no less necessary task — finding our hotel in Jaipur.
The hotel stood across from Jal Mahal, glowing softly in the waters of Man Sagar Lake. I went to the reception while my husband began unloading the bags. The receptionist calmly informed me that our booking was in another branch of the same hotel — on the opposite side of Jaipur.
This felt like a bombshell. My husband, understandably, blamed me for setting us on the wrong path.
Across the road, Jal Mahal shimmered in the night. I suggested we walk for a few minutes along the promenade before leaving. We did — and found it unexpectedly refreshing.
By the time we finally reached our hotel, we realised just how vast and bustling Jaipur really is.
And perhaps that, too, was a gift.
Jaipur, Briefly
Jaipur was always meant to be a short stopover. The children had recently visited the city on a school trip and were not keen to repeat it. We understood that, even though part of us would have liked to linger. We had been to Jaipur many years ago, and returning to it — unhurried, older, more observant — would have been something we enjoyed.
This time, however, Jaipur remained a threshold rather than a destination. We passed through it carrying the knowledge that another journey was already waiting to begin.
Morning, At Last
That night, we finally slept — properly and deeply.
The next morning arrived without urgency. We woke slowly, had a relaxed breakfast, and for the first time since leaving Chandigarh, felt rested.
Only then did we begin the drive towards Bundi.
The Road Begins to Unfold
The drive towards Bundi — deeper into offbeat Rajasthan — felt different from the start. The road was smooth, the countryside open. Lakes — natural and man-made — appeared quietly along the way. Mustard fields were in full bloom. Villages glowed with colour — men in bright turbans, women in vivid clothes.
It felt as though the land itself was preparing us, offering calm in advance.
At Tonk, we stopped to visit Sunehri Kothi, built by Nawab Mohammad Ibrahim Ali Khan in the early twentieth century. Inside, the painted walls were beautiful. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to go up to the first floor — where the walls are polished with gold and set with precious stones — as the staircase was unsafe. The building clearly needs restoration.
Even so, there was a deep stillness there.
We continued towards Bundi. By the time the town appeared, it was late afternoon. The fort rose above it quietly, neither dramatic nor imposing — simply present.
And that is where the journey — and our slow travel through Rajasthan — finally began to slow.
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