Archives for November, 2008
Watching the Taj covered in smoke and flames, the rattattat of AK machine guns, and the explosions of assorted armaments, I have been hit by waves of sadness.
The Taj is Bombay at its best. We all have memories, first or second hand of good times at the Taj. Sorab - a talented theatre person agreed’ My parents got married there, and that’s where I had my Navjot’.
Golden fried prawns at the Golden Dragon, fish and chips at the Shamiana, Cafe Viennoise at the Sea Lounge where you can dawdle for hours on end and no one will hustle you, Double shots of Single Malt at the Harbour Bar, the purple drapes and sea shell tables at the old Rendezvous with ‘crooners’ at the mike and Lobster Thermidor on the shell dripping with Remoulade sauce, the impeccable Camembert Dariole and Cajun Pomfret at the Zodiac Grill, Non Veg thalis at the Tanjore, Club sandwiches by the poolside with chilled Kingfisher beer, the Christmas lunch at the Ballroom, chocolate eclairs birthday cakes and Christmas pudding from the Patisserie, tables groaning with food at assorted buffets - weddings, sales events, press conferences, Rotary lunches.
Waiters who take pleasure in remembering your name and favourite drink, and always solicitously ask ‘ Sir, how is baby?’ Feigning surprise at being told that baby now has two babies of her own, and is a lawyer. Turbanned doormen, who had their own moment of defiance after Operation Blue Star and greeted every guest with Sat Sri Akal, and whose mission is to make sure that your car is paged and ready to go as they see you coming.
After we got Yoda, we made sure that the Taj turned pet friendly and welcomed him into every restaurant and function area - it helped that we were hosting a massive conference and had taken over huge chunks of the Taj and the President.
It’s always fun to scope out the ‘baghna’ parties at the Sea Lounge. The girls’ family on one side, the boys’ family on the other, the girl who was being ‘baghoed’ is easy to spot, but the trick was to ’get’ the boy buried among the generic males, and to do it before the supplementary characters all faded away and left the couple alone to discover each other.
The Taj is not just for the rich. How many people we know who have plucked up the courage to go in there, order a cup of coffee or a beer at the Shamiana, and immersed themselves in the experience. We all have tales of being ‘kadka’ and carefully ordering from the menu, making the calculations on tax and tip. Walking into the Taj itself was the treat, and the rest icing on the cake.
The Taj has moved with the times, sometimes not always for the better. The exquisite Menage a Trois with its drop dead views of Bombay harbour , and small bite food that would give Joel Robuchon’s Atelier a run for its money , is now the deserted Souk with dispirited staff offering up tired Lebanese food. The Harbour Bar - the original watering hole with sofas that seemed to have been cured in cigar smoke - they could have shot Casablanca there, now has functional furniture and TV sets during the cricket season. ‘Shaantum Paapam’. The Rendezvous is a generic banqueting space-when it should be swinging to the strains of Big Band Sound. Remember I am a geezer who’s taking a nearly 40 year view, and I insist on my nostalgia and memories.
The Taj will be whole again. Ratan Tata and all of us Bombayites will make it so. And the day it’s open for local business, I will SMS all my friends and tell them ‘ See you in the Lobby at 9.15′. Mina and I’ll be there with Yoda and heaven help any yokel who tries to enforce a no-dog policy.
Nov 30, 2008 | | Book
In the early seventies, when Ayesha was two years old, we lived in Beirut, and Naazaa was her babysitter. Every time we left home, Ayesha would let off these blood curdling screams, each a dagger through our hearts. One day, we went to the lift, tiptoed back, and stood listening outside the door. No noise, no whimpering. From that day on, we were able to leave with only minor pangs of guilt.
The baby sitting ritual for Yoda is somewhat similar. He sees us getting dressed, and he knows that he’s not going out. Mina than goes up to him and has ‘the chat’. The sitter arrives, and he checks her out. We move towards the door, and his tail goes down. We open the door, and he sits down in a ‘woe is me’. We say goodbye to him, and he turns his face away. We suffer a few pangs of guilt as we leave. We know that when we return he will greet us rapturously.
Once we decided that Yoda was not to be left alone, we needed to find baby sitters in every city. In Bombay we had Jayanand, but he could not travel everywhere with us.
The 29th floor of our apartment building in New York was ruled by three striking sisters from Chile who ran the laundry and other services. Rosanna became our maid, and she loved Yoda as deeply as she loved her designer boots from Century 21. Her son Julio loved to ‘borrow’ Yoda and take him to the park. He claimed that Yoda was the best babe magnet ever. I felt we should charge him a fee every time he took the pooch.
