When I’m in Mumbai, I like to stay at the Trident Hotel, a rather unsightly edifice that occupies a prime position on the Marine Drive seafront at Nariman Point.

I originally came here because it was very handy for the law firm over the road which helped me with all those knotty bureaucratic visa issues, and it’s a short taxi ride away from the Foreigners’ Registration Office where, in August, I begged the officials there to hand over my mother’s Overseas Citizenship card. Her visa had already expired so the situation was rather urgent. Incidentally, here is the rather apt photo on the wall in that office. I’ve gazed at this for ages, whilst identifying very strongly with this woman:




Now that I’m no longer tussling with bureaucracy, I’ve no real justification for staying at the Trident. Logically, I should stay at one of the hotels near the airport in the Northern part of the city, not too far from the start of the Mumbai-Pune expressway, the road that takes me towards my mum, but I prefer the longer drive through the city, past the hideous Ambani mansion, to the Trident. Are you familiar with the Ambani mansion? I’ve heard it’s the largest, most expensive private dwelling in the world:



But I like the atmosphere here. It reminds me of a man who’s perfectly turned out in dinner suit; dress shirt; perfectly tied bow tie; patent shoes and bright yellow socks. It’s shiny and clean with just the right amount of endearing shambolicness. The staff are so endearing and friendly and now greet me like an ild friend. The food is great and they proudly play bee-bop in the restaurant.

Plus I can take photos like this at the Trident:


Nodding off now, so that’s all from me for now.


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