Skye the SPECTACULAR SPEEDO SWIMMER
At Skye's home, shot by Jiri. We're demonstrating the proper way to do the breast-stroke, and as usual, Skye is right.
May 14, 2006
At Skye's home, shot by Jiri. We're demonstrating the proper way to do the breast-stroke, and as usual, Skye is right.
May 14, 2006
Howard Roark laughed.
___________________________________________________________
Jiri and me at the Stax Bar, April 26, 2006.
God knows what I did to deserve this, but then God knows what He is doing.
I loved the Hyatt Regency even when it was just a mass of concrete and pillars rising up from the ground. I thought "The Fountainhead". I thought "The Aquitania." I've always wanted to see a building that looked 'Made By Roark'. It is an extraordinary structure. It looks like music frozen in space.
I notice with a juvenile glee that the centre of the Hyatt logo is a giant A underscored by a flaming red crescent. I like it, I like it. It talks to me.
My early visits were with Aejaz Khan. A quick coffee and milk-shake on the way to the airport or on the way back home. Sprawled in the ridiculously comfortable couches of the Glass House, I notice, through the giant glass walls, an exquisite spa, all polished wood floors and fabulous equipment gleaming with electronic readouts.
"No, sir, Prana is open only for resident guests."
Damn.
Somewhere early 2004, I am attending a seminar at the Hyatt Regency and I amble into the spa again. Membership open! I barrel in on June 5, 2004.
I love the place. Its ridiculously luxurious.
And the Glass House, the lounge off the lobby, is just my kind of hangout. I find a favorite couch. Table 83 is perpetually bathed in sunshine and has a nice view of the pool. Very colorful lizards from the vegetation hop onto the ledge on the other side of the glass to watch me watch them.
Somewhere in the fall of 2004, headed for Prana, I almost jump clean out of my skin. Howard Roark is standing in the lobby! Turns out the man is Jiri Kobos, the new GM. I hear he is here from Moscow. "Meen jaas a voot Alvin." I assay, trying out the only sentence I know in Russian. I am greeted with a startling smile and a torrent of Russian. Serves me right, because I have to stand there foolishly and concede I don't know another word.
And so begins a fabulous friendship.
January 2005.
I am standing at the edge of the sparkling blue pool one Sunday afternoon, trying to summon up the courage to dive into the freezing water. A head bobs up ... an angelic face, sprinkled with freckles and long blond hair. "Jump in," says the little girl. I stand there, looking idiotic. "Come on, jump in, " she eggs me. I summon up my last reserve of courage, draw myself up to every single centimeter of 5'7", and squeak: "No". "Chicken," she observes, "Just like my Dad."
Gadzooks!
I look Dad-ward. Jiri Kobos! Jiri is laughing. "I wouldn't get into the water if I were you," he says.
Skye solves everything by splashing a wave of icy cold water all over me. Suitably baptised into the temperature, I have no choice but to dive in.
So beings my friendship with Skye Kobos, one of the most remarkable human beings I have ever met. A nine year old with a level gaze, a philosopher's bearing, an acrobat's carriage and enough balance to stand on my shoulders for a full minute.
I also notice Skye keeps running back to a gorgeous, lithe lady. "Mummy" I hear. Mummy? Mummy? The lady looks like God told all the angels to back off while he put her together personally.
Karon Kobos is classy. Very. And as it turns out, not just a fabulously gifted swimmer, but the most intuitive and inspired teacher I have ever met. On hearing that I am 42 and nowhere near staying afloat, Karon swiftly takes charge. I have no idea how she did it, but in just a couple of sessions in the pool, she has me doing a flawless breaststroke. Jiri watches over it all with amusement, sometimes squealing on me when he sees me wolfing meals just before getting into the pool. Karon introduces me to Mrs Kobos' Chicken Caesar salad, made with chunks of feta cheese and cherry tomatoes. This is dieting? I diet.
A magical family.
Meanwhile, the Hyatt crew is quick becoming pals. One day I mutter to Manmeet Singh, the absurdly good looking Manager of the Glass House, that the iced tea needs reworking. Manmeet takes this personally, shimmies off into the kitchen, and returns with a golden, chilled, tall glass of iced tea that I swear was made by the only angels in heaven who are certified Cordon Bleu. It is quickly christened the Manmeet Iced Tea and reserved exclusively for Mr Saldanha. My place in history is now assured.
Jiri joins me on the couch at Table 83 frequently. I am stunned to find out that Jiri is an abstract painter of considerable standing. Off we march to his exquisite office and thence to his studio. My first encounter with a real artist, in a real studio, the air soaked in a heady whiff of oils and turpentine. Jiri's paintings are compelling .... each one an overwhelming visual event. From years of not knowing what to make of abstract art, I am evangelised into being a believer.
http://www.red-canvas.com/
Jiri is a delight to talk to. Our conversations span art and Jiri's adventures around the globe. Jiri pronounces Table 83 the creative corner.
In the fall of 2004 I join the Hyatt crew in Goa, at Jiri's invitation, to make a presentation to them about all things 'brand'. A wonderful weekend, at the sprawling Hyatt Goa. I pinch myself. Tis true, tis true, tis true.
