HIS Highness, Maharaja Gaj Singhji II of Jodhpur, might have been a master chef of Rajasthan's traditional Marwar and Rajput cuisines, particularly game food that was killed by proud warrior kings for their beautiful and illustrious queens in shikars. Or he might have been a fascinating writer of authoritative cookery books on royal food, and the translator of original recipes inherited from the kitchen of his Umaid Bhawan Palace.

Instead, he is the founder and managing trustee, patron and president, of a number of philanthropic institutions and charitable trusts in Jodhpur. These are associated with education, religion, women's welfare, medical care, rehabilitation of military personnel, desert development, famine relief, polo, nature, tourism, hotels, drugs, pharmaceuticals, television, and art, culture and heritage.

With all this on his plate, plus the management of his palaces, fort and museum to reckon with, the Maharaja still finds time to experiment in Umaid Bhawan's kitchen with new recipes. He is an amateur, but gifted cook, and has a great passion for food. Add to that a zany knowledge of traditional Indian foods and modern European cooking methods, and what you have is a savvy Maharaja of Fusion Cooking! Not everybody gets invited to sample his food, fewer still to see him cook.

I was luckier than most. The Maharaja invited me home for lunch, but he wasn't doing the cooking. Happily, he is a gourmet who keeps a great table. And a generous host who entertains lavishly. I was treated to a rich and sumptuous, multi-course Rajasthani meal. The Maharaja planned our menu himself. I suspect, he keeps his Indian taste buds in check this way and also makes sure that there are enough takers for his favourite cuisine.

Home is Umaid Bhawan Palace, perched majestically on a jagged outcrop of rock in Jodhpur. It is surrounded by a great wall and stands virtually at the edge of the grand Thar desert. From the air when you are flying into Jodhpur, I am told the palace looks like a pink Taj Mahal sitting on a rocky hilltop. I don't know if this is so. My view of Jodhpur was brown, barren landscape devoid of much vegetation. A very unwelcoming sight, I must say, compensated thankfully by the impregnable Mehrangarh Fort rising impressively above the city. Rudyard Kipling thought the fort was the work of angels, fairies and giants. He would.

The Umaid Bhawan Palace is something else. It was commissioned in 1929 by Maharaja Umaid Singh (our Maharaja's grandfather) as a relief measure to provide jobs to thousands of people of Marwar ravaged by the worst drought and famine the princely state had ever known. The palace was designed and executed by Lancaster and Lodge, a British firm of architects, and made entirely of pink sandstone called "Chittar". That is why it is sometimes also referred to as the Chittar Palace.

The book on Umaid Bhawan is that the palace is an architectural triumph, a magnificent edifice of the Indo-Colonial and Art-Deco style of the Thirties. Hand-chiselled sandstone blocks have been put together by an unique system of interlocking. There is no mortar binding. It took 3,000 artisans over 14 years (1929 to 1943) to build it, and Umaid Bhawan Palace extends across 26 acres (15 of which are gardens), is 195 metres long and 103 metres wide. No wonder it is one of the largest and grandest private residences in the world.

Maharaja Gaj Singhji II, showing great vision, took his palaces, forts and royal retreats, the continuum of a celebrated and turbulent past, and conserved his heritage by turning them into a chain of hotels called Marudhar. These historic homes now offer elegant hospitality with a blend of modern amenities. The pomp and pageantry, the gracious and splendid living of India's regal past, continues through them. Umaid Bhawan Palace is managed by Marudhar Hotels and ITC's WelcomHeritage as a five star hotel with 98 rooms and suites. It's top management is hoteliers employed by ITC, but the rest of the staff are old retainers of the royal household.

A team of these oldies wearing the Maharaja's orange and white colours, and the ornate coat of arms of the erstwhile Rathore dynasty, set our table for lunch at Umaid Bhawan. There was another guest besides me. A house guest. The Dowager Lady Egremont, a dignified English woman who looked like Magaret Thatcher before her Iron Lady days. The Maharaja occupies one entire wing of the palace. Entry is prohibited by fearless Rajput domestics, and even before you get to them, you have to pass a set of yappy daschunds. But the dogs ignore you once they know you are their master's guest.

