The culture shock begins right at the gates. Our auto-rickshaw incongruous next to a Silver Spur Rolls Royce and a 300 SL Mercedes, things seem different. Like the fact that the auto driver expects to be tipped before his vehicle leaves the glistening foyer. Seeing our baffled expression, he pointedly looks at the valet who steers a sleek car into the parking.

Entering the hallowed precincts of the rich and the extremely famous, what meets our eye hits us like a sten gun. Craning our necks to see how far the towering ceilings go, the floor catches our attention immediately. The waxed-till-you-can-see-your-face surface is not too kind to our kolhapuris and we don't really want to slip, do we? The wall-hanging with embroidery that even the best SEWA salwar kameez in our wardrobe cannot compete with, the elaborate flower arrangements, the ornate pillars, the heavy tapestry with thick gold cords... while one of us is feeling awe-struck, the other is bogged down, suddenly fatigued.

But then the courage we set out with, that streak of dare-devilry, reigns supreme. Reminding ourselves that nothing is impossible, that nothing Hafeez Contractor designed is better than God's ultimate creation, we walk across what we assume is the lobby towards sofas that seem vaguely familiar... ah! the seats are similar to what Simi Garewal perches on, whispering her questions to her hi-fi guests!

Gingerly sitting and then settling down, we look at each other. So far so good. We've got to the lobby, we can have a dekko around and then leave. Comfortable, no thoughts of the stuff-that's-in-short-supply-in-our-purses plague us. Suddenly, thoughts that hound the common Punekar clamour for space in our mind too...

... the power cuts we take as a way of life seem so remote in these softly-illuminated(!), cool interiors. The piped music, the right smiles, the correct manners - yeah, this is life on the high rungs!

While we are debating whether the exquisite lilies arranged on a carved pedestal are real or fake, a liveried attendant makes her appearance. ``Can I get you something?'' she asks with just that bit of accent and hint of a smile. Ah! Can we really get something within our extremely limited resources? We ask her to give us a moment.

A moment to figure out how we landed not in the lobby but the Tea Lounge. Or how not to feel compelled to order after a look at the menu - right to left! At the Udipi joint around the corner, we could have just said, ``Sorry bhau, ek glass pani,'' and left.

But to do that here? Nah! There's something in the scented air that whispers you cannot walk out on such places. So our next task is to come up with an order that won't see us end up in the scullery! The menu decides that for us - two filter coffees, with extra taxes! Not bad! We do have `that' kind of money! Pushing away all thoughts of the cost for the same item elsewhere, we remind ourselves - if you want class, you have to pay for it.

Emboldened by our potential to afford coffee here, we venture into the other restaurants. To be told that a meal for one at La Brasserie would cost an average Rs. 500 and most dishes at the Spice Island (the hotel's signature restaurant) vary from Rs. 500 to Rs. 1,700 (taxes extra), each. Phew!

With the cash in our pockets hammering at our middle-class mentality, we seek refuge in the toilets. An attendant with a warm smile has kept the tap on, informing that it has been opened for us. Neither of us bothers telling her that we can open taps ourselves. And we aren't even surprised when the guest relations executive tells us that their exclusive bar does not have the problem of drunk guests, because ``it's frequented by people with a certain class.'' Okay, we say once again, and hail an auto to get back to our real lives - two average Punekars.