Oct 2025

There are trips that are planned meticulously, with spreadsheets, colour-coded maps, and backup hotels bookmarked just in case.
This was not one of those trips.

Ours began with exactly one confirmed booking — Kuno National Park — and a vague confidence that roads, temples, and forests would somehow arrange themselves around it. Everything else was left to chance, optimism, and the dangerous belief that “हो जाएगा” is a legitimate planning strategy.

The cast was set,

• Safari – The aptly named, TATA Safari, that has munched more miles in a year than some of the cars in the city combined. It also prides itself in
• Moyanak – A contentful Bengali heart with long dark black locks flowing reminiscent of a rock-star. However he sported a big square frame glasses reminding me of Irfan Pathan’s from the movie Namesake. Calm, almost to the point of being drugged and zoned out. But pull a bird’s conversation ( an avian one ) and he jumps out his hibernation and converses with his rosogulla fragrant Hindi. His seat preference for the car was fixed, rear-seat with one motive, to doze off while in motion.
• Shashwat – If Moyanak was calm, grace, Shashwat was the big curly headed, Siddhartha (Buddha) eyed vagabond. But not chastised by the lust for food or travel. And he talks, for long stretches, weaving conversations that jumped effortlessly from infrastructure reliability to road conditions, from safari economics to why a detour made existential sense. He didn’t merely suggest plans; he generated momentum. A casual “why not?” from him had a remarkable tendency to become a confirmed booking within hours.
• Me / Rutu – observer, looking deep into what people are saying and how and why. A nascent birder off late wanting to know more about birds and impressed by Moyanak’s depth of bird understanding.

The plan, if it could be called that, was to drive toward central India, work remotely when civilisation allowed it, visit Maheshwar, Omkareshwar, and Ujjain, and then disappear into Kuno’s forests. From there, we would see what happened. Somewhere between highways and dirt tracks, between temple bells and alarm calls, the trip stopped being about destinations and started becoming a sequence of encounters — cheetahs that refused to pose, leopards that did, hyenas with impeccable timing, and birds that never waited for us to be ready.

By the end of it, waking up at 4am felt normal.

Day 1 — Mumbai to Dhule

Fri, Oct 10, 2025

Dhule announced itself exactly the way you’d expect a transit town to: dust in the air, muted colours, and the overwhelming feeling that nothing here wanted to be remembered.

We stopped at a roadside dhaba for tea. The tea arrived quickly. One sip was enough to establish dominance. The remaining tea was respectfully discarded.

Back at our stay, Shashwat and Moyanak opened laptops and began working with quiet seriousness. I sat with them, staring intently — not at the screen, but at the concept of work. It was a strong start to the trip.

Day 2 — Dhule to Ujjain (via Maheshwar & Omkareshwar)

Sat, Oct 11, 2025

The morning began with birdwatching at Gayatri Dham, Sendhwa, where Moyanak casually spotted birds while the rest of us tried to locate them using enthusiastic head movements and misplaced confidence.

Maheshwar slowed the trip down in the best way possible. A late breakfast at MPT was followed by a boat ride on the Narmada. The fort rose quietly from the river — solid, patient, unmoved by time. In the middle of the water sat a tiny temple, and inside it a South Indian lady sang Carnatic bhajans. The sound carried across stone and water, soft but unignorable, like the place itself.

Omkareshwar came next. Walking across the bridge toward the temple, the river below mirrored the sky, and the breeze did that thing where it makes you believe you’ve arrived somewhere meaningful, even if you don’t fully understand it yet.

By evening, Ujjain wrapped us into its rhythm. Mahakaleshwar at night felt less like a visit and more like being absorbed into something much older and larger. Lights, chants, people — time seemed optional here.

Later that night, while casually discussing what came next, Shashwat dropped a suggestion.

Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary?

My eyes lit up instantly. Moyanak didn’t hesitate. I said what felt inevitable.

People do pub-hopping. We do sanctuary-hopping.

Shashwat paused, smiled, and raised the stakes.

Ruko… Jaipur mein Leopard Safari bhi jayenge.

And just like that, the itinerary surrendered.

Day 3 — Ujjain to Kuno

Sun, Oct 12, 2025

We left early, chasing distance before the sun fully woke up. Somewhere on the highway, Moyanak calmly pointed out a Grey Indian Hornbill flying alongside our car for a few seconds — like an official escort into wilderness.

