If I바카라d been born a mortal, I would have hated being 109 years old. After all, who wants to spend hours hunting for dentures and watching their family scribble hopeful letters to the Limca Book of Records every year?
Lucky for me, I am a hotel. And at 109, I am in my prime. My lobby glitters with jewels, chandeliers and terrestrial stars. I have hosted some of the most sparkling celebrities바카라from Barack Obama to writers like George Bernard Shaw, Somerset Maugham and Barbara Cartland; from actor Gregory Peck to violinist Yehudi Menuhin. I have emerged strong from a terrible terrorist attack. In Mumbai, I am a beloved landmark; the world over, I am famous.
Although I am no befuddled dowager, it바카라s still difficult to rewind back to the sepia-tinted days when I was 17 years old...1920 seems such a long time ago바카라well before John Lennon and Yoko Ono locked themselves in the Rajput Suite for five days and asked not to be disturbed; before those golden years of jazz when Duke Ellington once jammed in the Grand Ballroom; even before writer Aldous Huxley wrote, rather cheekily, that I 바카라combined the style of the South Kensington Natural History Museum with that of an Indian pavilion at an International Exhibition바카라.
Come to think of it, in 1920 my famous neighbour바카라the Gateway of India바카라hadn바카라t yet moved in. It was completed only in 1924바카라ok, work started in 1911, but before that I occupied Apollo Bunder in solitary splendour. So I was still the first landmark passengers spotted when their enormous ocean liners approached Bombay. But, the Bombay of those years was a troubled city; dealing with a devastating bubonic plague epidemic, dubious land reclamation schemes and glaring inequities. The English colonialists were very much the masters and lorded it over the native inhabitants. Indeed, legend has it that the wealthy and visionary Jamsetji Tata was refused entry to a Europeans-only hotel. The industrialist was so infuriated that he decided to build a magnificent hotel of his own. He바카라d fashion a grand symbol to restore Bombay바카라s self-belief.
In The Creation of Wealth, R.M. Lala talks about how Jamsetji bought a plot of reclaimed land. 바카라The foundations were 40 feet deep, unusual for those days. The long central dome was to be flanked by long, high aisles so that the sea breezes could freely circulate and cool the place. And two smaller domes would flank the two ends,바카라 he writes, about the structure during those early years before the tower wing, the grand lobby and the swimming pool made their appearance. 바카라In his foreign travels,바카라 Lala adds, 바카라Jamsetji made most of the purchases himself, lavishing upon the Taj the finest equipment Europe could offer바카라a soda and ice-making factory, and silver polishing machines, a laundry, lifts and an electric generator.바카라
I was the first structure in the city to blaze with electricity when I opened my doors to 17 guests on December 16, 1903. Nevertheless, in the initial years, Europeans felt out of place amidst my Moorish domes and Oriental ornamentation바카라and I was often dismissed as an old man바카라s folly or 바카라Tata바카라s White Elephant바카라. But then, the Indian princes, always eager to party, began to arrive with their bejewelled entourages바카라sometimes leading pet tigers straining on chains. And soon, everybody who was anybody was heading my way.
During WW 1, I was converted into a 600-bed hospital. But by my 17th birthday, I was back in business with a roster of impressive guests. Mohammed Ali Jinnah바카라s wife stayed here whenever she quarrelled with her husband. Sarojini Naidu had a permanent suite and often held political meetings. Nevertheless, I have to confess that in my teens and 20s, I wasn바카라t the decorous, sophisticated hotel that I am today. The rooms were furnished with iron beds and mosquito nets, a washstand and a couple of stiff chairs, while a large punkah churned the smoky, briny air. The rather prison-like corridors were filled with the hubbub of bearers and hopeful tradesmen. But the real action was downstairs amidst smoky cabarets and potent gin slings; watchful adventurers and 바카라advanced바카라 Indian women dancing to odd versions of the latest US hits.
In Night in Bombay, Louis Bromfield describes the vast hall beneath the imposing staircase. 바카라Through the hall and the bazaar that occupied half its area came and went a procession of Arab horse dealers, British Governors and civil servants, Russian and German trollops, Indian princes, jewel merchants, Parsi millionaires, comic middle-aged tourists, gamblers, oil-prospectors. The procession went on day and night, for in the heat of the city and with the fantastic character of many of the guests, the place was as alive at four in the morning as at midday.바카라
In those heady days, I cheerfully befriended the rough sailors, rolling stones and great gamblers who docked at anything-is-possible Bombay. I watched as dangerous espionage adventures and illicit romances played out beneath my dome. But then I was just a flighty 17-year-old.
The author바카라s book The Six Spellmakers of Dorabji Street is out next month