Our lunch was prepared by Executive Chef Rajeev Kumar of Umaid Bhawan Palace, a remarkable chef with 16 years in Welcomgroup Hotels, and a keen aviator. He possesses a commercial pilot's licence and does sky-diving in his spare time. Unfortunately, the palace kitchen keeps Chef Rajeev fully occupied. Not that he might have pursued his hobby in Jodhpur. The city being uncomfortably close to the Indo-Pakistan border, the airport is virtually under siege by the military and Air Force. Warplanes do sorties throughout the day, shattering the sound barrier as they noisily roar over the palace. I cannot imagine Chef Rajeev taking his chances with them.

But Chef Rajeev's years of experience showed in the menu he had prepared for our lunch. There was Smoked Kachumber Salad, Mutton Hara Korma, Chicken Kachar, Chandalia Kanda with Lal Mirch, Aloo Hara Kanda Jholdar, Haldi Ka Saag, Chakki Ka Saag, Hari Mirch Kanda Khatta with Hara Dhania, Vegetable Sohita and Mooli Raita. These were to be consumed with Aakari Roti, Sogra, Batiya and Phulka, all Jodhpuri breads. The Maharaja was particular about dessert. He liked Guava Fool, so that was there, and for choice, there was also Rabri Ka Malpua.

Before sitting down at the table decorated with bougainvillaea, and laid out with ancient mango-shaped silver thalis, katoris and cutlery, I snooped around the royal kitchen where the Maharaja often experiments with fusion cooking. I could see his green apron, with the "Maharaja of Jodhpur" written on it, hanging on a peg. And books on cooking that he referred to. Cooking With The Maharajas, by Digvijay Singh, Ismail Merchant, Madhur Jaffrey, our Jiggs Kalra's Prashad, the Chinese Cooking Encyclopedia and the book of Practical Japanese Cooking, Royal Indian Cookery, the 365 Menu Cookbook and A Taste of Herbs.

The royal family came dressed for lunch. The men, Maharaja Gaj Singhji II and his dashing and handsome son Yuvraj Shivraj Singh, in designer Jodhpuris and colourful, stylishly-worn turbans. And the women, his wife, Maharani Hemlata Rajye, and daughter, Baijilal Shivrani Rajye, in smart and elegant gorgette sarees with their heads covered. Compared to them, the Dowager Lady Egremont and I looked most unimpressive. Before the service began, the Maharaja with a twinkle in his eye, ordered: "Say your grace internally!" And to the Dowager Lady Egremont, "You may eat with your hand, this food is best eaten that way, unless you would rather have a spoon."

The first mouthful over, he said with a sigh of bliss that Rajasthani food was his favourite cuisine. It was home food, he had grown up eating it, and there was such variety. Elsewhere in India, he liked to sample food that was not available in Jodhpur. "Like what," I asked. "Like shellfish," the Maharaja replied promptly. "There is not much seafood available in Jodhpur. We have the Maral, which is our prize fish, it has thick, succulent meat and just one central bone. Rajasthanis are frightened of bones! The Rohu is also caught in lakes and ponds around here, but it goes to the fish markets in Calcutta."

As the staff replenished our thalis, and he heartily did justice to the meal, the Maharaja told me that he was not so passionate about food as he was about enjoying a meal in good company. "You know, the social element of wining and dining," he asked. "It is always nice to eat with people who like food." "But what about your fondness for cooking," I asked. "I've no great skill as a cook," he replied, "I like to experiment. I have a good idea of what goes with what, but I'm not strong on technique. Give me a little help, then I'll improvise. I treat cooking like a chemical experiment. I think it is a combination of my liking for traditional Indian food with a knowledge of European cooking."

