I got to view a presidential suite today.
It was a sweetly perfumed haven of rich, tan panelled walls across fifteen hundred square feet. Two separate lounge areas, a dining table to seat ten, and a pantry for the guest’s private butler (if only …). A personal treadmill with a plasma television at its front, and a bed I could roll over in five times and not fall out of. The daily rate is four times my monthly salary, and rightly so: it has seen both President Bill Clinton and our own Queen Elizabeth.
Their standard rooms are also world class. Just a few of their complementary conveniences are four chocolate truffles (very important), two different slipper sizes, seven boxed bathroom amenities, a personal weighing scale, and an imposing minibar (with imposing prices).
My colleague who was showing me giggled at my excitement.
She explained it perfectly: “What is so strange? It IS Taj!”
Yes, Taj it is.
Going Home to India 