Netflix Series ‘The Royals’ is a Regal Reimagining of Desert, Desire, and Delightful Decadence

“The Royals” opens like a sun-drenched dream in the Pink City of Jaipur—the city of Maharajas, the city of victory, the city of handsome polo players, kundan chokers, hand-cut emeralds, and pearls the size of pigeon eggs gleaming under chandelier light. A city of frescoed ceilings, filigreed windows, characteristic cenotaphs interrupting terracotta-colored balustrades. Gorgeous interiors with marble-inlaid floors, and sweeping staircases.

I was transported to my childhood and post-marriage years—catching the golden hour on the lush lawns of the Rambagh Palace as peacocks called for their mates in the background and couples met for quiet tête-à-têtes. This Netflix original, helmed by Priyanka Ghose and Nupur Asthana, is a billet-doux to the glamorous princely era in India, showcasing a “once illustrious royal family” of Morpur, Rajasthan as they try to retain their wealth and inheritance in a capitalist world, where maintaining a palace comes with astronomical budgets.

I was immediately drawn into the plot by the almost quixotic demeanor of the family—fighting the decline of legacy by decking themselves in finery, holding lavish parties, serving Rajasthani and Mughlai cuisines, and mixing up endless cocktails. Beneath the charm and hospitality, however, lurks denial, sarcasm, laughable overindulgences, and that classic “not-my-fault” mentality.

The show follows Maharaj Aviraaj “Fizzy” Singh (Ishaan Khatter), the rakish, reluctant heir to Moti Bagh Palace—quite literally any girl’s dream come true. He’s a hybrid of Bridgerton’s Duke Simon and Mr. Darcy from “Little Women.” His wind-swept curls fall so nonchalantly over his forehead. His dark, expressive eyes seem to see everything. The way his muscles ripple under white linen shirts—especially when he’s riding his horse, Khan, shirtless on the polo grounds—cements him as every inch the royal heart-throb.

He’s paired with a much slimmer, and shinier Bhumi Pednekar (compared to Dum Laga Ke Haisha) as Sophia Kanmani Shekhar, a relentless CEO ( with her covert insecurities) of an AirBnB-type hospitality startup with a twist. When the Singh family’s fortunes dwindle, they team up to convert their ancestral palace into a luxury resort. Sparks fly…when they come together, though at times, the chemistry feels forced, like a staged Mills & Boon or Harlequin romance. I loved the showdown between the royal siblings! That seemed natural.

Their dynamic—careless, entitled royalty meets sharp, competitive entrepreneurs—drives the plot. But the emotional depth is missing. The romantic arc feels like it’s trying to be bingeworthy, instead of genuinely heartfelt.I would have enjoyed it more if the directors had focused on developing the rich, complex subplots within the dysfunctional royal family, rather than glossing them over with a jewel-encrusted fan.

Sakshi Tanwar looks every bit the royal Rajasthani Maharani, Padmaja—or Lily-pad, as she’s affectionately called. Her understated Banarasi sarees in sea green, dusty pink, and kesari yellow perfectly complement her elaborate chokers, and earrings.

It was a treat to see veteran actress Zeenat Aman as the Rajmata. I wish she had more dialogue—lines like, “Hathi ke daant khane ke aur, dikhane ke aur. Paani lao, aur uske saath whisky bhi.” She glides so gracefully through the gilded halls, owning every scene she’s in. Watching the grand dame in her designer glasses, and a chiffon saree at the polo match made me want to book a flight to Jaipur immediately—to return to that moment when I, too, as a twenty-something, dressed up to watch a polo match on royal grounds.

I overlooked the plot’s flaws because I was hypnotized—walking back down memory lane through the hushed corridors of Samod palace, the illuminated desert havelis. And the sand-dunes where time slows to a waltz.

Vihaan Samat plays Prince Digvijay Singh, who dreams of becoming a Michelin-starred chef and bringing the flavor of “laal-maas” to the world. Diggy is quite disingenuous as he plays ludo with his attendant, wears matching vests with “Girdhari sa” and wonders how he’d look in “the emperor’s clothes.” It’s a charming subplot that explores his insecurities within palace walls. Nora Fatehi plays the tempestuous ex-girlfriend and heiress to the Dhondi principality—she’s a showstopper in a red couture gown. Both Nora and Ishaan showcase their dance skills at the masked ball (Ayesha is invited, disinvited, and re-invited to the gala, of course). The dance is eye candy—if only the lighting hadn’t been dimmed so frustratingly.

The visual opulence is where “The Royals: truly excels. Watching it, I was flooded with visceral memories—the City Palace in Jaipur, vintage car fleets, frescoed walls in royal blue and turquoise, jharokhas overlooking the passage of time from crenellated fortresses. I have a replica of the Raja Rammohan painting shown in the series hanging in my home.

This Memorial Day weekend, I will wear my mother’s chiffon sari with a Jaipur-pink brocade blouse and her emerald necklace—a personal homage to the city ablaze with bougainvillea-draped terraces, musical evenings under sidereal skies, and jadau kalgis on pink turbans. The show lives in the sensuality of fluted glass chandeliers, poignant black-and-white portraits of the Maharajas of Jaipur, and their avant-garde shopping sprees in Europe. They were the crème de la crème.

I overlooked the plot’s flaws because I was hypnotized—walking back down memory lane through the hushed corridors of Samod palace, the illuminated desert havelis. And the sand-dunes where time slows to a waltz.

It reminded me of family stories told over tall drinks—ghoomar dance in moonlight, my grandmother laughing under her ghunghat, bronze-skinned Rajputs with handlebar mustaches curled with pride. I could hear my parents laugh at Holi, smell the petrichor of aangan ki mitti after rain, feel the gota fringe of my odhni tickling my forehead as it brushed against my borla and jhumkas.

I saw my mother at her dresser, kohling her eyes and pearling her neck. Looking every bit the queen, arranging dahlias in a vase or supervising a Rajasthani thali—chutneys, murabbas, gatte ka saag, kadhi, churma, papad. Her face composed, her cheeks soft, her smile slight but radiant.

Watching “The Royals,” I longed for my children to know the magic of that slowness—the playfulness of leheriyas, waking up to the call of turtle doves, catching a breeze on desert drives, and falling asleep under the shade of mango, neem, and tamarind trees planted by my grandfather.

The chemistry between Bhumi and Ishaan is tepid. The direction misses opportunities to build layered, emotional subplots. The writing lacks the sharp wit or risk that could have made this series more than just beautiful to look at. Still, what “The Royals: lack in depth, it makes up for in atmosphere. Like a sudden downpour on parched Rajasthani plains, it is refreshing, nostalgic, and a little intoxicating. It might not stay with you for its plot, but it will linger like a scent—rose, saffron, and a wistful reminder of the bygone era. A time, when the royalty were known by their unconventional nicknames in private circles. Maharaja Sawai Bhavani Singh was called  “Bubbles”.

Perhaps, one day I’ll wake under another desert sunset and remember “The Royals”—not for its story arcs or dramatic turns, but for how it captured the saffronessence of Rajasthan: the heat, the dust, the languor, and the luxury of memory. It gave me hope to revisit the city I once held dear. A city where people addressed me as “bai sa” and “Hukum” but they could never contain my thoughts. And yet, the haunting melody of ‘Kesariya Balam aavo ni” calls me back to see if there’s still room to build something shimmering. Like an heirloom stole from a princely bridal trousseau. Ishaan Khutter steals the show! I am sure season 2 is in the works.

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With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home, India, and a heart steeped in humanity, Monita Soni writes as a contemplative practice. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays, and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow Through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner, WLRH 89.3 FM.