To grasp the significance of the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Mumbai, an American might start by examining the life of Jeremiah Hamilton, one of the richest men in American history. In the 1870s, in spite of his wealth and power on Wall Street, Hamilton was refused entry to, among other establishments, the Waldorf Astoria—and strictly because of his race.
In 1903, the same thing happened to the Parsi steel magnate J. M. Tata, when the prestigious Watson's Hotel in downtown Mumbai refused to admit him. But from there, the two stories diverge. Hamilton took his millions and retreated to his New York mansion. Tata immediately drove down the road to the British Colaba District and built a hotel three times as large, grand, and opulent as anything then in existence.
Tata’s new, bigotry-free establishment was immediately hailed as one of the finest hotels ever constructed—incidentally putting Mr. Watson out of business. Both master and hotel went on to become spectacular symbols of their people's industry and accomplishments.
The Saracenic Revival monument—the last thing the British saw in 1947, as they gave up on their empire and withdrew the last of their troops from India—has hosted kings, queens, emirs, and Presidents (up to and including the Clintons and Barak Obama), celebrities of every kind, and tourists like us on a thrice-in-a-lifetime splurge.
The details can be intimidating:
A liveried chauffeur picks you up at the airport in a Jaguar and delivers you through tight security to a waiting hostess who checks you in at the desk in your room.
In a few minutes, your butler and room staff stop by to introduce themselves. If you buy a sari in the markets, a female butler comes to dress you.
A touch of the flu? A local chemist diagnoses the issue and, within minutes, delivers a remedy to your door.
Your room is made up three times a day, unless you want privacy, in which case absolutely nothing disturbs you. New rose petal patterns line your hallway when you return every afternoon.
Your puzzled room staff will let you pack and unpack yourself, but they don't understand why you'd want to.
The building and grounds are immaculate—a leftover fragment of New Year's streamer startles you because it's the first hint of litter you've seen.
The Maître D, bartender, and waiter all remember your drink, and the DJ remembers your music.
Any restaurant in town immediately takes your booking, but if you go there by taxi, you have to leave the premises, because with all the limousines, there's no room for taxis in the driveway.
If you need a shirt laundered for dinner, it can take eight hours, three hours, or—if you really need it—they'll get it to you right away (roughly the same time it takes to have a beautiful custom linen shirt cut and stitched in the shops off the lobby).
And yet... This is India, where it takes a major effort to spend a lot of money. So even if the Taj costs twice as much as the local Ritz Carlton, it's still less than half the price of Jeremiah Hamilton's Waldorf.
And—this being India—the biggest surprise isn't the opulence, but the people who make it happen. Everyone is so flat-out nice and helpful, both in and around the hotel, that it takes you a day or two to adjust. Yes, you might be footing the bill, but the simple truth is, that's just how Indians roll.
So if this all reads a bit gushy, the gush is deserved. The Taj might be the best hotel on the planet—it certainly gets our vote.
To reserve a room…
Find the official website here.
Or call the hotel direct at: +912266653366
Always specify the main building (the Palace) and not the Tower.