How do you gather memories when you look upon the Taj, standing there silently urging you to make sense of the ugliness recently unleashed upon it?

These jottings are not Taj memories, but an extension of my daily life. Growing up in its shadow, I see the tower replacing the earlier Greens hotel. I remember the erstwhile conical canopied Shamiana, the ultimate coffee shop. Bhelpuri and dosas got upgraded here. Teenagers in the ’70s sat with a cup of coffee for hours to chat and daydream. Many graduated to the ‘M.P.M.’ matrimonial prospect meetings at the Sea Lounge. Who could forget the nights spent dancing at the Blow Up, a discotheque after your wildest imagination. Or today, the simple pleasure of strolling through the lobby from the back gate towards Northcote Nursing Home, being greeted by staff, browsing through books at the Nalanda bookstore.

Sneaking into photo shoots by Dad (Mitter Bedi) at the Taj had its special moments. At the first Shamiana photo coverage, kids of senior management happily posed as restaurant guests. I was excited at being included in the shot but sulked when I was asked to fill in a gap in the far corner. We hung around while parents worked. The Taj commanded your best professionally and gave you a very family like atmosphere to work in.

A magnificent buffet was set up at the Ballroom and my worry then was what the Taj would do with all that food, after the shoot. Sitting on the swing in the Rajput Suite you could be forgiven for dreaming you were a princess. I particularly remember the Grand Staircase candlelit shoot. People running up and down lighting up specific lengths of candles, the effect – pure magic! Sitting squat in the centre of the stairwell, gazing upward I was starry eyed. The glee on the face of every person involved was infectious; guests stood spellbound asking if it was for some royal wedding. No, the Taj is regal in itself. The Centenary Year of the Taj evoked poignant moments. As I set up my camera in the suites, photographed by my Dad decades ago, visuals of me as a brat getting underfoot engulfed me. Had Dad been alive today I wonder how he would have felt about the pain inflicted on this edifice.

Driving to the studio on yet another working day…like a homing pigeon, I took my usual route, past Radio Club by the sea towards the Taj. Halt, the road stops. The barricade brought home the grim reality that something had changed forever....

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