Hotels were another matter. In every hotel we would call the concierge in advance and ask for a baby sitter for our dog. We never had much success. The concept did not compute with most of the babysitters they spoke to.
A maid from housekeeping in Cleveland transformed our babysitting life. She said that she would put the word out with her colleagues, and see who wanted to earn a little extra money. In the next 30 minutes we had two candidates. We never looked back.
Hotels have a bustling city behind the scenes, full of people ready to moonlight. So each time, we would not talk to the concierge, but to housekeeping. We had a simple proposition. The sitter should love dogs, and just stay put in the room. No need to walk Yoda. No need to feed him. Just watch TV and if you get hungry, order some Room Service. Who could say NO. I want a job like that!
We have had this wonderful parade of people who came into our lives. Some of them stand out.
We were in a martini drinking phase. And we had just seen the movie ‘Auntie Mame’. Drop a few drops of vermouth into the glass, swish, swish, toss, and pour the vodka. Add the olives, and pretty soon, we were both shaken and stirred. Our babysitter arrived, and we offered her a martini. George arrived and we offered him a martini. As we left, George said ‘Way to go Mohan. Get the sitter hammered, before we leave’. ‘ No martini today?’ was her question the next time she came.
The Barcelona sitter’s mother had discovered a swamiji somewhere in India, and had taken to going off on pilgrimages to his ashram with a whole gaggle of her friends. Her husband was left behind, fulminating. Every once in a way he would get slightly demented calls from her, usually asking for money. It’s wonderful to have a loving one back home, and Western Union where you are. The sitter showed no interest at all in visiting India. Having a mother go AWOL can have that effect. However she was great with Yoda, and took him walking on the waterfront. Her voice sounded like a foghorn and she honked at us - ‘He peed like a horse’.
Yoda has had a couple of men sitters. Melvyn was a maintenance engineer, all man, rippling muscles, subtle tattoos and a great bedside manner with Yoda. He would drawl ‘Hiya pooch’ as he swept him up in his arms. Yoda went happily, and did not give us the abandoned orphan routine.
Paolo was a handsome Bilbao man, who had obviously partied hard the night before. He told us that he went to sleep on the sofa, right after we left, and Yoda slept with him all the time. ‘First time I have earned money for sleeping’ was his comment as he bade Yoda fond farewell.
Nikhil is his most beloved sitter. A tall young man, about to finish college, Nikhil babysits Yoda for us in Bombay, mostly as a matter of filial duty. He is my nephew. He usually lands up armed with his flash drive, and works on our computer, or watches the latest episodes of CSI on video. Yoda sits at his feet, and looks up adoringly at him. When its time for Nikhil to leave, Yoda does a mad dash to the door, as if to stand there and say ‘ Buddy, I ain’t letting you go’.
Stand up comics have a standard routine about Kubler Ross’s 5 stages of how we deal with death. Anger, denial, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. Yoda’s take on being left with babysitters is similar. Betrayal, rejection, desolation, abandonment, and finally rapture, each time we return. Works for us
Nov 26, 2008 | | Book
Three stylish European men. Four perky American blondes. Six ringing celphones. Gstaad in the summer.
We were on our way to the Swiss lakes, to spend a few days recuperating from a sales convention in Montreux, and had stopped for lunch. We set Yoda up on our lunch table in the garden, and soon the chic mob stepped out of their ultracool persona, and came and played with him. He has this way of getting people to leave their attitude behind.
In Montreux, Yoda had for once disgraced himself by barking uncontrollably at a lady wearing a burkha in the hotel. Every time she walked past, he would bark. We could not see her face to register her expression, but her gait said it all. I would have loved to quiz Yoda on what had set him off. Was it her clothes, or something about her that he did not approve of? Fortunately the hotel people were on our side. Maybe she was not a good tipper.
We took Yoda to see the Saint Bernard dogs on the Italian border and he wanted to get out of his case and play with them. Not a good idea. We did not have our passports with us, and yet braved it across the Italian check point, just to set foot in Italy. The brave and silly things we did before 9/11.
Coming back into Switzerland, the border guards began to give us a tough time, because we had no papers. We waved Yoda in their faces, and they waved us through. On our way back we wondered if we could hang a little keg of brandy around his neck, and have him bring it to us after dinner every evening. Sommelier Yoda – his latest avatar.
