MEETING THE COLONEL

KOLKATA: MARCH 19
Rajen Bali is introduced to me by Modhurima Sinha of the Taj. We sit together in the lobby of the Taj Bengal. Rajen Bali is the shorter by three inches and the younger by four years. He boasts a hawk's nose. Mine is snubbed. We are both overweight and bearded and we both served in the army, I as a lowly lieutenant, Rajen as a Lieutenant-Colonel. Rajen has put his retirement to good use both as a successful painter and one of India's foremost travel writers and writers on food. Modhurima Sinha probably sees us as grumpy old men and made for each other. So it proves...

LAW IS NEGOTIABLE

KOLKATA: MARCH 18
An immensely rich Kolkata businessman tells me of reneging on the purchase of a London Hotel. His London lawyer, a man with Indian antecedents, warned him of disadvantages in doing business in England. Miss-declare trading figures for United Kingdom Value Added Tax and you pay a fine. Do so a second time and you go to jail. India is different. Law is negotiable.

TORTOISE PROGRESS

KOLKATA: MARCH 18
A guest swims lengths of the pool as I breakfast at a window table at the Taj Bengal. I must face the laptop keyboard. The latest BA High Life piece needs final editing. The Guardian requires 600 words. I am late with 1500 words for MCN and this Blog is way behind. I occupy the same window table for a lunch-time meeting with the hotel's Director of PR, Mrs Modhurima Sinha. Six tourists lounge on sunbeds the far side of the pool. I head for my room. Dinner is Room Service Biriani and 30 minutes of IPL cricket live on TV. I call Bernadette at midnight and collapse into bed.
Have I finished? Of course not.
Why do I write so slowly?

A LADY WITH VERY SPECIAL TASTES

KOLKATA: MARCH 17
I sit on a sofa in an outer office on the top floor of a commercial building in central Kolkata.
The invitation was for 7 pm to 7:30. It is now 8:30. I have read the Times of India, The Telegraph and The Statesman. Sensible would have been to leave an hour ago. On the other hand the woman I expected to meet is my only contact here in Kolkata. I am told that she is rich, that she is interesting, that she does interesting things with her money. I am a writer. Interesting people are the grist for my writer's mill. The lady arrives at 8:45. She is short, plump, middle-aged and has steel chains woven into her hair. The chains reach midway down her thighs. Her desk is piled with pink purses encased in glass-bead spaniels. The curved doggy tail is the handle. Wow!

A SOAK FOR THE SOAK

KOLKATA: MARCH 17
How ever great the number of rooms, the best hotels make each guest feel unique and treasured. Is it years of training or brilliant selection of staff? Probably an amalgam of both.
Taj staff are brilliant.
First goal? Soak in a hot bath...And soak and soak. Then sprawl on a perfect mattress and check my address book. Then connect the laptop to the WiFi for mail.
Is Bernadette OK?
Has my suicidal Last Born survived a further week of snow boarding?
What news of my other children and my grandchildren?
What work am I late delivering?
And what funds remain in the bank? This last is always a major anxiety on a long journey.

TAJ WELCOME FOR AN ANCIENT SCRUFF

KOLKATA: MARCH 17
Six guards protect the gates into the Taj hotel, Kolkata. No entry for an Old Blimp on a Honda 125. Bikes are for servants. I park with the social pariahs and walk. Security at the lobby entrance is airport style. Place keys, small change, mobile phones etc. in a wicker tray for Xray scan. Pass through the detector gates. My braces/suspenders set off the alarm. Take them off and I have to hold up my pants. Hardly a glorious entrance to five star luxury...
I giggle. So do the security guards.
A suave gentleman in a frock coat betrays neither surprise nor dismay at spotting an aged tramp on wealth-hallowed ground. “Mister Gandolfi?”
“Yes,” say I. Are they expecting another ancient scruff??

