American hotels and Indian hospitality
INDIANS are used to certain perks. The moment we land in a hotel, half a dozen attendants are up and about. Someone opens the door of the taxi for us, someone unloads our luggage, someone leads us to the reception desk. Once the registration is complete, we simply head to our room. The luggage will arrive on its own. We are used to such royal treatment!
We have no such luck in the US. Once the 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 and say: ‘Sir, are you serious? Do you know I am coming from India after a 20-hour flight? I am carrying two huge suitcases. Plus, I have carry-on baggage and a backpack. You expect me to carry them to the sixth-floor room?’ There is no one to hear the rant. We want to vent out our frustration, ‘Hello? Is anyone there? Any attendants, hotel-boys, housekeeping staff?’ All we hear is silence amidst the yellow ambient lighting and the piped music in the background. You can huff and puff your way to the sixth-floor room.
These days, whether it is India or the US, there is a standardisation 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, the method is simple — we tap the card against the door, the door clicks, and lets us in.
Call it Murphy’s law, but sometimes, try as we might, there is no response. We hold the card this way, the other way, rub it violently against the door, but it stays dead. After half-hour of absolute futility, we run down to the reception. ‘Sorry about that. The access card had timed out. Let me issue a new card. You should now be fine!’ says the receptionist, solving the problem.
In the hotel room, the first thing that comes to mind is the most crucial: how do we get coffee tomorrow morning? To answer our fervent call, the eye catches a coffeemaker in the room. There are multiple items stacked around it — cups, coffee powder, sugar sachets, a ‘creamer’ and, finally, a wooden stirrer.
For the next hour, we feel like Thomas Edison crouched over his light bulb. How do we put these ingredients together to get that blessed cup of coffee? After immense toil, there is eventually coffee. The anti-climax cannot be put into words. The concoction is bitter to the core, so far from the Indian filter coffee we are used to!
How much we miss India! It would take just one phone call at 5.30 am to contact ‘room service’. ‘Can I have two cups of strong filter coffee immediately? And if possible, some munchies also to go with it?’ And once we put the phone down, we hear the footsteps and a gentle tap on the door, ‘Sir, coffee!’
