THE SECRET BLEND OF ALL THINGS NICE

        SO POMPOUS AND SO GRAND

Gateway of India

     OF LUXURIOUS  BOMBAY, BOATS, BIRYANI, & BEJEWELLED WOMEN 

PART TWO

The smell of Mumbai hits you immediately as you step off the tarmac. The heat, the intensity of chaos, the whiff of spice and sweat mingling with Palmolive soap, and the concentration of people frightens even the most experienced traveller.

It took many trips before I could totally breeze in unaffected by the stares from the hordes of men jockeying to con me into dubious pursuits.

At Mumbai's International Airport

The Taj was my home for the four days duration.  Time warped, eyes shut wide opened,  and the world of  Paul Scott’s the Raj Quartet came alive.   I wanted nothing more than a bath with room service to begin my adventure after having had a good nights sleep.

Settled and luxuriously wrapped in the Taj’s magnificent bathrobe, my personal butler Anwar, unpacking my bags, said in his difficult to understand accent.  “The Taj is renowned for ask anything and you shall get, Madam.”  Wobbling his head, he continues, “So please don’t hesitate to call me by pressing this button” With that message delivered,  my notoriously naughty companion plucked up an eyebrow and dared me.  Trust me, always travel with someone sensible and you will never get into trouble.

Three days of work intermingled with pleasure.  A beach trip to Alibugh 3 hours outside of Mumbai restored the stress.  Work completed, the adventure was just about to begin.   The business partner’s persistence of our presence at his boat party was impossible to turn down.  The Indian trait of imposing their strong will is well known, a trait as far back as the passive will of Mahatama Gandhi.   

This industrialist’s will was tested beyond the norm.

With the excuse that we did not have the appropriate clothes with us for such a formal dinner party, we declined.   A knock at the hotel suite door twenty minuets later, two seamstresses entered with a Singer sewing machine under their armpit and a stack of Sari material in all the hues.   All we had to do was choose.

Two hours later, magnificently elegant in our Sari’s – mine an emerald green, my companion’s black and gold, we called our host to offer thanks for the beautiful clothes.  Again we declined the invitation for we had no proper jewelry befitting these sophisticated and stylish saris.  

Our host was unperturbed

Thirty minutes on, another knock on the door and a scary Sikh, accompanied by Anwar carrying a stack of jewelry boxes for us to select

I chose this Emerald set

My friend chose this Gold and Turquoise set

                                 

This is where unreality becomes reality.  Our no became a yes.  We were picked up to catch a speed boat at the Gateway pier in the dark night sky to the anchored 153 ft luxury tri-deck Ashena Yatch patiently waiting for us.   Rushing to the dock, my foot caught a bundle, and I and the bundle almost catapulted into the dark sea.   The bundle happened to be a homeless Indian wrapped in gunny sacks sleeping there for the night.  A stark contrast to the people we will be meeting.  This is India.

Ashena

Ascending the yacht, the party was in full swing.

Bollywood, Hollywood all intermingled. There was nothing Indian – no trace of Indian food, incense or spice but plenty of alcohol, the sounds of Jennifer Lopez, JZ and Pitbull emanating through the hidden floor loudspeakers.   Ashena then started to move through the night with Mumbai lights growing dimmer.

Tomorrow became today and by the time we were able to get back to the Taj and Anwar, dawn was just breaking.  Before  the next wondrous Indian trip scaling  Everest up to Shimla, my craving for Chicken Biriyani had  not been gratified and Anwar has been called to find the best Chicken Biryani  in Mumbai.  I was ready to drape my shawal kameez and get taken to the best restaurant but Anwar said the best Biryani was here in the Hotel.   “Memsahib,” he said, “I am not allowing you to leave,” “I will be back in an hour” with that he disappeared.

Forty-five minuets later,  he wheeled in a table with silver cutlery, flowers, and several silver domes.

Chicken Biryani

Ceremoniously Anwar and his minion sous-butlers simultaneously lifted the lids producing three types of Biryani.  There were Chicken, Prawns and Lamb Biryani with accompaniments of mango chutney, vegetable chutney, pickled onions, mint vinegar, chopped cucumber in yoghurt, extra crispy fried onions.  This was not le petit déjeune of today's world.  But in British Raj days, this would have been called a  six-boy curry.  Meaning that each condiment was carried by a different Sikh boy.   The more the condiments, the wealthier the host.

I tried them all.  And liked them all.

I felt like an Empress when they all trouped back into the room, bowed, only to take away the debris I had caused.

Anwar crouching away packing our luggage when my companion said to him “Anwar, please get me some Bendick Mints – after that delicious meal I need something minty, and Anwar, only Bendicks will do.”

Box of Bendicks

My eyes rolled.   If you know anything about Bendick mints, recognized with the award of a Royal Warrant, “By Appointment to Her Majesty the Queen”, you will know this is Anwar's biggest task.

The Mints are usually found in Fortnum and Masons, Harrods chocolate counter, Sainsbury or Waitrose but not in Mumbai and not at the Taj.  It is a hard commodity to come by, usually found in specialty stores outside the UK.   Others have tried to copy, the poorer version of  After Eights only to fall short on the quality.   So Anwar will have to live up to the Taj’s motto. 

Soon Anwar appears, grinning broadly from ear to ear, head wobbling and pleased as punch.   Underneath the silver dome lid, there appears to be a box of the finest Bendicks Mints.  The Taj has kept its word.

The Taj Mumbai