Having studied in England, he had sampled all kinds of European foods, he said. And he had developed a taste for food, but not the technical knowledge of cooking. "So, are you familiar at all in your own kitchen," I daringly asked. "Can you light the gas, for instance? Or operate the microwave?" He pondered my question, then said: "I'm unfamiliar... I need people around me when I cook. But like a good army general, I can direct. If it came to that I might be able to light a campfire, I learnt that in school, but not the gas!"

"A campfire, for what," I followed up curiously. "For game cooking," the Maharaja declared. "Game food has been banned for the last 10 years or so, but I have gone on shikars, I have hunted all kinds of game, especially wild duck, geese, partridge, sand grouse, pheasant. Yes, wild boar too. Pork's a great delicacy in Rajasthan, and pig sticking is a sport. Now there are no more shikars. But I still get pork from local piggeries. It's not the same as wild boar, though!"

It was Maharaja Gaj Singhji II's big regret that a whole lot of Rajasthani traditions had been killed. Game food was one, country liquor was another. "I have been taking this up with the government," he said with some force. "We can have licences to make IMFL, but not local liquor!" He was fond of drinks like Jaipur's Asha and Udaipur's Kasturi. "There used to be a Jagmohan in Jodhpur that was made of different spices and gave quite a kick. And a Victory that was produced at the end of the World War II. I've tasted them all. They're good stuff. If packaged properly, they could be sold as heritage liquor to go with heritage food in heritage hotels!"

He himself is a whisky man. "Johnnie Walker Black Label," the Maharaja said proudly. "It is my standard drink." He had not called for drinks during lunch, but it was true, Johnnie Black was his drink all right. In his kitchen, I had seen one opened bottled and several empties. "I can make a good Bloody Mary too," he told me. "And in Europe, I picked up the taste for wines. I see great development in India now with wines. So many foreign wines are coming in and our own, are improving. I prefer the French, but I quite like the Australian, South African and Chilean wines too. They are good. I'm partial to a good claret. I can't keep it at home. There's no cellar here. But I call for it from the hotel when I entertain."

"What do you do for food when you entertain," I asked, quite forgetting the current circumstances. "I order from the main kitchen. The chef does it for me. Of course, I select the menu. He suggests a combination of foods. I add or subtract. My home kitchen cannot tackle a big banquet. The food comes semi-prepared, and it is finished off here." The Maharaja was rolling Chicken Kachar into Phulkas and dipping the Phulkas into Haldi Ka Saag before popping it into his mouth. And he was calling for more mineral water for the Dowager Lady Egremont. I thought he looked absolutely at home in his crisp Jodhpuri and turban. But then he was at home!

He asked for more Chandalia Kanda in which the whole Lal Mirch was present, encouraged the Dowager Lady Egremont to have it without fear, and talked about cuisines of the world he enjoyed. His favourite is Thai, and stir-fry Chinese, which he called the new style. "It's spicy, but with no oil," the Maharaja described. "I'm also fond of seafood and classic French cooking with all the sauces. French chefs really make a performance of it! But you can't eat it all the time."

Chef Rajeev brought out the dessert with the air of Escofier unveiling a masterpiece. Mango Fool and Rabri Ka Malpua. At that moment, Maharaja Gaj Singhji II was telling me about his dislike for sweets. "I avoid them," he said, "because I keep my weight down. No ice-creams for me. I can't eat cold foods." The chef served him a large bowl of Guava Fool with respect. And for the rest of us, the Rabri. The Dowager Lady Egremont, killing the pronunciations, was asking about an Indian sweet she had only heard about. "It's called Jhulabi," she said importantly, making the table giggle with embarrassment. The Maharaja gallantly came to her rescue.

"It is nothing but sugar and flour," he said. "But you must taste it. We'll have Jelebi for dinner tonight. It's been a long time since I had Jelebi." And as he gave the order to the chef, he rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation.