Kesroli is a tiny village, with a hill above it, on which the fort stands. The village – and the fort – are 2 km from the main highway, 2 km of bumpy, dusty, potholed road. We’ve driven 3 ½ hours from Delhi, and by the time we finally drive up through the gate and stop, we’re tired and hungry. From the car park (tiny; one tourist bus, two large cars, and it’s full), we have to walk up a winding slope to the ‘hotel’. It’s the quintessential castle: turrets, bastions, battlements, all of which have now been embellished and built in places to create rooms. Our rooms are scattered: my sister and her husband have a neat two-room set (ante room and bedroom) tucked away in the far left corner, near the communal drawing room. My sister’s teenagers have a two-room set, each with one bed, right next to the dining hall. My husband and I have a room in what must’ve been a bastion: it lies up a flight of stairs and offers a fine view – from between the arrow slits in the battlements outside – of Kesroli and its fields. The room’s a little cramped, as is the bathroom, though both are clean and comfortable.

The rooms surround a central lawn, with lots of magenta-flowering bougainvillea, a very pretty peach hibiscus, and shady trees. Pretty wrought iron chairs and tables are scattered about the garden, and we spend most of our waking time lounging around here, reading, chatting, bringing our plates out here at mealtimes, or simply watching the squirrels and the birds that flock the place. One evening, while the rest of the residents (a large group of foreign tourists) watch the daily performance of local folk music – something we’ve heard and seen often enough for it to be no longer an attraction – we sit in the communal drawing room. This has a board on which one can play carom; there are magazines to read, and comfortable sofas on which one can loll about and catch forty winks.

A few words about the food, now. As at almost all Neemrana properties, at the Hill Fort too, all meals are buffet, with some dishes Indian and some Western. The average meal has a couple of salads (there’s a soup at dinner too), rice, pasta, a meat or chicken curry, lentils, two or three vegetable dishes, plain yoghurt, papads, bread rolls, Indian pickles, rotis, and at least four or five desserts. Drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic, have to be ordered separately. Breakfast is similar, but with more Western dishes – eggs, cheeses, cereals, fruit, juice, toast, a range of preserves from Neemrana’s own orchards at Ramgarh, and so on. From 5 to 6.30 every evening, there’s tea and coffee served out on the lawns, with homebaked biscuits alongside.

What I love about the Hill Fort is that it’s quiet, comfortable and charming in a non-intimidating way that’s very different from the usual plush and sanitised style of luxury hotels in India. This is more like a homestay: as if we were house guests at the wealthy home of a maharaja or something. There are no TVs in the rooms, the food has a homey feel to it, all the employees are locals, and you can actually feed squirrels off your palm at teatime! The only faults I could fine were two: one, there seemed to be rather a lot of insects – mosquitoes, ants, grasshoppers, etc – around. Two, the local water, which they also to brew tea, has a strange taste that spoils the tea completely. They do put insect repellent out, but I’d suggest you carry your own. About the water? I guess they should boil mineral water for tea.

Despite that, though, I’d certainly come back here again.

The City Palace is a little odd: it has the grandeur, the courtyards and balconies that you see in other Rajasthani palaces – but it also has the filth, the ugly smells and the crimson-brown stains of paan that mark most government offices in north and central India. That’s because the City Palace has been leased out by the maharaja (who is still the official owner) to the Government of India, for use as government offices. The palace houses the Collectorate, which includes most of Alwar’s administrative organisation. Our guide tells us that a new Collectorate is being built and is expected to be ready by about 2012 or so, when the offices will vacate the City Palace and hand it back to the maharaja.

Meanwhile, though, this sprawling complex is a weird mix of old and new, splendid and mundane. We get a brief glimpse of the central courtyard, where massive bulbous columns of marble mark the boundary of the sessions court. Perpendicular to that is the erstwhile Diwan-e-Khaas (the hall of private audience) of the maharajas, with beautifully carved marble pavilions and more columns.

That done, our guide takes us up a few flights of stairs, to the City Palace Museum. This is housed in less than half-a-dozen large halls, and my immediate reaction is: Oh no. The halls look dim; the walls are covered with what looks like painted clapboard, shabby and ugly; and the faded carpet is in tatters. The first two exhibits – a stuffed tiger and a stuffed leopard – aren’t especially attractive either.

Our guide leads us on, past some of the more interesting exhibits in this gallery: brocaded coats, turbans and other clothing that once belonged to the maharajas of Alwar; pieces of porcelain, carved ivory, jade, enamel, and more. There’s a dining table made of German silver and with odd channels laid into the top; when the attendant at the gallery winds up a mechanism under the table, little mechanical fish fitted into each channel flit about as if they were swimming. A bit of an oddity, that.

