My hotel cubbyhole has a little sign on the inside of the door, with a list of do's and don'ts for guests. Second on the list is something puzzling: Lady guest not allowed in the room. Okay, so what am I? Do I not count as a lady? (How insulting!) Or did I have them fooled with my jeans and shirt? Will the day I wear something more feminine result in me being asked to leave?
Some deep thought, and I'm guessing it means that if you're male, you can't get in someone (don't know if you'd call that someone a lady, really) for a tumble. Which, since there are no instructions to the contrary, means that I am free to invite gentlemen to my cubbyhole. Where I'd accommodate the gentlemen is a point in question - room number 504 is so small, I can't even stand in the room and open my suitcase at the same time. I end up having to shove my suitcase into the wardrobe, bend over, half get into the wardrobe myself, and then open the suitcase.
Hotel Highway Residency has been booked for me by my company, and the two saving graces seem to be that it's very close to my office - just about 15 minutes by autorickshaw - and the front desk staff are helpful. Other than that, it's a litany of horrors. The neighbourhood, for starters, is just slightly more upmarket than a slum, and I'm sure the nearby cigarette factory isn't good for my lungs.
My room is minuscule, but crammed with a bed that's too large for a single; a table and chair; a bedside table with phone and directory; and a television seated atop the wardrobe. The bed linen isn't spotless, and the blanket -- ugh -- doesn't have a sheet under it. The bathroom is proportionately small and equally iffy. Waterstains bespatter the taps, the door knob, and just about everything that's metal. There's no loo paper (just as well I wasn't expecting any) and the teensy bar of soap that's provided is some vague herbal brand that looks most yucky.
As far as other facilities go, there's room service. Fairly oily stuff, most of it Indian, but also some sandwiches, soup, and faux Chinese. But you have to pay cash; they won't charge it to your room. There's a laundry, Internet service (Rs 30 for an hour of surfing), free airport pickup, and cab bookings. There's a restaurant, with silvery upholstery, five tables, a very loud TV, and the same food as on the room service menu. Workmen are renovating the restaurant when I arrive, and since I have to pass through the restaurant to get to my room, I end up constantly begging the workmen to quit splashing on the cement while I walk below their stepladders.
I hadn't realised Mumbai could be such an adventure. What next?