Tiger Tales: Escaping Valentine’s Day — A Solo Journey into India, Boundaries, and Hard-Won Awareness (Part Two)

The “VIP Treatment” in Jaipur

It came as no surprise that I was the only singleton on the Tigers and Temples tour, which would take in Jaipur, Agra, Corbett National Park, and Delhi. I was travelling alongside five couples, ranging from loved-up newlyweds in their early thirties to pairs old enough to be my mum and dad and well beyond the honeymoon phase. At 22 years old, I was quietly relieved.

The older couples, in particular, seemed keen to take me under their wing the moment they realised I was travelling alone. At the time, that felt comforting — a small pocket of safety in a place that already felt overwhelming and unfamiliar.

On arrival in Jaipur, we were introduced to our guide for the next couple of days — a man called Dillip — who would be showing us the Amer Fort and the Palace of the Winds. When it came to allocating hotel rooms, I casually asked whether it might be possible to have a double bed so I could stretch out after the long journey. Dillip broke into an unusually wide grin and assured me it wouldn’t be a problem at all. “Fabulous,” I thought. Excellent customer service! I headed off to my room, blissfully unaware that I’d just misread the situation entirely.

Jaipur, in All Its Glory (and Humidity)

After breakfast the following morning, we piled into the minibus and made our way to the Amer Fort — a breathtaking red sandstone and marble complex perched high above the city, once home to the Rajput Maharajas. Like many tourists at the time (and before animal welfare was questioned as openly as it is now), we were taken up the steep driveway on elephant back. I don’t recall being offered an alternative. It was impressive, unsettling, and something I wouldn’t choose today.

After wandering through the mirrored halls and intricately decorated rooms, we moved on to the Palace of the Winds.

I’d long been fascinated by the Palace of the Winds — its countless jharokha windows designed so the women of the royal household could observe the bustling Johari Bazaar below without being seen themselves. The idea of women watching the world from behind carved stone screens felt strangely resonant.

Unfortunately, my body had other plans.

Not long after arriving, I felt the unmistakable warning signs of a gastrointestinal mutiny. Determined not to make a fuss, I tried breathing through it and hoping for the best. Hope, it turned out, was not enough. One of the older women in the group, Mary, quickly clocked that something was wrong and insisted a taxi be arranged to take me back to the hotel.

Alone, Unwell, and Very Far From Home

Back in my hotel room, it became clear that I wasn’t going anywhere for a while. I’ll spare you the graphic detail, but let’s just say that Delhi Belly lived up to its reputation.

After some time — exhausted, dehydrated, and emotionally wrung out — I collapsed onto the bed and flicked on the television. My Cousin Vinny happened to be on, though I drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of Ralph Macchio’s face appearing at intervals. At one point, I was convinced my mum and granny had arrived to rescue me. They hadn’t. I cried when I realised. Being young, unwell, and alone in a foreign country was a sharp introduction to the realities of solo travel.

my 'friendly guide' (posed by model)

A few hours later, the worst of the illness had eased. I planned an early night, no dinner, and plenty of water in preparation for the next day’s journey to Agra. As I lay drifting towards sleep, the bedside phone rang. I hesitated before answering, briefly entertaining the fantasy that someone from home had somehow tracked me down. Instead, a male voice greeted me.

“Hello, this is Dillip, your guide. How was your day today?”

I was touched. Impressed, even. Perhaps he’d heard I’d been unwell? I explained that I hadn’t managed to see everything but had found Jaipur beautiful nonetheless.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so,” I replied.

“I can come to your room if you like?”

I declined, politely but firmly, explaining I was fine and planning an early night. He persisted once more before finally saying goodbye — sounding disappointed. At the time, I felt mildly awkward. What I didn’t feel was alarmed.

The Penny Drops

The next morning, I made it to breakfast, ravenous after the previous day’s ordeal. Mary and the others greeted me warmly, fussing and offering advice on what to eat. It felt comforting — parental, even. I mentioned how impressed I’d been with Dillip’s personal phone call, describing it as “VIP treatment”. The reaction was… unexpected. Blank looks. Then laughter. Then more laughter.

“He never called us,” Mary said.

“No, not us either,” echoed the others.

Tony winked and said, “That’s because you asked for a double bed. He thought he was in there.”

The realisation landed with a thud. This wasn’t kindness. It wasn’t customer care. It certainly wasn’t concern for my wellbeing. It was interest — misplaced, inappropriate, and entirely unwelcome. I felt foolish, yes — but more than that, I felt newly alert. This wasn’t about blaming myself for misunderstanding someone else’s behaviour. It was about recognising how easily politeness can be mistaken for safety, especially when you’re young, female, and taught to be agreeable at all costs.

India hadn’t cured my Valentine’s Day woes. But it had given me something far more valuable. Awareness. Discernment. And the beginnings of boundaries.

To be continued…