Behind the scenes on one of the world's most luxurious trains

A wave of heat hits me as I enter the galley; it’s filled with the aroma of fried onions and fenugreek. Vats of golden dal are on the boil, and there’s a pan of green chillies bubbling away. Dinner plates are stacked in dishwasher-style racks, restrained by metal bars as they shake on the verge of a mutiny. Rattling teacups add to the cacophony as the train hits maximum speed on its way to the north Indian town of Fatehpur Sikri.

I’m on the Maharajas’ Express — one of the most luxurious trains in the world, with six-night trips from Mumbai to Delhi starting at around £7,000. With its red-and-blue livery and gold crowns painted on the sides, this is a service I’ve yearned to be on since it launched in 2010. At the time, I was researching my book Around India in 80 Trains, and I’d spent three months riding more than 16,000 miles on everything from mail trains to a hospital on wheels. I vowed I’d one day climb on board.

Sixteen years later, I have the chance to do just that, and soon find myself captivated by the operational wizardry that keeps it running. On my first day, I’m invited backstage to the galley to witness how its 14 chefs prepare everything from aromatic mutton rogan josh to lobster thermidor in a setting that feels like it’s enduring a 24-hour earthquake.

Around me, they spoon caviar onto devilled eggs and ladle hot curry into katori bowls as the carriage rocks from side to side. The train’s executive chef, John Stone, is softly spoken and wears spotless whites. The 53-year-old from Shimla in northern India has worked each season since the train’s inaugural journey, waking at 4am to prep vegetables and marinate meat. He makes yoghurt and bread on board, and stores sushi rice from Japan.

“If you wake in the night and want sushi, I’m in no position to say no; that would be a disgrace,” he tells me, recalling how a Turkish guest once requested a fresh mango in December. As it’s a summer fruit, “it was flown in from the Caribbean and cost $2,300 (£1,745). We ordered it in Udaipur and it was brought on board at Jodhpur three days later.”

That evening, I stand in the corridor watching the sun blazing in the sky. Through the windows, kites flutter above open-terraced homes in Agra district and children play cricket along dirt tracks, pausing to watch us pass. Elderly men squat in circles playing card games under trees. Later, while my fellow passengers are learning to play the tabletop game carrom in the bar car, I find my eyes drawn towards my valet, Pritpal Singh.

When his carriage of eight passengers has disembarked for day trips, he nips into each compartment and, in 20 minutes, changes the linen, replaces towels, folds pyjamas and even polishes shoes. During dinner, he turns down the beds, checks the weather and leaves notes suggesting what to wear the following day. If there’s a special occasion, he plucks petals and lays them on the duvet, twisting towels into swans, monkeys or dogs. And by midnight, he heads to bed in the staff carriage, within earshot of a phone for nocturnal requests — only to be up again at 4am. Prior to his role on the Maharajas’ Express, Pritpal spent five years working in hotels. “Then, I didn’t get to meet people. Here, I’m learning Russian, Spanish and Portuguese from so many passengers.”

I head to Mayur Mahal, my favourite of the two dining cars, where I sip a mango lassi surrounded by tinkling crystal and gleaming Burmese teak. All around is raw silk from the south Indian city of Thanjavur and handwoven Kashmiri carpets — a far cry from the spartan train interiors I’m used to. We slow alongside a series of thatched mud houses and the scent from their wood-fired stoves filters in. Chef John comes through and asks if I’d like a refill. He tells me that in a month’s time, the train will be stripped bare and sent to a workshop in Jagadhri in the state of Haryana for a full MOT. For the train staff, it signals the end of the season — until September comes and the whole affair begins again.