Kavant or Kavanth! When any of the Indian languages have to be transliterated into the English alphabet, errors may occur. It's useless for an "h" to be joined with a "t" because there is no "th" sound in Indian languages as in "thankyou", yet it happens a lot - more so in South India, less so in North India.

At most, the "th" is pronounced "t" with a little extra puff of air as if you over pronounced "Tea".

Another example of variations in spelling is "Ganesh" and "Ganesha" (the first is the correct one). I could go on, but you get the idea.

Dogster I am really sorry to read your sense of those terrible events still being all pervading .Should not really be surprised I suppose but it is still sad .

Such a wonderful city and lovely people ,who I might add were exceptionally kind and solicitous to my closest friend who was staying at and dining in the Oberoi that night and survived by the kindness of strangers .

I think those sleepless/BOOM, BOOM, BOOM nights at the Gordon House have been harder on Dogster than originally thought!

(P.S. if you're reading this reply out of context, it's not the sleepless/BOOM, BOOM, BOOM kind of thing that you might be thinking :D ).

Spot on, Mang: that's exactly the zone. I was reflecting on just this topic last night as tears came to my eyes for no apparent reason, as a surge of deep feeling doubled me up. We’ll talk about this more later. You’re exactly, perfectly right. It takes a week or so, sometimes longer to get there - but once you get there, you stay there.

I'm there.

It’s been a solitary beer-less few days in Mumbai; bloody hot, in the mid to high thirties and the mongrel woke up rancid every day.. Once again I’ve comprehensively failed to conquer the city - it’s way more brittle than Kolkata – after a total ten days here I still don’t know nuttin’. Dog was so tired the first three days ‘cos of lack of sleep he didn’t achieve very much at all other than fight off eager Jimmys and refuse to buy dud charas - and dud sex. You should be proud of him.

I think I might share with you my final billet-doux to our dear friend Avinash; Sr.Manager - Sales and Marketing. I sure he won’t mind…

Hey Avinash,

As it turns out, there are NO good quiet rooms in your hotel.
You know that.
Now, so do I.
How can you guys get it so right - and so comprehensively wrong? The whole design concept is fine; the rooms are fine, if the staff were happy, they'd be fine too. They try.
Just one little problem: BOOM, BOOM, BOOM or Air conditioner ROARRRRRRRRRRR. Horrible.

Have you ever actually spent a night in your hotel? And paid $220 for the pleasure? I don't think so. I feel sorry for your staff. All they see are unhappy, sleepless guests. All they hear are complaints - or that bleak, unhappy silence.

And your job is in Sales and Marketing?
Well, I guess you have something unique: you're the only boutique hotel I know where it's impossible to sleep. That might be a selling point. Everybody needs a gimmick.
Good luck, my friend. See you in Tripadvisor.

Strangely, he hasn’t replied.

There's still a bad vibe in the Taj. Everybody is over-compensating, being relentlessly professional, Taj to the tips of their toes. It's 100% full, the staff seem like they're on speed, breakfast was a blizzard of over-helpful attention. This wasn't service - this was harassment.

After the fifteenth interruption in the first ten minutes:

'Are you enjoying breakfast, sir?'

'No.'

'Oh.'

My handsome Taj torturer was somewhat taken aback.

'Is there anything I can do to help?'

'Leave me alone.'

Ever had pals who have been bereaved? You know that phase of wild activity, organization, frenzied ANYTHING to avoid the topic at hand? Those pals you want to take by the hand, sit down with gently, give them a hug and say 'Slow down. Stop. You know? It's O.K. to grieve?'
Imagine – you come to work one day and people are gunned down in front of you. You spend hours, maybe days in fear of your life. Three months ago. How quickly do you bounce back from that? There’s some form of jock/macho/professional/we won’t let those bastards win ethos happening here. I would have happily swapped the relentless service at breakfast for some post-traumatic stress counseling for these guys.

Doggie has done a lot of death. He knows that look in the eye.

Five interminable but stress-free hours later – I’m in Baroda. The flight took 40 minutes. I think it would have been quicker to drive. But the base cost of today’s Jet excitement was precisely $8.00. I coped. No film stars, no giants, just a full plane-load of businessmen, all heading it seems, for the Gateway Vadodara. [Baroda and Vadodara are the same place – don’t ask me why…]

I arrived to drama at the check-in desk; a full-scale riot was taking place. Like the Taj, like the plane, the Gateway Vadodara is 100% full. Try telling that to an Indian businessman in full flight without a confirmed booking. My word, they can lie.

There’s no importance more important than self-importance – and nobody more self-important than an unimportant man. It would be politically incorrect of me to suggest there are certain sub-continental characteristics at play here, but I do have to report that my Indian colleagues have the performance down to a fine art. What a show! Shrieking, banging, thumping and rage; I left, regretfully, just before he punched the manager out.

There’s a mass dog fight happening outside my window right now. It sounds just like the lobby.

Dogster- I'd enjoy discussing the "zone" with you sometime. I, too, get teary-eyed depending on how hard it hits me at that moment. Take it easy over there..

Oh, just one final Mumbai aside before I sleep.

Leopold's cafe has brought out a new souvenir mug. It has a big blue picture of their bullet holes on the side. I gasped.

Coffee today was interrupted by the sight of Japanese tourists posing for photographs by the bullet-riddled mirror, grinning wildly, their idiot student eyes shining inanely in the Mumbai morning sun. They were making that stupid 'V' for victory sign, new bullet mugs held out proudly in front of them.

