Shelly Bhasin

There are five minutes in the lobby of Delhi’s Shangri-La hotel when I’d rather have any job than Shelly Bhasin’s. Those are also the five minutes when I realise that there’s no job I couldn’t do if I was Shelly Bhasin. And do it with grace and a smile on my face where mere mortals would have become blubbering wrecks much, much earlier.

Shelly Bhasin is the duty manager on the morning shift at the Shangri-La hotel. In between dealing with a pushy photographer who wants her to pose just so, escorting a posse of 20 Japanese guests out with a smile, giving yesterday’s cash flow figure to the MD, she suddenly notices that one of the guests has left a mineral water bottle behind. She quickly, gracefully, without displacing a hair in the coif, picks up the plastic, glides to the doorman, who passes it to the guest even before he boards the coach. I wouldn’t even have noticed the bottle. But then I wouldn’t have got a guy down to cleaning the black marble edge of the fountain in the lobby with the proverbial toothbrush.

“It’s like being in the Army,” I say. “My dad used to say your job seems tougher than the Army.” Shelly’s disarming smile would be a major combat weapon if the Army ever adopted it. And it’s not just about the logistics. Much of the shift in a major business hotel such as this one is hard combat, but where you can’t afford to show the blood. And the relationship with guests is the trickiest part, sort of like India and Pakistan. The undying loyalty, the always hearty welcome, mixed with the fact that all guests are potential pests. It’s sobering to be on the other side and realise how miserable it’s possible to make other people with a little casually exercised callousness, and how they’ll never do anything but smile and be hospitable.

Like the Hitchhiker-inspired gentleman, who thought his room towels were multipurpose, and used three of them to mop up the tea he’d spilled in the room, rendering them unusable except to catch the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal with. And acted all surprised when the price of damaged towels was added to his bill. He demanded to see the towels before paying up. Shelly stepped in to help the beleaguered front desk.

“I give you two minutes. Or I’m going to miss my flight. Are you going to pay for my ticket?” Shelly does not succumb. She smiles sweetly at him, asks him to hold on, and runs to the basement laundry, where the said towels are tangled up along with other items in the wash. But Shelly runs up again, speaks to the guest calmly, and he pays up. For Shelly understands — this guy’s friend did it. The towels will be kept as proof so that when they both return, guy 1 will have towels to show guy 2, and claim the money from him. I’m reminded of a song, “Grace makes beauty out of ugly guests…”

Shelly’s shift begins at 7.30 in the mornings with a backroom briefing, with her entire shift crew — which is huge. This includes the travel desk, the concierges, housekeeping, security, and the front desk. Yesterday’s collections, today’s occupancy and expected guests, yesterday’s ‘incidents’; today’s situations — they’re all reviewed and discussed, as are personal problems and celebrations, for a hotel as large as this can’t run without the team working in tandem, without knowing who needs to be covered for the day. Then everyone fans out to stations, and Shelly moves to her desk beside the front desk. From here, she has a panoramic panoptic view of the entire lobby, every guest who walks in, everyone who takes a seat, as well as clear eye contact with all her staff, from the concierge desk at the far end to the pastry shop nearby.

“I can usually tell exactly what people are in the lobby for. Whether they are guests or have come to meet guests, whether they’re waiting for someone or just killing time…” “So how long did it take you to figure out what I was here for?” I ask. “Well, I didn’t know whether they were sending a man or a woman, but I was pretty sure you were here for the story as soon as I saw you walk in.”