You'll be with me
for a fortnight.
Which is a strange thing to ask of a stranger, and the reason this page exists. Everything else on this site promises that I come with you. This is where you get to decide whether that's good news.
Why I started doing this.
I'm Manavendra Singh — Man Singh to almost everybody. I grew up in Rewa, in Madhya Pradesh, read at St Stephen's in Delhi, and have been taking people across this country since 2003. These days I live between Bhopal and Delhi, and, for a good part of the year, between the hills and the deserts.
Now the part only you can write: one story, not a mission statement. The trip that made you think "I could do this better," or the job you walked away from, or the person who taught you a place. Four or five hundred words. Write it badly first and then cut it in half — the half that survives will be the true one.
Things that belong here: what you were doing before, what changed, and one specific moment. Things that do not belong here: the word "passion", the phrase "off the beaten path", and anything about India's rich tapestry.
What I can tell you already is what it turned into. I'm not a guide and I don't employ any. I plan one trip at a time, for one group of people who already know each other, and then I get in the vehicle and come along — because the plan is only half of it and the other half is being there when the road is shut.
What if you don't like me?
It's a fair question and nobody ever asks it. Eighteen days in Ladakh with someone whose company you'd rather not keep is a long eighteen days, and the brochure version of this industry pretends the problem doesn't exist by making sure you never meet anyone.
So: before anything is booked, we talk properly — an hour, on a call or at your kitchen table if you're near enough. You're interviewing me, whatever we both pretend is happening. If it doesn't feel right, say so and nothing further happens; I'd much rather lose the trip than spend a fortnight being tolerated.
And it runs the other way too. I say no to some trips — not often, but I do — usually because the group wants something I'd be bad at, and occasionally because I can tell we'd irritate each other. I'll say it kindly and I'll tell you honestly who to call instead.
If you've actually turned a trip down, say so here in one line. A concrete example makes this whole section believable rather than gallant.
I'm not the expert. I'm the one who knows the experts.
This page is the only place on the site where these people become real. Every zone promises them — a historian at Alchi, a naturalist in the Desert National Park, a family in a Balti kitchen, musicians in a courtyard — and a promise with no name attached is worth nothing. Three or four is plenty. Use their real photographs and their real credentials.
in the place you use them
One line on what they've actually done — published on what, taught where, worked on which site. Not "passionate about heritage".
in the place you use them
Which species, which park, how many seasons. If they work on the bustard or the Panna reintroduction, say exactly that.
in the place you use them
Where they cook, what they'll teach, which market they'll drag people to at six in the morning.
in the place you use them
The Manganiyar family in the Thar — this is the credit the desert page called the most important on the site. Name them here and link it from there.
Somebody else should say the next bit.
Their name · where they went, and whenPaste one guest's words here, unedited, including the bit where they complain about something. Three or four sentences minimum — long enough that it could not have been written by you.
Ask for it properly: send them an email three weeks after they get home, ask what they've told people about the trip, and use that answer rather than a review.
What I won't do.
The rest of this site tells you who each zone isn't for. This is the version that's about me.
- I won't put you with strangers. Every trip is one group who already know each other, however large or small that group is.
- I won't sell you a shorter trip than the place deserves and let you find out afterwards. I'll cut a destination before I'll thin all of them.
- I won't take a commission from a hotel and call it a recommendation. Confirm this is true of how you work before publishing it — it's the kind of claim a competitor will test.
- I won't hand you over to a local operator once you land. If I planned it, I'm on it.
- I won't pay a musician, a cook or a guide less than the trip charged for them. Same — only publish if you can stand behind it.
- I won't pretend a place is what it isn't. If the fort is scaffolded and the river is low, you'll hear it from me before you book it.
Who answers the phone, and what happens if something goes wrong.
There is no office and there is no duty desk. I answer, and if I'm on a trip I answer later that day rather than never. That's the honest version of "personal service" and it has an obvious limit, so here is the limit: say what it is — a partner, a colleague, a number that works when you're at 4,000 metres with no signal.
Permits, insurance requirements, deposits and the cancellation terms all live here rather than in fine print at the bottom of a booking page. People spending this much on a fortnight want to know the boring answers, and the operators who bury them are the ones you should worry about.
This section looks like the least glamorous on the site and converts better than almost anything else on it. Fill it in properly and in plain sentences — no clause numbers, no capital letters mid-sentence.
Come and find out whether you can stand me for a fortnight.
An hour on the phone costs neither of us anything and answers the question this whole page is about. Tell me roughly what you're thinking and we'll take it from there.