Biki Oberoi and luxury hoteliering in the age of Airbnb
When the prevailing zeitgeist is to adapt to a "new normal", sometimes it is appropriate to let things be because they are just right.
When I met the reclusive PRS 'Biki' Oberoi for my book four years ago, I was aware of the legend. The chairman of the eponymous hotel chain was said to be a fastidious sybarite obsessed with details. At his hotels, bedsheets had to be snow white and the flowers in the vases were measured for length.
When I met him, Oberoi was 87 years old and I wondered if reality would match the hype.
It did. Biki Oberoi's office insisted I meet him at his farmhouse because of his age. Since a cab would be lost finding the address, they picked me up from a mutually convenient place. A chauffeured limo with a strapping driver, formerly with the President's Bodyguards, took me in stately splendour to the sprawling farmhouse where peacocks roamed the lawns and a white gloved butler served tea.
Oberoi met me, a little frail but erect, nattily dressed in a jacket and cravat, pocket square perfectly in place. Small talk done, he asked me if I minded, and lit a cigar. Legend and reality coalesced seamlessly as we spoke about luxury hoteliering in the age of Airbnb.
When I met the reclusive PRS 'Biki' Oberoi for my book four years ago, I was aware of the legend. The chairman of the eponymous hotel chain was said to be a fastidious sybarite obsessed with details. At his hotels, bedsheets had to be snow white and the flowers in the vases were measured for length.
When I met him, Oberoi was 87 years old and I wondered if reality would match the hype.
It did. Biki Oberoi's office insisted I meet him at his farmhouse because of his age. Since a cab would be lost finding the address, they picked me up from a mutually convenient place. A chauffeured limo with a strapping driver, formerly with the President's Bodyguards, took me in stately splendour to the sprawling farmhouse where peacocks roamed the lawns and a white gloved butler served tea.
Oberoi met me, a little frail but erect, nattily dressed in a jacket and cravat, pocket square perfectly in place. Small talk done, he asked me if I minded, and lit a cigar. Legend and reality coalesced seamlessly as we spoke about luxury hoteliering in the age of Airbnb.