SECURITY BLANKET

KOLKATA: MARCH 17
Pointless to ask direction to a one star hotel unless you are close. Not so with the Taj Bengal (not so with any Taj hotel). I stay at the Taj for two reasons. Firstly, the Taj group invite me. Secondly, the Taj in Bombay was my security blanket forty years ago. Entering the great dining room overlooking the sea was an instant antidote to depression or fatigue. I took personally the storming of the Taj by terrorists. They attacked treasured memories. Fear them and they are victorious. This ride is both my response and my inadequate memorial to the killed and to a dear and respected friend, sadly departed, Darab Tata.

TOUGH DAY AT THE OFFICE

tough day at the office

There have been moments today when I wondered whether I had been killed on the road to Jodhpur and wafted direct to Paradise - though a quick perusal of my past puts paid to the possibility. In love with a building? Why not? And not to love the Umaid Bhawan is impossible. The same is true of the staff. Whether senior management or gardener, all are both charming and considerate. Obsessive myself, I am stunned here by meticulous detail after detail both in the architecture and in the service. In late afternoon I strolled down the garden to the heated outdoor pool. Beyond stood the great fortress of Jodhpur, massive on its rock plateau. Behind lay the palace, sandstone glowing in the evening sun.

OFFAL ORGY

Back home in Herefordshire Roger Gill from Cradley and I take turns cooking a weekly lunch of those dishes we relish and which our loved ones won't eat. Offal is most frequently on the menu. So this Blog is for Roger Gill. Dinner at the Umaid Bhawan Palace, Jodhpur. The Palace boasts three restaurants. I chose the Indian. Spiced lamb liver and kidneys lightly grilled to begin followed by a curry of minced sheep's brains together with breast of chicken curried in a cream and cashew nut sauce. Good? Outstanding!!!!

ART DECO GLORY

The art deco Umaid Bhawan in Johdpur and the Persian Itmad-Ud-Daulah in Agra do it for me. Those two alone make as visit to India worthwhile. To create a palace as vast as Umaid Bhawan demanded extraordinary courage from the architect and an obsessive attention not only to detail but to a continuity of decorative vision. The result is breath taking. Check out the web site.

HEAVEN

Bronchitis and dysentery combined with the pollution and insane traffic of India's heartland left me exhausted. I fled to the deserts of Rajasthan, four days of crystal air in Pushka, pilgrimage town both for devout Hindus and Western Dreadlocks in search of enlightenment through Bhang lassies. I worked! An article for The Lady and an article for MCN - very different in tone and content!
Today I sped westward on an almost empty road to Jodhpur where I have been invited to stay at the Umaid Bhawan Palace, most glorious of Royal residencies. I arrived at 6 p.m. and had a blissfully hot shower before basking in a vast hot tub. A second shower after the tub and I am ready for dinner.

THANK GOD FOR HISTORY GRADUATES

GWALIOR, DECEMBER 23
Thank God for history graduates...I have had two hours of joyful conversation with Nagendra Singh Bayal, Front Office Manager at Usha Kiran Palace (Taj hotel in the grounds of Jai Villas). We begin with motorbikes, progress via religion in history to God as love, family and the insanity dictating much of the region's politics - splendid accompaniment to a fruit salad and black coffee breakfast.
A dual carriageway to Janasi is under construction. Trucks and construction machinery have ripped the surface of the old road. Not a fun ride...so why do I enjoy myself? Afterglow of the morning's conversation ripened by memories of Cuba and the warm humid scent of sugar cane in the fields and of over-loaded trailers swaying towards a sugar central.
Two men work on the top of an electricity pylon. Hard hats? Safety belts? Don't be ridiculous. Men are replaceable.

THE MAHARAJAS AT THE V&A

The Victoria and Albert museum in London is hosting an exhibition of the Maharajas' treasures. The Taj Hotel Group are co sponsors of the exhibition and kindly invited me to a reception at the museum. I have been reading history for the past months. The history cast a thick veil over the exhibits, often of blood, and made the exhibits difficult to see simply as works of art.