Another large gallery is devoted to weapons. The glass cases here are filled with arms and armour from medieval and modern India, including the chain mail of the invader Mohammad Ghori; the sword of Ali Mardan Khan (the architect credited with having created the main water channel in the city of Shahjahananad in Delhi), and a tiny pistol that is a twin of the one used by Nathuram Godse to assassinate Mahatma Gandhi. Supposedly, only two pistols of the sort were made: one was used by Godse, the other is here.

The best of all is the gallery of paintings and manuscripts. The City Palace Museum has probably the best collections of medieval Indian paintings and manuscripts anywhere in India, possibly even in the world. It includes large numbers of paintings of local schools of art, such as Bundi, Alwar, and Roopangarh, plus paintings in the Mughal style. There are paintings ranging from the 17th to the 19th centuries, and covering subjects as varied as monuments (the Taj Mahal and the Qutb Minar among them), prominent people (Shahjahan, Dara Shukoh, Jahangir, Ghaziuddin Khan, Bahadurshah Zafar, Sarmad, even Metcalfe), scenes from daily life, and even an entire section on the raags and raginis of Hindustani classical music: each raag corresponds to a particular season and time of day, which are depicted in a painting. There’s also a rather large – and very explicit – collection of erotic paintings. The temple carvings at Khajuraho are tame compared to these!

Also part of the gallery is a collection of finely illuminated medieval manuscripts. These include copies of Sa’adi’s Golestan and Bostan; the Quran; the Yusuf Zuleykha; the Gita Govinda and biographies of rulers, such as the Shahnama, the Akbarnama and the Sikandarnama. All of these had us gaping open-mouthed, they’re so exquisitely detailed, with very intricately painted and gilded illustrations. It was just as well, I think, that photography isn’t allowed inside the museum: if it were, I’d probably have ended up taking photographs of just about every manuscript in the gallery!

Two of the main attractions here are the Mahabharat and the Golestan. The Mahabharat is a finely painted and illustrated scroll that is 200 (yes, two hundred) feet long. The Golestan, painted by two artists of Alwar named Ghulam Ali Khan and Baldeo, is said to have cost Rs 1,00,000, with each folio taking 15 days to create.

If for nothing else, go to the City Palace Museum to see the paintings and the manuscripts. They’re breathtakingly beautiful. And yes, though the carpet and the walls are shabby, these people do seem to do what they can to look after their collection. This is one of the few Indian museums I’ve seen where each exhibit and display case had obviously been dusted, and where exhibits had all been labelled. Even if not always in English, at least in Hindi. We even got to meet the curator, who admitted unhappily that he’s frightfully short-staffed and has a woeful budget. "But we do what we can". Well, kudos to them for at least looking after their collection so well; they’re obviously proud of it, and rightly so.

The museum is open from 10 AM to 4.30 PM. Entry fees are Rs 5 per person for Indians and Rs 10 per person for foreigners.

With so much history, Bala Qila is worth a visit, even though we’ve been warned that it’s mainly in ruins. Since we’re intent on going, however, our guide tells us that we’ll first have to get permission. Bala Qila houses Alwar’s radio transmission tower and is also surrounded by a reserve forest, so all entry is controlled.

Fortunately, getting permission isn’t much of a problem: all one needs to do is submit an application (in duplicate; hand-written will do) at the office of the Superintendent of Police near the City Palace. You hand over the application, wait a few minutes, and are hopefully given a permit that’ll see you through.

Having obtained permission, we drive out of the city and along the hill road that leads to the fort. The Bala Qila is at a height of 304 mt above Alwar, and the 7 km road to it leads through the scrub-like forest that is typical of the Aravali Hills. This is the Bala Qila Reserve Forest, still (if we’re to believe the literature at the Tourist Reception Centre) home to leopards and other wildcats. All we get to see are a few peafowl and a mongoose. Every now and then, we also see well-maintained fort walls, complete with battlements and arrow slits, marching across the hills around.

About 20 minutes’ drive, and we reach the fort, sprawling across the top of the hill in a series of temples, water tanks, palaces, and towers, nearly all of them in ruins. Though the fort itself is fairly large – 5 km from north to south, about 1.6 km from east to west – the citadel, which is where we’ve reached, is a fraction of that size. Inside, there are large courtyards and overhanging balconies. Our guide leads us up the wide ramps (a common feature in Rajasthani forts, to allow palanquins/elephants/horses to move; the high and mighty couldn’t be bothered with walking). A massive renovation project is on right now at Bala Qila, so there’s loads of debris around, and the freshly painted chambers look just a bit too new. One of the pillared chambers overlooking the hills has a stunningly painted and gilded ceiling, with lovely patterns in red and blue on a background of white: it’s one of the few original pieces of decoration in the palace. That, and the panoramic view over the hills, and we’ve seen the Bala Qila. It’s back to Alwar for us.

Bala Qila isn’t a magnificent fort of the likes of Jodhpur’s Mehrangarh or Jaipur’s Jaigarh; but it’s historic and the drive up to it, through the forest, is very pleasant. And of course, there’s that little bit of painted ceiling.

