The man behind this reinvention is the charismatic Cyrus Irani.
The building has become a hot-tempered, noisy beast in the city’s belly, roaring through the night until the sun rises. A moustachioed Maharaja with an accent polished at Harrow or Eton exchanges pleasantries with several glamorous ladies who have perfected the art of looking beautifully bored. Wealthy men of industry eye up coquettish women in cholis that expose more of their midriffs than strictly considered decent. Local hustlers try to get the better of American card-sharks. Bombay society comes here, to see and be seen. The fortunes of the Bombay Roxy have been turned around, and now it shines brightly where darkness once stood. Under new management, it is café by day and club by night.
