A consent form, a riddle, and a keycard open the doors to this Jaipur speakeasy

I thought I was reviewing a bar. But here I am, standing at a hotel’s front desk, where a wooden rack neatly lined with burgundy tasseled room keys commands all eyes. The concierge hands over a form. “The house receives its guests by invitation alone,” reads the first line. I’m asked to consent to this—and seven other clauses. Check!

I’m handed a key to Room No. 102 and left to navigate the rest. A long passage inside the 6,000-square-yard Devraj Niwas, with Jaipur’s premier party place Forresta on one side and the banging brewery Downtown on the other, leads us to the said room. It doesn’t feel like a bar. If anything, there’s a couple of sepia-tinged attachés, the kind your grandpa took to work, topped with a taupe hat, a brown checkered muffler, and a wooden walking stick. Like an elaborate film set, on one end I can see a rotary telephone, placed alongside a big-man chair laden with a scarlet throw.

Still unsure of the bar, I fidget with my keycard. “Mirror mirror on the wall, the real fun is behind the wall,” it reads. I knock on the mirror, and a suited man receives me and my drinking partner on the other side. We’re instructed to claim a corner and pose. The key is taken away, and we’re escorted inside what looks like a sultry jazz room drenched in tawny hues and relics of the past.

We have possibly time travelled to the ’50s. ‘Jaata Kaha Hai Deewane’ is playing. My foot is instinctively tapping. The 70-seater space is decked with velvet seating, dark varnished tables, engraved candlestick stands, photo frames, old-world portraits, and golden globes. I constantly keep checking myself out in the blocks of copper mirror embedded into the wooden ceiling. Framing the room around me are Victorian chandeliers with prisms dripping like diamonds. I’m half expecting Helen to waltz in and burst into cabaret any moment now. 

We’re seated under a wooden rack deftly organised into nooks for potion bottles, rotary telephones, law books, sleek and shiny model cars, miniature mast boats, a mini tricycle carriage, and an antique railway clock. And mind you, none of them are fakes. “I absolutely hate dummies,” asserts Pallavi Devraj, who started Room No. 102 along with her husband Maniesh Devraj. The law books are from a lawyer friend’s archives, while the attaché, muffler, and hat in the riddle room come from her father’s closet. I catch a whiff of oud, maybe wafting from all the leather coasters, tableware cases, and bespoke placemats, but I’m soon corrected: This is their signature fragrance.

It’s finally time to grog up. Head mixologist Bipin Kumar takes us through the bar menu, which also stays in character. Contrary to Jaipur’s common practice of christening concoctions after monuments and maharajas, drinks here are built around personas; you call for what you feel like in the moment. The Scientist. The Inventor. The Heiress. The Detective. The Gambler. There are 20 signature cocktails, each more potent than the other. I’m given The Spy; I’m taking too many notes, perhaps.

A server in a crisp white shirt, black tailored trousers, suspenders and Gatsby cap appears with my drink—Black Label with bittersweet campari, house vermouth and toasted coconut. “Every empty glass must be replaced—preferably with a better mistake,” read the consent form. And I signed it, after all. Hence follows The Captain (which I can now say, is also my favourite drink). House-made coffee caviar atop a slice of banana sounds like an extravagant garnish, but one gulp and it easily steals the show. Strawberry, banana, Black Label and citrus are distilled to make a potion equal parts bold and fruity. I sip and gaze at the long omakase bar at the other end, behind which shelves carved into arches hold potions for all.

Since the menu almost demands you to be dreamy (and a bit delusional), I reckon a writer like myself could be many things. So, I order the pretty pink Poet, that comes with vodka that is calmed down by sweet vetiver. Another cocktail, called the Critic sounds like the natural next step, and turns out to be a must-have for gin-lovers. Its aromatic lemongrass and kaffir linger, uncut by the coriander and chilli.

Non-experimental tipplers will be glad to know that the menu also provides a slew of classics—untouched, and served as they should be. The mocktail don’t read like an after-thought. The mighty form declares, “Mocktails are respected: some hearts require clarity,” and options such as Priest, Sage, Monk, and Companion exist to woo every kind of teetotaller. I’m shown the smoking room next, which feels more like a whisky connoisseur's den, with an eye-catching cabinet of spirits. 

As I head back into the bar, ‘Hawa Hawai’ is playing. On weekends, I’m told, you can catch a jazz band here. As if on cue, a jazz rendition of ‘Kabhi Kabhi Mere Dil Mein’ by Shalmali Kholgade starts playing. It’s evident, the team has put some serious thought into the playlist.

But what’s even more deliberate than their drinks and tunes is the nosh. “We wanted to create a food-first space with Room No. 102. The food has to be soulful, unique, and delicious—cuisine no bar,” shares Devraj. With 85-plus offerings, executive chef Vikas Singh Khangarot has designed a menu that offers a bit of fusion, some straight-up classics, and basically something for everyone.

With our drinks arrive the staid peanuts are replaced by crispy fried olives, a crackly munchie that instantly pops inside the mouth. The lotus stem chips, served with a honey chilli dip, is an appetiser more bars should adopt. The broccoli is well done—fried with a deep maroon hue over a wasabi cloud mousse. Among the small plates, the dal kachori ravioli with spicy potato broth is a nod to the tangy kadhi kachori served on the streets of Jaipur. The charred chipotle corn ribs are so succulent and savoury that a few drips on my shirt don’t deter me from hogging the plate.

Room No. 102 also serves something you least expect at a speakeasy—a dosa, and a banging one at that. While we get the peppered mushroom sukka dosa with caramelised onions, you can choose a filling of your liking: from avocado, mutton, to the good ol’ potato. The bibimbap comes with a legendary gochujang dressing and slightly charred bits of rice that add a surprising texture. There are also Neapolitan-style pizzas, mutton curry, saag roti, udon noodles, tortellini, lamb racks... displaying its cuisine-agnostic DNA. While I have absolutely no wiggle room left, Devraj insists we get the apple strudel—warm, flaky, and light-handed with cinnamon.

As we call it a night, I’m handed the photograph they clicked on arrival, along with a thoughtful souvenir: a bottle of water for your ride back back home. While the room may be 102, this is customer service 101.

Address: Devraj Niwas, Mirza Ismail Road, near Shri Amarapur Setu, Bani Park, Jaipur - 302006

Timings: 6 pm to 12 pm; Tuesday to Sunday. Mondays closed

Meal for two: ₹4,000

Reservation: Via Instagram DM only. No walk-ins