Rediscovering Bhuj: A Journey Through Heritage, Humanity, and Hearty Food

There’s something surreal about arriving in a place you’ve never visited before, only to feel like you’ve somehow come home. That’s exactly how I felt as I stepped off the train and into the warm, dusty air of Bhuj — the heart of Kutch, Gujarat. A city rebuilt from the ruins of tragedy, filled with stories etched into ancient palaces, sacred temples, and the laughter of its people.

This trip was special in more ways than one. I wasn’t just exploring a new destination — I was meeting complete strangers who had become friends online. People I’d never met in real life, but who had invited me into their world. It was a leap of faith, honestly. A part of me questioned my own judgment. In today’s world, is it really wise to trust someone you've only interacted with on Instagram?

As the train pulled into Bhuj, I reminded myself: this is what travel is about. Stepping into the unknown. And Bhuj welcomed me like an old friend.

A Home with a Hundred Years of Stories

I checked into Bhoj House, a heritage homestay nestled in what used to be the Parsi colony of Bhuj. This wasn’t just a place to sleep — it was a living museum. Owned by a Parsi family for over a century, the house exuded an old-world charm that instantly made me feel like I was part of something much bigger than myself. Intricate wooden beams, antique furniture, and walls that seemed to whisper stories of generations past — Bhoj House was the perfect base for my journey.

My room upstairs was spacious and inviting, with enough beds to host a small family. I could’ve easily spent the entire day there, sipping chai and soaking in the quiet, but Bhuj had other plans for me.

Echoes of Royalty

To understand Bhuj, one must first understand Kutch. Once a thriving part of India’s ancient civilizations, Kutch has been home to Mauryans, Guptas, Chalukyas, and eventually the Jadejas — a dynasty that still holds a deep cultural legacy here.

I was lucky to meet Mayurdhwaj Singh Rudra Singh Jadeja, a descendent of the royal family. He guided me through the magnificent Prag Mahal, a striking example of European-style architecture infused with local influences. With soaring ceilings, grand chandeliers, and haunting silence in its hallways, Prag Mahal felt both majestic and melancholic.

Mayur Singh also showed me the family’s private temple dedicated to Mahamaya, their local deity. It was in that quiet, sacred space that I truly felt the connection the Jadejas have with Bhuj — not as rulers, but as custodians of a living heritage.

Breakfast by the Lake and the Spirit of Bhuj

And then there were my new friends: Parth, Amar, and Anjali — three locals who made it their mission to show me the real Bhuj.

Our mornings started with traditional breakfast at Khavda Jalebi Fafda near Hamirsar Lake. With the golden morning sun glinting off the water, and the smell of hot jalebis in the air, it was impossible not to fall in love with Bhuj. The fafda was crispy, the jalebi syrupy sweet, and the green chillies? Fiery. But it all balanced out, just like Bhuj itself — a mix of bold flavors and soft moments.

Hamirsar Lake, as I would learn, is not just a lake — it is the soul of Bhuj. Architect Shiraj Bhai explained how the entire city was designed around this waterbody. Five historic gates once protected the city, with a sixth remaining open after dark. The lake wasn’t just practical — it was spiritual. It shaped Bhuj’s identity, its people, and its resilience.

Of Temples, Tragedy, and Transformation

We visited the Swaminarayan Temple — the oldest in the city — and I was introduced to the deep religious roots of this region. It was peaceful, grounded, and filled with stories of saints who wandered from distant lands and found home here.

But Bhuj isn’t just about heritage. It’s also a city that has tasted devastation.

On January 26, 2001, a 7.6 magnitude earthquake ripped through Kutch, leaving behind heartbreak and rubble. Over 20,000 lives were lost. I still remember feeling the tremors from faraway Ahmedabad, where I was studying at the time.

Today, Bhuj bears its scars with grace. The Smriti Van memorial stands as a tribute to those lost, and as a reminder of the city’s remarkable comeback. The museum, with its interactive exhibits and forest of three lakh trees grown through the Miyawaki technique, moved me deeply. There’s a bell you can ring to hear stories from that fateful day. I rang it. I listened. And I cried.

The human spirit, I realized, is more powerful than any earthquake.

A Foodie’s Paradise

No visit to Bhuj is complete without indulging in its culinary wonders — and indulge I did.

Parth took me to Apna Dining Lodge for a traditional Gujarati thali. There was Sev Tameta, Rotla, chaas, and creamy shrikhand for dessert. Every dish had that unmistakable homemade touch.

In the evening, we went on a food crawl that could rival any five-star buffet. There was Bhel Wali Roti, a local delicacy served with spicy chutney and sev. Then came the iconic Dabeli — first at Mama Ji’s 70-year-old stall, and then a more modern take at Mohan’s.

We wrapped up the night with a warm slice of Handvo and an unmissable stop at Khavda Sweets, where I tried roasted gulappa and sikava peda. My sweet tooth was in heaven.

I may have gained a kilo or two, but every bite was worth it.

The People Who Made It Special

Of all the palaces, temples, and thalis I experienced, what truly made Bhuj unforgettable were the people.

People like Parth, who welcomed me without hesitation. Amar and Anjali, who laughed with me like we were old friends. Shiraj Bhai, who taught me how cities breathe. Mayur Singh, who shared his legacy with humility. And every street vendor, chaiwala, and temple priest who shared a smile.

I had come here with a bit of doubt — was it smart to trust strangers from the internet? But those doubts melted with every genuine gesture, every story shared, every cup of tea offered with warmth.

Sometimes, it takes strangers to remind you that kindness still exists in abundance.

Farewell, Bhuj — But Not Goodbye

As I packed my bags on the final day, the skies opened up. Rain poured down, refreshing the parched earth and my own soul. It hadn’t rained in Bhuj like this for years, they said.

It felt symbolic — a city once broken, now thriving. A traveler once unsure, now deeply grateful.

Bhuj taught me more than I expected. About history, food, and architecture, yes — but also about trust, resilience, and connection.

I arrived as a stranger. I left as a storyteller.

If you ever get the chance, go to Bhuj. Not just for its palaces or jalebis — but for its people. And who knows? You might just find a new version of yourself there, too.