Kuno arrived quietly. No drama. Just forest.

The evening safari began with birds — lots of them. Moyanak identified them effortlessly while the jeep moved. Shashwat and I, meanwhile, oscillated between “haan haan dikha” and … “arre gaya”.

An hour passed. No cheetah. We followed a tracking jeep. Still nothing. Hope began loosening its grip.

Then another jeep arrived — vets. Our guide, Naved, struck up a conversation. The senior vet looked at us mid-sentence and said:

Stand up. Look there.

Two cheetahs lay lazily in tall grass, completely uninterested in our collective emotional breakdown. That was our first sighting — distant, calm, unforgettable.

On the way back, darkness settled in. Outside the core area, Naved switched on auxiliary lights.

अभी night safari का समय शुरू

Suddenly — leopard.

Or so he said. We saw nothing. The jeep stopped. Reversed. As we rolled back, I caught movement slipping off the road.

कुछ गया नीचे से !

Naved nodded. “Haan. Leopard hi hai.” And there it was — walking parallel to us, unhurried, perfectly aware of its importance. Then it vanished into the bushes.

None of us slept easily that night.

Day 4 — Kuno to Sawai Madhopur

Mon,  Oct 13, 2025

Morning safari rewarded us early. Buzzards circled. A pair of woolly-necked storks stood tall and composed. Then Naved suddenly pointed ahead.

A Striped Hyena walked straight along the road. It stopped. Squatted. Did its business. Then calmly walked back into the forest.Naved smiled.

Hyenas are very rare on safaris.

We nodded, humbled. Back near the previous day’s cheetah sighting, we waited. Then chaos — the good kind. Three cheetahs appeared, playing across rocky terrain, running, pausing, approaching the road. This time, they came close.

I stayed glued to my binoculars until they came too close — close enough to fall out of focus.

Later, Naved laughed.

You didn’t even remove the binoculars once.

Moyanak missed a few frames, stunned. Shashwat calmly recorded everything like a seasoned cameraman.

By afternoon, we headed toward Sawai Madhopur. As we neared Ranthambore, hundreds of jeeps and canters filled the roads — packed with tourists. Shashwat explained the economics. ₹30k jeeps. ₹1500 canter seats. Highly commercial.

We silently thanked Kuno.

Day 5 — Sawai Madhopur to Bharatpur

Tue, Oct 14, 2025

We left Sawai Madhopur early, half-expecting Ranthambore to throw in a last-minute tiger cameo just to mess with us. It didn’t. What it did offer instead was atmosphere — thick forest, ruins being slowly swallowed by vines, and long empty stretches where the road felt like it belonged more to sambhars than to humans.

The safari itself unfolded gently. Deer appeared and disappeared into tall grass. Birds moved constantly — darting, calling, circling — as if the forest was in a permanent state of soft chaos. The tiger, predictably, chose to remain mythical that morning. And honestly, after Kuno, it felt less like disappointment and more like polite acceptance. We had already been spoiled.

By late morning, we were back on the road, merging onto the Mumbai–Delhi Expressway. The shift was abrupt — from forest silence to engineered speed. As we pushed toward Bharatpur, the landscape flattened, opened up, and began filling with life again. Flocks of birds swept across fields and roads in loose formations, occasionally forcing us to slow down, as if reminding us who truly owned this land.

Bharatpur arrived without noise or urgency. We checked into The Bird’s Haven, a small, clean, no-nonsense hotel that felt designed for people who wake up early and return muddy. In the evening, we walked toward Keoladeo National Park, stopping at the gate just as the light softened. The place carried a quiet authority — this wasn’t just another park, but a Ramsar wetland, protected not for spectacle but for balance. We didn’t go in that evening. We didn’t need to. Tomorrow had already promised enough.

Day 6 — Bharatpur to Jaipur

Wed, Oct 15, 2025

At exactly 6am, an elderly Sardarji waited outside our hotel with his electric tuk-tuk, looking supremely confident in our decision-making abilities.

Guide mat lo. Main sab dikha dunga.

Inside Keoladeo, the road threaded its way through shallow water, marshland, and broken muddy channels that vanished deeper into the park. The morning light reflected off puddles, turning the entire landscape into a patchwork of silver and green. Every few metres, something moved — a ripple, a wingbeat, a sudden call.