Mid 2005, I change loyalties to table 73. It is shadowed by a giant plant and has just enough light to be bright and just enough shade to be right. This looks like the perfect place to attain enlightenment. I even have my own tree to have it happen under! I live the pampered life. Manmeet keeps an eagle eye out for me. The crew is fabulous. They hold my bags, hide my bags, keep my bags, fetch my bags. They make meals especially for me. The boyishly handsome assistant manager, Nikhil Gandhi, not to be outdone, invents a sandwich for me. Big, warm, hearty brown bread loaded with cold cuts, cool tomatoes, iceberg lettuce, rich mayonnaise and 'everything'.
Sharon Irani, architect of the google earth placemark, joins me frequently. Another friend despatched from the heights of heaven, Sharon is my tutor in everything computers, internet and design. There we are, the two of us, laptops open, arguing loudly over anything that pleases us. Heaven.
Manmeet dotes on Sharon and blushes furiously when Sharon pronounces him handsome.
Sometimes, late at night, Manmeet makes an exception and joins us for a quick cup of chai.
Early 2006, I taught at Skye's wonderful school. Two classes in creative writing, a classroom-full of unusually talented and quick-witted kids. Truth be told, I had more fun than they did. The very fetching Aloise, who has a child in that class, sent me pictures.I keep thinking that I'd like to begin every single day by taking a class here: I found more IQ here in one room than there is in a roomful of pretentious executives. http://skyetakesalvintoschool.blogspot.com/
I notice with a juvenile glee that the centre of the Hyatt logo is a giant A underscored by a flaming red crescent. I like it, I like it. It talks to me.
My early visits were with Aejaz Khan. A quick coffee and milk-shake on the way to the airport or on the way back home. Sprawled in the ridiculously comfortable couches of the Glass House, I notice, through the giant glass walls, an exquisite spa, all polished wood floors and fabulous equipment gleaming with electronic readouts.
"No, sir, Prana is open only for resident guests."
Damn.
Somewhere early 2004, I am attending a seminar at the Hyatt Regency and I amble into the spa again. Membership open! I barrel in on June 5, 2004.
I love the place. Its ridiculously luxurious.
And the Glass House, the lounge off the lobby, is just my kind of hangout. I find a favorite couch. Table 83 is perpetually bathed in sunshine and has a nice view of the pool. Very colorful lizards from the vegetation hop onto the ledge on the other side of the glass to watch me watch them.
Somewhere in the fall of 2004, headed for Prana, I almost jump clean out of my skin. Howard Roark is standing in the lobby! Turns out the man is Jiri Kobos, the new GM. I hear he is here from Moscow. "Meen jaas a voot Alvin." I assay, trying out the only sentence I know in Russian. I am greeted with a startling smile and a torrent of Russian. Serves me right, because I have to stand there foolishly and concede I don't know another word.
And so begins a fabulous friendship.
January 2005.
I am standing at the edge of the sparkling blue pool one Sunday afternoon, trying to summon up the courage to dive into the freezing water. A head bobs up ... an angelic face, sprinkled with freckles and long blond hair. "Jump in," says the little girl. I stand there, looking idiotic. "Come on, jump in, " she eggs me. I summon up my last reserve of courage, draw myself up to every single centimeter of 5'7", and squeak: "No". "Chicken," she observes, "Just like my Dad."
Gadzooks!
I look Dad-ward. Jiri Kobos! Jiri is laughing. "I wouldn't get into the water if I were you," he says.
Skye solves everything by splashing a wave of icy cold water all over me. Suitably baptised into the temperature, I have no choice but to dive in.
So beings my friendship with Skye Kobos, one of the most remarkable human beings I have ever met. A nine year old with a level gaze, a philosopher's bearing, an acrobat's carriage and enough balance to stand on my shoulders for a full minute.
I also notice Skye keeps running back to a gorgeous, lithe lady. "Mummy" I hear. Mummy? Mummy? The lady looks like God told all the angels to back off while he put her together personally.
Karon Kobos is classy. Very. And as it turns out, not just a fabulously gifted swimmer, but the most intuitive and inspired teacher I have ever met. On hearing that I am 42 and nowhere near staying afloat, Karon swiftly takes charge. I have no idea how she did it, but in just a couple of sessions in the pool, she has me doing a flawless breaststroke. Jiri watches over it all with amusement, sometimes squealing on me when he sees me wolfing meals just before getting into the pool. Karon introduces me to Mrs Kobos' Chicken Caesar salad, made with chunks of feta cheese and cherry tomatoes. This is dieting? I diet.
A magical family.
Meanwhile, the Hyatt crew is quick becoming pals. One day I mutter to Manmeet Singh, the absurdly good looking Manager of the Glass House, that the iced tea needs reworking. Manmeet takes this personally, shimmies off into the kitchen, and returns with a golden, chilled, tall glass of iced tea that I swear was made by the only angels in heaven who are certified Cordon Bleu. It is quickly christened the Manmeet Iced Tea and reserved exclusively for Mr Saldanha. My place in history is now assured.