I had bad un-Christian thoughts. My black pastor should have said another Dogster prayer. Maybe it's best, for once, I don't express myself. Forgive me, if I don't offer to share.

Why didn't you tell reception at the Gateway Vadodara that you were in the area on your way to sleep in tents and camel carts? They might have been able to craft a solution that would have pleasing to the Indian businessman and to you. Perhaps he's still in the lobby?

I have a very violent aversion to people who do the V sign thing it REALLY bugs me. Top of the list is our owm Macka (Paul McCartney) someone should tell him we are not in the 60's anymore arghhhhhhhh
Dog I share your un-christian thoughts.

Dogster, I'm still following along. Loving every post.

Those Leopold mugs sound shockingly tacky and in poor taste. Yet why am I not really surprised at them nor the tourists taking pictures?

Dogster- I remember being in a Thai restaurant when the world trade centers fell. We were watching it on the TV there. All of the Thais were huddled around watching, a few actually smiling, laughing and talking amongst each other. I wanted to go postal. My wife later told me that its common for Thais to laugh during times of duress or terrible circumstances not involving themselves. I later read of this behavior in a Thai culture book. Perhaps the Japanese are similar here...

"See you in Tripadvisor." Do let us know when your review goes up! Unfortunately, the owner gets the last word there.

Love your description of the mayhem at the airport. Sounds like a good time to take some video, which I usually abhor.

I meant to add that despite all the smiles/laughing, they certainly don't mean it. It is only a learned response expressed in the emotion of disbelief.

Yes Dog, got married in Ft Erie, Ontario. They decorated the bingo hall and our song was David Cook, Time of my Life. Wish you were there....

The Gateway Vadodara is quite a surprise. It's a perfectly good business hotel with a perfectly good restaurant and some perfectly good staff. The .00001% of you planning on rushing to Baroda can feel confident booking here.

It boasts a waterfall that turns on and off at the press of a button and a most remarkable objet d'art. The Blind Designer Of Ugly Things has created a sculpture in the courtyard; a towering inferno of silver tubes, galvanised Shivlings of different heights; little fat Shivlings, big tall Shivlings, medium Shivlings trying their best - and all of Shiva's Linghams are glowing in the dark.

The Blind Electrician has created an ever-changing miracle of light; Shiva's tower of silver power turns Shiva red and Durga blue, green, yellow and lurid purple in a never-ending parade of wonder - all the time ejaculating thick streams of dry ice. It's worth a trip to Baroda just to see it.

Alas, my friends, that’s about all of Baroda I’m seeing. It’s 5000 degrees Celsius. I’m having my last day in comfort and style. Tomorrow night I’m in a tent, in the thick of it. Baroda, I’ve discovered, can wait. I’ll save my juices for the adventure in store.

My waiter at dinner last night was a sweet young man from Manipur; anxiously anxious to please. His fine Asian features stood out in the swarthy Gujarat crowd. I dutifully enquired his origins. This young man is a long way from home.

I leant over and squinted at his name: Yurinmung.

'Yu-rin-mung,' I said slowly, trying to wrap my tongue around the word. 'That's too difficult - what do your friends call you?'

'Yurin,' he replied brightly.

'Well, thank you, my friend,' I said gravely. He smiled, bowed and left me alone.

For some reason, I had a fit of the giggles.

This is probably the time to introduce you to my next potential catastrophe – by way of insurance, if nothing else. If I never reappear, it’s all this guy’s fault.

Here’s his picture: www.poshina.com/kumar_sinh.html

Now, would you buy a used car from this man? Dogster did, based on serendipity, great timing and that regal twinkle in the old bulldog’s eye. I still haven’t met him but he woke me up first thing this morning, full of bounce, energy and glee. B, E & G are a little bit lost on me at sparrow’s fart but no matter – this is the zone and, after just one more Gateway sleep, crack ‘o dawn I’m on my way. Muresh, my driver, and the Dogmobile will set forth.

‘I don’t want you to miss the dancing girls…’ he said.

Dancing girls?

‘The driver might have to stop and ask the way,’ Mr Sinh roared gaily. ‘He’s never been to Baroda before…’

Travelaw – are out there?

‘Mr Sinh,’ I said aloud, suddenly realizing I had cast my lot with a man called SIN, ‘let’s hope we don’t have to do too much stop, ask and start. Otherwise we’ll get another Muresh, O.K?’

He huffed and puffed and failed to blow my house away. I think Sin got my message. He doesn’t know I’ve met all his seven deadly cousins before.

Smashing, Dogster! I think we should have a thread nominating the "Best of the Best" by the Blind Designer of Ugly Things. (BDUT, for those in the know)

Signed, a fan

So here I am, Googling my way to a place I’ve never heard of - if I could only find it on the map. Forewarned is forearmed with Muresh The Blind Driver; I feel at least one of us should know where we’re going.

So now I’m acquainted with Mr. Sin, young Urine and one more fine local exhibit; Mr. Slime and Slither, the massage man. He did as his name suggests, in a perfectly splendid way; he was good, cheap and had hands from heaven, but he dressed for the task in a most unusual manner.

S&S laid me naked on the slab, turned on the soothing music, lit the bowl of sweet-smelling oil - then draped himself in a full-length white plastic apron, white plastic shower cap and a face mask. I thought he was going to put white plastic gloves on as well, but he stopped just short of that. There were just two black eyes glowing in a slit; but even they were covered by glasses. I lay there as he did his thing, eyes closed, floating softly in the scented spa surrounds. Everything was fine, except when I opened my eyes. I kept thinking I’d woken up on the operating table, in the midst of radical surgery.