There are two meanings for the word ‘folly’. The first, more common one, is ill-advised or foolish. It would be folly — for example — to send a travel writer to a resort at 6am, fail to have her picked up and then expect her not to mention it in her article.
The second meaning is an architectural term, referring to ‘an ornamental building with no practical purpose set in a large garden or park’. The connotations in this context are far more apt, for Vishranti ‘spa-resort’ is an indulgence, a grandiloquent piece of whimsy, which I was only too ready to settle back and enjoy.
My first inkling came as we crunched along the driveway leading toward the resort. The left side of the driveway was lined with cages holding the owner Michael Dalvi’s collection of birds — over 50 species, gathered over the last 30-odd years, as resort manager, Kiran Sagar, informed me. Indonesian parakeets, golden pheasants and Muscovy ducks, cockatoos, lovebirds, budgerigars of every hue like flickering jewels and dramatic blue-green macaws.
But what manner of bird would build a place like this? The answer soon became clear: a magpie. For while busy scouring the tropical rainforests of the Far East for their avifauna, clearly Mr Dalvi was equally hard at work rummaging through the Old Curiosity Shops of England. As you enter the reception area, you are struck not by the stone-flagged floors, the rich red throw rugs or the wickerwork easy chairs — but by the crockery. Every inch of wall is lined with china plates — over a hundred (I counted). The shelves and side tables in the dining room boast blue-and-white Chinese urns and vases, bowls and pots. I could practically feel myself sprouting horns, snorting and pawing the ground.
And it doesn’t stop there. Why have plain when you can have print? Why have one painting of Ganesh — I’m talking about my bedroom here — when you can have eight? Why not tiger-print cushion have covers on your leopard-print upholstery? Why stop at macaws? “Would you like to see the emus?” asked Kiran, innocently. “Would I ever!”
Along with the huntin’ shootin’ fishin’ motifs — of which there are plenty — you’ll have the odd American Indian dream-catcher, a Madhubani mural, dangling strings of Rajasthani elephants, ornamental daggers, life-size porcelain flamingoes and Balinese ritual masks and the odd lava lamp.
I decided that what was needed was a stiff drink, so I made my way out into the courtyard and off to the side, where a wooden sign announced ‘Holdy’s Pub’. With its low roof and dark interiors, it is part-grotto and part-shrine dedicated to what the press release refers to (three times) as the ‘cricketing legacy’ of Michael Dalvi (a star batsman for Delhi and Tamil Nadu in the 1960s and ‘70s). Signed bats and commemorative trophies jostle for space with souvenir tea-towels of the London Underground; wall-mounted display of fishing rods, flies and reels; beer mats of the world; faux tin advertising plaques (Guinness, Harley Davidson, Eveready); Elvis memorabilia; photos of various mustachioed gentlemen in bermudas next to bearers bearing monstrous mahseer. Not to mention: a brass telescope and various old surveying wodjamacallits, wooden figures of Charlie Chaplin and Big Chief Wumpum, 36 assorted dogs, a clutch of egg timers, racks of wooden pipes and tankards galore. “And this,” announced Kiran, ushering me into a side room, “is the Tiger Room.” Wall-to-wall tigerskin carpets, wall-to-wall tigerskin sofas and the walls actually seemed wallpapered with tiger photos, etchings and paintings. “It certainly is,” I said. “Gin and tonic, please. Large.” I nursed my drink, wondering whether the presiding aesthetic would spill over into the kitchen. Luckily, not. The food, when it came, was brilliant: simple north Indian dishes seasoned to perfection, in just the right amounts, fresh from the organic farm which makes up a large percentage of the 23-acre grounds, and fresh, hot rotis. No fusion confusion here.
With seven suites, the maximum number of guests at Vikranti would be about 20, so despite the business of the décor, even at its height, it would never feel crowded. And if you like your sports, apart from the mini-golf, there’s table tennis, carom, various board games, bats and balls and a full-size billiards table.
The following morning, I decided to check out the spa facilities. There were none. But there will be, in a month or so, so Kiran reassures me. The swimming pool looked tempting, but I decided first to earn my breakfast with a work-out in the small gym. I trod on the treadmill. I pulled stuff up and down on the Nautilus. I lifted dumbbells. I even had a go on what I’m sure is not called a vibrator, but that’s what it does, albeit less effectively than the auto ride down the little lanes to get here. I shunned the exer-cycle for a mountain bike.
It was bliss to be out in the countryside: the late afternoon sun gilding the tops of the maize, panting uphill in first gear, and then free-wheeling through dappled forests, dotted with towering termite mounds, past the nine-hole mini-golf course and back to the resort.
Flopping into bed at the end of the day, I channel-hopped on the wide screen TV, cranked up the AC and snuggled under the quilt. For all its over-the-topness, the kindness of the staff and the comforts they offered made the place feel like home. I could get used to this, I thought. Perhaps you can’t have too much of a good thing after all.
The Information
Where: Madhyan Farm, Lower Kandoli village (approximately 30 minutes’ drive from Dehradun station).
Accommodation: Seven suites
Tariff: Rs 7,500-9,000 per couple per night.