No entry fee is charged for Bala Qila, but do remember to get permission before you come to the fort, or you may not be allowed in. Although driving up to the fort is the easiest option, it’s also possible to walk or take a rickshaw up by a shorter route of a couple of kilometres.

The Neemrana Fort Palace is one of the dozens of forts that dot the desert state of Rajasthan. This one was built in 1464, and by the end of the 1900’s was in ruins. In the mid 1980’s, two partners, Nath and Wacziarg, bought it and ran a huge renovation project on it, converting it into the flagship hotel (or `non-hotel’ as they label their properties) of the Neemrana Hotels group. Today, they’ve added to the fort. There’s a conference room, an amphitheatre, a swimming pool, spa and gym, large shop, and rooms interspersed with terraces, courtyards, quiet verandahs and balconies that offer great views of the low hills around and the village (Neemrana) below.

We’re a largish group this time: my parents, my sister and her husband and kids, Tarun and I. We book four rooms (tariffs, facilities, and features are available at www.neemranahotels.com). Tarun and I get the Dakshin Mahal (all the rooms have the `Mahal’ prefix: a mahal is a palace). Our room’s on a manmade promontory: below us is the village; on the other are the pool, the dining hall, and the amphitheatre.

Our room’s quiet and lovely: block-printed fabrics in warm reds and orange; fittings in traditional carved wood; large mirrors, and summery white curtains. There’s airconditioning, mineral water, fixings for tea and coffee, and a basket of Neemrana’s very own signature shampoo, lotions and face wash. No TV in any of the rooms, but a central recreation area—the Raj Mahal—does have one. On the whole, very clean, comfortable and with a deliciously homely feel. As if we actually were house guests at a not-too-intimidating palace.

Neemrana isn’t hot on things to do. Other than a medieval stepwell, there’s nothing to see, although if you’re lucky and you come when the hotel’s fairly empty, you may get a staff member to take you on a guided tour of the hotel itself.

Neemrana’s perfect for lazing around. We spend our time chatting, swimming, watching the sun set, and reading. And yes, we gorge ourselves: Neemrana lays on appetising buffets, a mix of Indian and Continental food that’s generally good. The desserts, especially, are a hit with us. My nephew eats only soup and a roll, then fills up on chocolate mousse, apple crumble, and coconut flan!

All in all, a wonderful place for a relaxing and happy weekend. Neemrana’s very popular since it’s only about two hours from Delhi, so book in advance (through sales@neemranahotels.com; they’ll confirm only after you pay up at their Delhi or Mumbai office). Note: the hotel spreads across eleven levels, all along the hillside. Wear comfortable walking shoes because you’ll need to climb up and down stairs. And yes, ask for a room in the old part of the fort. The newer rooms, though they’re nice, lack the quaintness of the medieval fortress, with its narrow corridors and delightful courtyards.

Baolis or step wells were once a common feature across the North Indian plains, especially in the desert state of Rajasthan and its neighbouring areas, including Delhi and Haryana. A baoli is invariably rectangular, and built in a series of stepped levels, with terraces usually separating the levels. The idea behind a baoli was that when the rains came, it would fill up to the highest level, so people who visited the baoli would descend only one flight of stairs. As the water depleted—because of use or evaporation—the level would fall, and visitors would need to descend more stairs to get to the water. To minimise evaporation (and reduce the chances of contamination), baolis are usually covered, at least over part of the area.

Over the years, I’ve seen my fair share of baolis, both in Delhi and outside, but the one at Neemrana actually takes my breath away, it’s so massive and impressive.

This is the only sight of any significance near the Neemrana Fort Palace, and is a couple of kilometres from the hotel. There’s no point asking at the hotel for directions—the route’s too convoluted. Instead, learn how to pronounce baoli (in Rajasthan, it’s pronounced rather like baa-oh-di) and walk down to the village that nestles below the fort. That’s what we do, and we find plenty of very helpful people, especially children, who were not just willing to point the way, but even accompany us part of the way! The first half of the walk is across the broken paving that forms the village streets; the rest is along a dusty road. Make sure you wear closed walking shoes.

The Neemrana baoli is built over all of 9 levels, each (according to a local villager) 20 feet high. They say the baoli’s over 300 years old, which is plausible, since the fort itself is 15th century and would have required a considerable amount of water for its residents. The baoli’s made of rubble covered over with plaster and dressed stone, fringed on three sides by rows of small chambers—possibly to shelter passersby; baolis often acted as camping grounds for travellers.

You can climb down the steps to the water; or, if you just want a feel of how deep the baoli made by the local ruler in 1911 and again in 1930.

The baoli is open and isn’t ticketed, so you can visit any time. Do go—this is one of the best waterworks around, and an interesting insight into how precious water is in Rajasthan.