Hindsight is a wonderful indulgence. Had I the chance to alter my first meeting with the king of Udaipur – the 76th custodian of the world’s longest-serving royal family – I most certainly would have ensured that I’d done my fly up.

But Royal Highness Arvind Singh, revered as a particularly modern king by virtue of his fondness for Facebook and iPad apps, quickly puts me at ease.

“You look like you could use a beer,” the king suggests, commanding a member of his staff to bring us two chilled Kingfishers.

I have been afforded the rare privilege of an interview with the 69-year-old maharana in the private quarters of his palace in the Rajasthani city of Udaipur.

Founded in the 16th century and set against the backdrop of Lake Pichola and the Aravilli Mountains, the city is fabled as India’s most romantic destination.

“You cannot come to visit Udaipur,” Singh says, taking a seat on a tennis court-sized balcony. “You must come to discover Udaipur. When an inquisitive mind comes and starts truly looking, then will come the orgasms.”

It’s an awkward but fitting description for the city’s visual and cultural rewards: heaving bazaars, marbled palaces and golden temples, plus the finest and most intricate miniature paintings in the world.

The artists are descendants of those who’ve painted for India’s kings and queens since the 15th century, traditionally using squirrel or camel tails as brushes and elephant ivory for canvas. Indeed, elephants had it tough throughout India’s regal era: the most lauded miniatures show the beasts fighting before a cheering audience inside Udaipur’s City Palace. The animals would be drugged with alcohol and opium and incited with firecrackers before being pitted against each other in deadly battles. Occasionally, the more flamboyant kings would even hang the creatures from palace ceilings to ensure the structures could support the weight of ludicrous crystal chandeliers.

Udaipur’s food is fit for royalty, too. The most memorable lamb and chicken masala curries on the planet, richly flavoured with butter, tomatoes, garlic and mystery spices, served with steaming saffron rice, delicious dahl (lentils) and phulka (local bread cooked in a flash of fire), not to mention the sumptuous samosas on offer at every street corner. 

But the real jewel in Udaipur’s crown is Singh’s 16th century floating palace, accessible only by gondola and rising as if by magic out of the turquoise waters of Lake Pichola. 

There is no better vantage point to soak in its majesty than from the king’s own balcony, the gilt mouldings and sculpted marble columns now painted red by the falling sun.

“We have worked with the Taj Hotel group to convert it into one of the most memorable and luxurious hotels in the world,” the maharana tells me after a generous gulp of his Kingfisher.

Opening the property to tourists was prompted by a law change in 1971, under Indira Gandhi. Essentially it saw India’s maharajas stripped of their property and governing rights and made commoners, forced to pay large taxes on their lands.

“We had to find a way to survive. Opening this remarkable property to tourism is one of the ways we pay the electricity bills. Royals across India are losing relevance. You must adapt and change or you will never succeed,” Singh says.

The hotel, made famous by the early James Bond film Octopussy, is a playground for the rich and famous and is consistently awarded. The rooms and suites feature exquisite mosaics and artefacts and are punctuated by opulent silks, richly coloured frescoes and ornately carved furniture. “There’s a huge demand from the people to see how things were done by the original aristocrats. It’s more about the legacy of our heritage than it is about the pomp and show,” Singh says.

Kings across India have followed suit, converting their palaces and forts into tourist meccas as they strive to preserve their dynasties amid rapid social change. The maharajas have largely turned their palaces into hotels (Liz Hurley was married in a spectacular property in Jodhpur) and museums, in the process boosting their incomes by millions of dollars annually.

It means that for tourists hoping to sample the grandeur of Indian royalty, there’s never been a better time to travel – particularly if you have a good guide. I’m on a tour through Rajasthan with luxury travel group Abercrombie & Kent (A&K), and they’ve sourced me the most knowledgeable and best connected guides in the business. 

In the desert state’s colourful capital, Jaipur, A&K has arranged rare access to the most private areas of the 300-year-old City Palace.

The complex is home to one of India’s youngest kings, 17-year-old billionaire Padmanabh Singh, and offers sweeping views of the city, painted entirely pink to match the region’s original Moghul forts and palaces.

Inside, the 300 rooms and elaborate furnishings are testament to the obscene wealth accumulated by Rajput maharajas over more than a thousand years.

“This dining room is still used by the royals to host important guests. Here you can see a photo of the maharaja with Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Charles,” says my A&K guide Raj Singh, himself of noble Rajasthani lineage.

It truly is like stepping on to the set of Game of Thrones: on display is a remarkable collection of weaponry used by the Mughal emperors during war campaigns. There are shields made from rhinoceros, turtle and buffalo hide, poison-tipped swords and daggers embellished with ivory and adorned with colourful precious stones. 

“This is the scissor-action dagger,” Raj boasts. “When thrust into an enemy’s body it would snap open, disembowelling the victim on its withdrawal.”

Elsewhere in the palace is an array of clothes once worn by a particularly fleshy maharaja. 

“Sawai Madhosingh was 1.2 metres wide and weighed 250 kilograms, but still had 108 wives,” Raj announces, giggling hysterically.

“And over here, the two largest silver vessels in the world. These were made from 340 kilograms of sterling silver so a former king’s servants could carry 4000 litres of drinking water from the sacred river Ganges on a trip to England.”

These days the toys are just as opulent, if a lot more modern.

Back in Udaipur, Arvind Singh has directed me to the living room of his palace, where he’s grinning as he details the latest addition to his collection of Rolls Royces: a 1924 GLK 21, the envy of vintage car-lovers worldwide.

“The older the boy, the bigger the toys,” he says, flattening his white silk gown.

His ceremonial traditions endure, too. I’ve been invited as a guest of honour at an astonishingly elaborate ritual on the eve of the Holi festival, where the maharana leads a procession of horses, drummers and a marching band into a palace courtyard before descending from his coach in a Kashmere-silk robe weighed down by jewels and an ornate sword.

Protected by a colourful parasol, he conducts prayers and then scatters holy river water before hosting an open-air dinner for his several hundred guests.

“People come to this great country for the cuisine, the spirituality, the people, the natural beauty, but also for its heritage. If you take away the heritage of the people, like the British did in 1947, then you destroy the country,” he says, taking a seat beneath an enormous crystal chandelier.

“People think we take our wealth for granted, sitting around eating golden biscuits. But we have a moral obligation to the people of Udaipur and India not to fritter our fortunes away, but to use them to help make this city even more magnificent.”

He pauses for a moment while I nervously snap a series of photos, groping a string of Rudraksha beads around his neck.

“Matt, young man, when you’re done, would you mind sending me those photos on WhatsApp?”