The Indian in the US hotel

The Indian mind is used to certain perks. The moment you land up in a hotel, half a dozen hotel attendants are up and about. Someone opens the door of the taxi for you, someone unloads your luggage, someone leads you to the reception desk. Once the registration is complete, you simply head to your room. The luggage will arrive on its own! You are used to such royal treatment.

No such luck in the US. You are entirely on your own. Once registration is complete, the receptionist sums it up- “You are all set. Here’s your access card. The elevator is to the left!”   There is no room to protest, “Saar! Are you serious? Do you know I am coming from India after a 20 hour flight? I am carrying 2 huge granite blocks, I mean suitcases...that I can barely move. Plus, I have a trolley, a carry-on baggage I mean, and a backpack. You expect me to carry them to the 6^th floor room? You are joking, aren’t you?” There is no one to hear your rant. Where did all the people go? Where are all the people? You want to vent out your frustration, “Hello? Is anyone there? Any attendants? Any hotel-boys, any housekeeping staff, any chhotus, hello? Anyone there at all? Hello?” All you hear is silence...amidst the mild-yellow ambient lighting, and yes, with that blessed, background, piped music that plays over and over, endlessly. You can well…huff and puff your way to the 6h floor hotel room.

These days, whether it is India or the US, there is a certain standardization, as far as entry into hotel rooms is concerned. It is an access card based entry- no fiddling around with a lock-and-key anymore. In its ideal essence, of course, the method is simple- you tap your card against the door- and voila! it glows green, the door clicks, and lets you in.

Call it Murphy’s law, sometimes, try as you might, there is no response. There must be some method to the madness, you wonder. You hold the card this way, hold it the other way, rub the card violently against the door, give the card a lick, yank at the doorknob with brute strength- it stays stubborn and dead. You wonder if you are missing something elementary. After all, you do not want to look stupid in a foreign country. After half-hour of absolute futility, you run down to the reception. “Oh! Sorry about that! The access card had timed out. Let me reissue a new card. You should now be all set!” the receptionist solves the problem.

The Indian mind has certain unique characteristics. The moment you enter your room, even a hotel room in the US, you immediately take your shoes and socks off. It does not matter that the room is carpeted, and the local custom is to walk all over, with the shoes on. The mind is conditioned- you need to feel the floor, albeit a carpeted floor, with the soles of your feet. There is an immense, unquantifiable relaxation, that you instantly experience. Only now, treading the carpet with your bare feet, do you feel at home, even if it be, a hotel-home.

The first thing that comes to mind is the most crucial point, “How do you get coffee tomorrow morning?” To answer your fervent call, the eye catches a coffeemaker in the room. There are multiple items stacked around the coffee maker; cups, coffee-powder- both “regular, roasted” and “decaffeinated” coffee. In addition, there are sugar sachets, there is "brown-sugar", an artificial-sweetener, a “creamer” (milk powder) and finally a wooden stirrer.

For the next hour, you feel like Thomas Alva Edison crouched over his light bulb invention. How do you put these ingredients together to get that blessed cup of coffee? After immense toil, there is eventually, coffee! The anticlimax cannot be spelt out in words- this is anything but Kumbakonam degree coffee. You hold your tongue out in disgust- how do you swallow this concoction? The devas would have felt exactly like this. After churning the ocean relentlessly, for  days on end, for their back-breaking effort, all they got (at least initially) was poison, haala-haala visham! There is instant empathy with the puranic story.

How much you miss India! It would take just one phone call at 5:30 am to “room-service”. “Can I have 2 cups of strong filter-coffee, yes, kumbakonam-degree-coffee, sent to the room immediately? Don’t make it lukewarm. I need it nice and hot. 1.5 spoons of sugar per cup. And if possible, some munchies also. What munchies do you have?  Rava-idli? Kesari?” Before you can put down the phone, you can hear footfalls and a gentle tap on the door, “Sir! Coffee!” How much you miss India!