The tuk-tuk driver began announcing birds like roll call. Moyanak responded instantly. Within minutes, the two were deep in conversation, discussing renamed species, subspecies, and how taxonomy had betrayed them all. Shashwat and I watched from the back, pointing enthusiastically at anything colourful enough to feel identifiable.

Painted storks nested in acacia trees, their massive bills clicking softly. Oriental darters stood frozen with wings spread wide, drying themselves like living statues. Hawks hovered patiently above open patches, waiting for the smallest miscalculation below.

I eventually asked about the Sarus Crane — the one bird everyone secretly hopes to see here. The driver nodded thoughtfully and tried. We drove slower. We scanned harder. The Sarus, however, chose absence. We accepted it as a personal boundary.

Back at the hotel, we packed up and headed toward Jaipur. By afternoon, the city wrapped around us — louder, warmer, familiar. I asked the question that had been building for days.

Ab 4 baje uthna khatam?

Shashwat didn’t even look up.

Bas ek aur din. Kal Leopard Safari.

Of course.

Day 7 — Jaipur (Amargarh Leopard Safari)

Thu, Oct 16, 2025 

We left before the city properly woke up, stopping twice for fuel before finally succeeding on the third attempt — because nothing tests patience like an empty tank before sunrise.

Amargarh felt different from the larger parks. Smaller. Tighter. Built for repetition rather than grandeur. The idea here wasn’t one dramatic drive, but several quiet loops — listen, observe, wait.

Peacock alarm calls cut through the stillness, sharp and insistent. We followed the sound to an artificially created waterhole and waited. A peahen appeared, clearly distressed, pacing and calling louder.

Then movement.

A hyena burst toward the waterhole, paused as if reconsidering its life choices, and disappeared again. Moments later, another hyena emerged from the grass.

Two hyenas. One morning. Not bad.

As the guides began calling each other in hushed excitement, we moved into another loop. That’s when the driver spoke quietly.

Leopard dekha.

We stopped. Waited.

The leopard emerged from tall grass, sat briefly on a ledge, and looked directly at us — not curious, not aggressive, just acknowledging presence. Then it slipped back into the grass, as effortlessly as it had arrived.

No drama. No chase. Just a perfect, clean sighting.

Later, we visited Galta Devi Temple, nestled between two rock faces where water trickled down into pools below. Macaques had taken full ownership of the place, launching into diving competitions with complete disregard for spectators.

Jaigarh Fort followed — massive walls, giant cannons, and expansive views of Jaipur sprawled below, with Amber Fort sitting dramatically in the distance like a film set that refused to age.

By evening, we dropped Moyanak at the airport. The car felt emptier, quieter — as if one frequency had been turned off.

Day 8 — Jaipur

Fri, Oct 17, 2025

The morning allowed us to wake up without alarms, which felt almost illegal by this point.

Jantar Mantar surprised us with its scale and precision — instruments so large they made time feel physical. City Palace, in comparison, felt restrained and distant.

Lunch at Laxmi Misthan Bhandar was non-negotiable. Ghevars were purchased in quantities that suggested both generosity and poor foresight. Nahargarh Fort gave us views, crowds, and snacks that didn’t quite justify their pricing.

We returned home late, where Shashwat’s mother served dinner at 11pm — warm, filling, and exactly what we didn’t know we needed.

Day 9 — Fly Back to Mumbai

Sat, Oct 18, 2025

A morning walk at Dravyavati Riverfront revealed a surprisingly thoughtful transformation — a once-ignored nala turned into a clean, walkable promenade that people actually used.

Before heading to the airport, we stopped at Patrika Gate. The colours were loud, unapologetic. Birds flitted through the arches — a kestrel, a hornbill — as if signing off on the journey.

We boarded our flights carrying photos, sore backs, sleep debt, and the quiet certainty that this wasn’t just a road trip.

It was a pattern forming. People pub-hop. We sanctuary-hop.

And somewhere between Kuno and Jaipur, that became a perfectly reasonable way to live.

Photo Credits: Moyanak, Shashwat.

Directions

Numbers

• Distance traveled on Road: ~1800 km
• Cost per person: ₹ ~28,000 / per person (including flights)