There is something very intriguing in the view from the aeroplane as it descends over Udaipur. The sheer greenery of the land below makes me wonder whether this is a verdant hillside of Kerala. And the roadsides bear a sight so familiar on the roads of Thrissur – wild creepers growing complacently on electricity poles and on the stabilizing steel wires joining the poles to the ground!

It is difficult to believe that I am in the state of Rajasthan which I have associated with deserts since learning about the Thar desert during standard 3 in school. Clumps of multicoloured lantana (kongini in Malayalam) on the roadside, an abundance of wild grass with yellow and violet flowers, fresh foliage on trees – the rain seems to have worked magic on the land!

I notice that shop fronts are covered with writing in Hindi, so is the wall space between shops, possibly because hoardings are yet to make their way into this place. Is this a land where people don’t talk much? And if they do, they perhaps speak in full sentences? I wonder, because the typical shop sign reads “groceries and household items are available in this shop” instead of the ubiquitous laconic “groceries and household items” that you see elsewhere.

While Udaipur is known for its lakes and palaces, there is more to the place. On our trip to Kumbhalgarh Fort, we pass roadsides so scenic that I have seen them only in old calendars: a gentle river meandering its way over stones rounded by years of flowing water, flanked on both sides by flowering shrubs and trees, and green mountains in the distant horizon. Knee-high man-made walls of weather-hardened cut rock crisscross the area, reminding me of some of the last scenes in ‘The Shawshank Redemption,’ and young shepherd boys guide their goats to grazing land. Schoolgirls wave at us as the bus passes; I remember reading somewhere that we are obliged to wave back, if only to keep hope alive in the minds of the enthusiastic children.

The Fort itself is well-maintained, its 36 km long wall stretching out ahead of us, encompassing several Hindu and Jain temples. Our guide is a small boy who goes to school in the morning and leads tourists through the Fort in the afternoon, regaling them with stories of the seven-and-a-half-foot tall king who reigned in the Fort’s heyday. We gasp and pant, our knees rebelling, over the rock-paved incline at the beginning, and wish there were banisters to hold while descending steps, but the boy is lithe, almost impatient, as he waits for us at the next interesting spot.

We sit on the stone steps in front of a temple and the mild breeze cools down the weary tourists. After a picnic lunch by the riverside, we are on our way back to civilization and pollution, honking horns and dusty air. But the enchantment stays with us, and before we leave Udaipur, we have all, with varying strength of intention, contemplated visiting the place again. I, for one, would like to see again this land in North-West India that uncannily reminded me of Kerala!