The hotel at Interlaken rolled out the red carpet for Yoda. A special bed, a special blanket, a special bowl for his water, and some special treats- everything was special for him. We had to satisfy ourselves with the mints they left on our pillows.
Many hotels around the world are beginning to wake up to the dog market. People want to travel with their pets, and it’s a sure way to get a dedicated group of customers. Hotels in Europe have always been dog friendly, and the US is now beginning to catch up.
At a Sheraton hotel, we were recently greeted with a release form authorizing the hotel to bill us for any damage Yoda might cause. I think they mistook him for a rock star who would get coked up and trash the room. They also gave us a couple of plastic bags for his poop, and a little note requesting us to take him out for regular walks. What a wonderful thing it is, when corporate PR and in house legal counsel come together in a good cause.
Hotels in India are confused about how to handle our dog-request. When we are planning a major business event, they are told they must allow Yoda, or it is a deal breaker. Revenue always triumphs over other qualms. When we plan to make a private visit, we need to do more sophisticated cajoling. The Raj Vilas capitulated when I mentioned the brand name of his carrying case, and assured them that Yoda would always be in it, when we went through the public areas. Ah, the power of advertising! We are what we wear.
It’s not just hotels. Last month, I saw an electronic sign in the windows of the Commerce Bank in New York. ‘ Dogs Rule’ was the first scroll followed by ‘ Your dog is always welcome in the bank’. Yessssssss. Finally it’s happening.
Nov 26, 2008 | | Book
I love the ‘Club’ floors in good hotels. Free food, free drink, varied culinary presentations, an oasis of calm. Most hotels offer their lounge as a very practical convenience. And then there are some like the Hotel Arts in Barcelona that raise it to an art form.
We have had a checkered history with the city. The first time we were due to visit, Yoda fell sick, and we had to cancel. The second time, our granddaughter Ava decided to come into the world a little early, and once again we canceled. Third time lucky.
The lounge is on the 36th floor and as you enter you look out onto the Mediterranean. The Marina gleams white at your feet, the Gehry fish sculpture is gold, bronze or silver, depending on the time of day, and we saw a hot air balloon fail to take off the afternoon we got there.
The goddesses in black loved Yoda. He had free rein over the lounge, while we gorged ourselves on endless offerings of tapas, good wine, and sensuous desserts.
In the Parc Guell, one more of Gaudi’s unrealized masterworks, our driver dropped us off at the top. ‘It’s easier to walk down, than up’. Everyone seemed to know this Koan. Eighteen tour buses disgorged their hordes just as we arrived. Mercifully, they seemed to be on a schedule. We got out of their way, and let them stampede past.
Yoda was in his stroller, and he was surrounded by a mob of school children who were out on a field trip. ‘ Ay, perrito’ filled the air, as they made tentative attempts to stroke him.
Yoda lapped it all up, but began to get nervous as more and more children gathered around him. Fortunately, they had a great teacher, who made them stand in line, and come forward to get their 15 seconds of ‘alone time’ with him. It all felt quite papal. Yoda should have been wearing a beanie and saying ‘Bene, Bene’.
In the late afternoon, we went to Las Ramblas, and walked past the mimes. The most famous are the two skeletons on bicycles, both standing still, until we fed their hats some money. They began to pedal away frantically, we got our photo op, and Yoda seemed quite mystified. A Lady Liberty decked out in gold gave us a small silver star for good luck. She had a deep dusky voice, and maybe she was in drag. Anything is possible on a fall afternoon in Barcelona.
Further on, there was a musician playing some kind of accordion. He had an old camera stand, on which he had placed his two dogs. They were dressed in light sweaters, and were wearing brightly colored spectacle frames – the kind we wear on New Years eve and promise never to wear again. The dogs brought in more crowds than his music. I was tempted to place Yoda beside the two dogs, just for the picture, but better sense prevailed. Dogs are very territorial.
The folks in the tapas bars loved him. They were intrigued that he did not step out of his bag to scavenge food scraps from the floor. Yoda knows how far he can go, specially when Mina is around.
On our last day there, a couple sitting in the lounge next to us came up and whispered. ‘Don’t they mind dogs in here?’ They had left their dog behind in their room, and went off to get him.
What a delicious possibility – a doggy play group in the Club Lounge 36 floors above Barcelona. Unfortunately we had to leave for the airport. Next time! We’ll be back!!
Nov 26, 2008 | | Book
