One-Night Stand

Yet the Kohinoor, which occupies the corner chunk of the hotel8217;s top floor, is not a maharaja8217;s lair or a gizmo-laden pad, but a hedonistic throwback to a time when saunas within individual hotel rooms only existed in the realm of myth. And when viewed through the prism of the quasi-socialist era it came up in, the goodies of the Kohinoor appear ever more decadent!

A 21-floor ascent and a 20-second walk on a plush red carpet brings me to the bastion of bliss. My escort swings open the doors and I8217;m beseiged by luxury: plush sofas, crystal lampshades, exotic plants and flowers, a dining area with seating for seven, Moet on ice, a 2-foot long chocolate ship resting on a table, a swimming pool-like bedroom with an imposing four poster bed, and an extravagant master washroom where the fixtures are plated with gold including the drain pipes and bidet8217;s water stopper and a bathtub that doubles up as a Jacuzzi. There8217;s even a single strand of eyebrow in the sink, remnants of Jaswant Singh8217;s stay the night before, I suppose.

General manager Duncan Craig had left a handwritten note on the room8217;s business desk, and follows up with a pleasant phone call. I soak in the sense of invincibility that comes with living at the Kohinoor, slipping on a silk bathrobe and a pair of moss green cloth sandals. The butler and room service staff seem awestruck as I prance around the room in my Hugh Hefner get up.

And what better way to the Kohinoor than with like-minded company! I had alienated my girlfriend, Cheryl, by being out of town on Valentine8217;s Day, but I floor her with this carefully-hidden treat. Friends start knocking and I play gracious host. I summon the butler who pops open the Moet with a small flourish. No one can take their eyes off the windows, which reveal the dramatic sweep of the Queen8217;s Necklace from its southern-most tip.

I make a brief call and a Romeo no 3 makes its way up from the humidor. My friends seem disposed to the continental fare and we send for chicken liver pate, beef in wine sauce, and tenderloin carpaco8212;wafer thin slivers of pink veal. Three bottles of fine wine are also uncorked on a whim. The night8217;s a tribute to classic Roman debauchery, but we8217;re not a patch on the legendary sheiks who were having such a good time at the Kohinoor that they started flinging mango seeds onto the ceiling!

When we walk down to the Rottiserie for Sunday brunch, the steward informs me there8217;s no table immediately available. When I drop the Kohinoor name, Cheryl and I are quickly rushed to the only vacant spot, an eight-seater, and shifted to a more appropriate table the moment one opens up. Legendary saxophonist Joe Pereira plays my request soon after it8217;s sent over.

Just before leaving, I take several runs of the Jacuzzi, which means I don8217;t have enough time for a sauna session. Still, I feel a million bucks while climbing into the back of the black Mercedes that transports me back to the real world. Later that night, while watching a replay of 8216;8216;the game of the season8217;8217; I find something I accidentally picked up at the Kohinoor: the keys.