Jiri joins me on the couch at Table 83 frequently. I am stunned to find out that Jiri is an abstract painter of considerable standing. Off we march to his exquisite office and thence to his studio. My first encounter with a real artist, in a real studio, the air soaked in a heady whiff of oils and turpentine. Jiri's paintings are compelling .... each one an overwhelming visual event. From years of not knowing what to make of abstract art, I am evangelised into being a believer.
http://www.red-canvas.com/
Jiri is a delight to talk to. Our conversations span art and Jiri's adventures around the globe. Jiri pronounces Table 83 the creative corner.
In the fall of 2004 I join the Hyatt crew in Goa, at Jiri's invitation, to make a presentation to them about all things 'brand'. A wonderful weekend, at the sprawling Hyatt Goa. I pinch myself. Tis true, tis true, tis true.
Mid 2005, I change loyalties to table 73. It is shadowed by a giant plant and has just enough light to be bright and just enough shade to be right. This looks like the perfect place to attain enlightenment. I even have my own tree to have it happen under! I live the pampered life. Manmeet keeps an eagle eye out for me. The crew is fabulous. They hold my bags, hide my bags, keep my bags, fetch my bags. They make meals especially for me. The boyishly handsome assistant manager, Nikhil Gandhi, not to be outdone, invents a sandwich for me. Big, warm, hearty brown bread loaded with cold cuts, cool tomatoes, iceberg lettuce, rich mayonnaise and 'everything'.
Sharon Irani, architect of the google earth placemark, joins me frequently. Another friend despatched from the heights of heaven, Sharon is my tutor in everything computers, internet and design. There we are, the two of us, laptops open, arguing loudly over anything that pleases us. Heaven.
Manmeet dotes on Sharon and blushes furiously when Sharon pronounces him handsome.
Sometimes, late at night, Manmeet makes an exception and joins us for a quick cup of chai.
Early 2006, I taught at Skye's wonderful school. Two classes in creative writing, a classroom-full of unusually talented and quick-witted kids. Truth be told, I had more fun than they did. The very fetching Aloise, who has a child in that class, sent me pictures.I keep thinking that I'd like to begin every single day by taking a class here: I found more IQ here in one room than there is in a roomful of pretentious executives. http://skyetakesalvintoschool.blogspot.com/
Resurrection in 645
Jiri and Karon threw their doors open to me when I was discharged from the hospital on June 11 2006. I crawled into their home wearing the clothes on my body and 80 metal staples. I spent the first 5 days of a new life in the immaculate, clean and covered safety of their hospitality. This is what the scriptures meant by a sanctuary. Skye, the angel, changed my dressings with the gentleness of a mother and the precision of a surgeon. Jiri cooked the most delicious Thai soup I have ever tasted. Karon fussed over my every need. No thanks are possible. No words are possible. I should write more but what do I write? Where are the words?
December 31 2006 / January 1 2007
A desperately lonely and distraught evening. Alone. Very alone. Frighteningly alone.
A year where I found a new life, and there is no one to share it with.
Jiri, inspired by heaven, without asking, makes one efficient phone call and arranges a seat at the Regency Club. It is a throne! It is a fabulous spot, and I can watch the wonderful revelry at the Glass House, the Stax and the Poolside in one sweep of vision. The magnificence of the Hyatt sense of life is mine, without needing me to be 'there', and no way to stop me from 'being there'. Jiri materialises at 10 p.m. to check if I am OK, then issues instructions that I be graced with a bottle of wine. In one stroke, this extraordinary angel changes a forlorn evening into a celebration, resplendent with spirits, a haven of privacy and a chance to bring in 2007 with much, much more than a semblance of dignity.
I don't need to go to Heaven, I have been to the Hyatt.
His name is not St Peter, it is Jiri Kobos.
December 31 2006 / January 1 2007
A desperately lonely and distraught evening. Alone. Very alone. Frighteningly alone.
A year where I found a new life, and there is no one to share it with.
Jiri, inspired by heaven, without asking, makes one efficient phone call and arranges a seat at the Regency Club. It is a throne! It is a fabulous spot, and I can watch the wonderful revelry at the Glass House, the Stax and the Poolside in one sweep of vision. The magnificence of the Hyatt sense of life is mine, without needing me to be 'there', and no way to stop me from 'being there'. Jiri materialises at 10 p.m. to check if I am OK, then issues instructions that I be graced with a bottle of wine. In one stroke, this extraordinary angel changes a forlorn evening into a celebration, resplendent with spirits, a haven of privacy and a chance to bring in 2007 with much, much more than a semblance of dignity.
I don't need to go to Heaven, I have been to the Hyatt.
His name is not St Peter, it is Jiri Kobos.
December 31 2007 / January 1 2008
Jiri the angel to the rescue again. The very same corner sanctuary as last year, the very same quiet haven to ease into a new year. And this time, no feeling of desolation or anguish, just a vast calm and sense of optimism. Yet, little did I know, at this corner last year, that at this moment my mother would be no more. No sense of foreboding this year, though I would have loved to have her here. But there is always the friendship of Jiri. Who with Caron rescued Christmas, again.