State of Place

The road likes to rough us up. But have you ever had it do the opposite? I mean, have you ever had a realization that you’ve been living in unexpected luxury? Been caught off-guard by your own cushy routine, and felt somehow changed because of it?

Here’s how it happened to me in Darjeeling:

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Sitting here after midnight in Darjeeling, I’ve just realized that if I ordered a pizza for delivery, I’d have to give my address as Ajit Mansions 113. How did I get here? I’m not a Mansion Man. But then again, could any of my peers working the front desk pay 400 rupees a night for a room with a fireplace, bathroom, and cracked window?

I have a chaise lounge in here, for God’s sake. A vanity table, an 1890 painting, a mantel with a bottle of gin. Red velvet curtains to fling open in the morning for a southeast view of the valley. And look there at the writing desk, covered in scribbled-on clippings. It’s like the work of a dictator in exile.

Arun brings tea and three different newspapers to the room every morning on schedule. I slipped him twenty rupees to unlock the roof access, just so I could lounge atop the water tanks and take in the spectacle of the center of town. And the woman doing laundry on the neighbor’s rooftop below? I caught her eye, raised my glass, and grinned. She grinned back.

I sneak around the shell of this rotting place, use my key to jimmy the locks of disused rooms. Find passages into empty banquet halls stacked high with tables and chairs. I found a cupboard in the basement with biscuits and helped myself.

Jesus, I am a Mansion Man. What happened?

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Similar experiences, anyone?

After a long stretch of self-reliance, it’s easy to be seduced by the simple pleasures of thorough hospitality.

Rather than turning luxury (and your response to it) into an ethical dilemma (for example, trading blows with the reflex of guilt), why not just enjoy it while it lasts?

Photo: Ajit Mansions, Darjeeling. More here.

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