Somewhere between my third Monday meeting of the week and the fourth reminder that I hadn\u2019t taken a real break in months, something in me just gave up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not dramatically. Just quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I opened my laptop and typed, \u201cwhere to go from Delhi for a long weekend in March.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Udaipur kept showing up. I kept scrolling. And somewhere in the middle of too many tabs, I landed on Sterling Aravalli Udaipur. Tucked into the Aravalli hills, about 14 kilometres from the city, it didn\u2019t look loud or indulgent. It looked\u2026 still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That\u2019s what made me book it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I took the Mewar Express out of Delhi on the evening of March 19th. Window seat, overpacked bag, playlist ready. There\u2019s something about train journeys in India\u2014the rhythm, the passing towns, the sky fading into itself\u2014that slows you down before you even arrive. I slept better on that berth than I had in weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
By the time I reached Udaipur City Station early Friday morning, the air already felt different\u2014cooler, quieter, carrying just a hint of lake water. The drive through the old city was slow, weaving through narrow lanes before opening out toward the hills. About thirty minutes later, I reached the resort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Check-in was quick, almost effortless. No unnecessary formalities, no scripted welcome\u2014just a warm, easy efficiency that felt right for someone who didn\u2019t want to talk much yet. My room opened out to the Aravalli hills, old and unmoving, like they had seen everything and had nothing left to prove.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I dropped my bag, stepped onto the balcony, and sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t check my phone.
I didn\u2019t play music.
I didn\u2019t think about what came next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For twenty minutes, I did nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And it felt like everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Friday unfolded the way Udaipur does when you don\u2019t rush it. The City Palace was overwhelming in scale and detail\u2014the Mor Chowk mosaics, the quiet blues of Zenana Mahal, the shimmer of Moti Mahal. By the time I reached Lake Pichola, the city had slowed me down enough to just sit with a cup of chai and watch the water hold the light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That evening at the Dharohar Cultural Show was the opposite\u2014colour, movement, energy. It stayed with me long after I returned to the resort and fell asleep almost instantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Saturday was the day I had left intentionally open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No plan. No checklist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just one booking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Subuthi Spa<\/strong> at the resort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I had picked the Subuthi \u2013 Pichola Prabha<\/strong> <\/em>therapy the night before, mostly because the name stayed with me. After spending time by Lake Pichola, something about carrying that calm into a treatment felt right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I walked into the spa around 10 in the morning, still in that soft, half-awake state. The space itself didn\u2019t feel clinical or over-designed. It was quiet in a way that felt natural\u2014muted lighting, soft textures, a certain stillness that you don\u2019t question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My therapist greeted me with a small cup of warm herbal detox tea. It was earthy, slightly bitter, not something I\u2019d usually enjoy\u2014but in that moment, it worked. It slowed me down further, like a signal that the outside world was officially on pause.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The treatment lasted close to two and a half hours, but time didn\u2019t feel linear inside that room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It began with a gentle exfoliation\u2014warm scrubs worked slowly into the skin, not rushed, not mechanical. Then came the wraps\u2014soothing, grounding, almost like being held in stillness. The oils were warm, the pressure measured, and every movement felt deliberate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no talking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No instructions beyond what was needed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Just a quiet rhythm that let you sink deeper into yourself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At some point, I stopped thinking about how long it had been. I stopped thinking about work, about the city, about what was waiting back home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t dramatic. It wasn\u2019t a sudden \u201ctransformation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It was subtler than that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My shoulders dropped. And for the first time in a long time, I wasn\u2019t trying to get somewhere else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was just there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When I stepped out, the world hadn\u2019t changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But something in me had.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The light felt softer. The air cooler. Even the walk back to my room felt slower, more intentional.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t pick up my phone immediately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t feel the need to fill the silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That stayed with me through the rest of the day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sunday morning arrived quietly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I woke up before my alarm, made myself a cup of tea, and stepped out onto the balcony one last time. The Aravalli hills were washed in that deep amber morning light\u2014the kind you don\u2019t get in cities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Packing felt slower than usual. Like I was deliberately delaying the end of something.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The drive back to the station took the same thirty minutes. The city was waking up\u2014vendors setting up stalls, temple bells ringing, auto-rickshaws weaving through narrow streets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the train back to Delhi, I didn\u2019t put my headphones on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I just watched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dry landscapes, scattered trees, open sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And something I hadn\u2019t felt in months\u2014stillness\u2014stayed with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Delhi would be the same. But this time, I was taking something back with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not just a weekend. But two and a half hours inside a space that asked nothing from me\u2014and gave me back something I didn\u2019t realise I had lost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A slower breath.
My breathing slowed.
My mind stopped racing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My phone would start buzzing again.
Work would pick up exactly where I left it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not just a city.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A quieter mind.
A version of myself that wasn\u2019t constantly rushing.<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n