Sell-out,” mutters the spouse from the corner of his mouth, though I suspect his eyes are twinkling. I choose to ignore the comment. Instead, I begin to conduct a series of flurried movements: all hands and feet, slapdash tumbling of objects into suitcase, frantic searching for passport. Within 15 minutes, I am all packed. Tomorrow, from Delhi, I will be off to Bangkok!

Now, here’s the moot point. Not only will I be “off to Bangkok”, which is a bit of a dal-bhaat matter for many Calcuttans, I am to be a guest at the hyper-luxurious five-star Tower Club at Lebua, Bangkok’s finest all-suite all-club hotel overlooking the river. Ergo, the song and dance.

I have to admit that in a manner of speaking, the spouse’s accusation has strong basis. Our kind of travel is budget; very budget. Hippie-style. Sustainable, the spouse might add, slipping in his favourite word. That is the subject of our book on India: The Heat and Dust Project. And yet, with full encouragement from my friends in t2, who are sending me on the trip, I look forward to the luxury hungrily.

Day 1

When the plane circles over Bangkok, dusk is suspended tremulously in the sky, just about to drop. The geometric green fields that one saw minutes ago have given way to a glittering urban sprawl, dense and massive, through which I glimpse the body of the river. The Chao Phraya river is the main waterway that winds around the city; the river of kings. If I had any anxieties about the visa-on-arrival procedure, it abates quickly. Someone from Lebua meets me just outside the aerobridge (I know, right!) at Suvarnabhumi Airport and whisks me along so that the proceedings are quick and painless. Not that there ought to be any worry otherwise. It is, I think, impossible to find a nation as polite as that of the Thais.

The journey to the hotel in a discreet black perfectly cooled vehicle, of the hyper luxurious variety (unsustainable, says that annoying voice in my head sounding surprisingly like the spouse), is smooth — and almost over by the time I wipe my face in the fragrant cool towels that have been handed and glug the cold water in iced bottles. Ah, the sweet guilty edge of luxury.

Wat Arun temple

And then there is the room on the 54th floor, perched over the city with its lights and the warm, wet wind that is peculiar to places by the river. The two-bedroom suite has four balconies. (Do note, I have just signed a bond that I am adult enough to handle the balconies and if I am found sprawled downstairs, I have only myself to blame.) All around, the shimmering city wears the deep blue night.

The entrancing view dances all around us at dinner too. We sit in the plush restaurant of Mezzaluna, enjoying a four-course dinner, with the French sommelier’s hand-picked wine pairings. Twin-chefs Thomas and Mathias Sühring offer a rendition of modern European cuisine infused with Asian impulses. There is the Hangovertini. A sly concoction of green apple juice, rosemary, honey, martini rosso, green tea and Chivas. There is amuse-bouche — a delicate trio of crispy banana shell with aromatic herbs, sticky rice cracker with foie gras and a tempura of king mushroom and chicken. Flavoured with a fine sense of balance. The slow-roasted Dover sole is sheer perfection. There is a pre-appetiser; and later, a pre-dessert of panna cotta with caviar. And yet, the star of the night, for me, is what I eat to cleanse the palate. A homey bread dipped alternately in a spectacular Ligurian olive oil and the chef’s signature divine butter prepared with sea salt.

Later, when utterly full, I go up to the room, the covers have been turned down. A tiny card nestles among the white sheets, giving out the next day’s weather forecast.

One could get used to such things.

Trying to cook!

Day 2

The temple of the Emerald Buddha is located in the Grand Palace complex, possibly Thailand’s best-known tourist destination. According to one of the myths, the statue of the seated Buddha (though made of nephrite rather than emerald) originated in Pataliputra and reached Siam via Ceylon and Cambodia. After paying my respects at the temple with its elaborately frescoed walls, I wander around the large well-appointed grounds and contemplate some of the stories Cindy the guide, a middle-aged woman the hotel has assigned to me, narrates.

The Thai Ramayana or the Ramakien is depicted in an elaborate painting. As I admire it, Cindy points out Hanuman in it and tells me, “I believe Hanuman in Indian Ramayana is single? A bachelor?” I smile my assent. “That’s one main difference with ours,” she states emphatically. “In Thai Ramayana, Hanuman has a wife in every village! And...”, she leans in conspiratorially, “Thai men just like that. Too fond of the sex.”

In the evening, as it drizzles delicately, our dinner party at Breeze, Lebua’s chic modern Asian restaurant, is moved from the terrace where we had the starters to the private room where the last guests had been the royal family.

A dessert called Opera

The repast is suitably royal; and ably complemented by the wine pairings selected by the handsome Breton sommelier who has already become my favourite.

Let it also be said, there was much pink champagne that was had.

Day 3

The next morning I am up very early, in a boat, sailing to the Wat Arun temple or the Temple of Dawn (“arun” is of course the Sanskrit name for the sun) on the western bank of the river. One of most compelling archaeological sites that I have ever witnessed, the first light of morning reflects off the porcelain bits that decorate the facade of the temple. It is a humbling monument.

Back at the hotel, there are hectic preparations. Cooking classes in Thai cuisine! First, it’s off to a vibrant local market where the freshest and most perfectly shaped fruits, flowers and vegetables are arrayed in rich abandon. Around me, on their frenetic gastronomic quest, are Thais and foreigners, both dressed in a riot of colours. Thailand tops the colour diversity chart, with its hot pink and bright green and egg-yolk yellow taxis, and the unabashed use of bright floral motifs on skirts and pyjamas, even umbrellas!

Chef Pradong Khundongling, the Chef de Cuisine of Cafe Mozu, leads our Thai cooking classes. With probably half the kitchen staff assisting us in all seriousness, in their professional whites, no wonder the lunch we cook and then eat is delicious. No credit to the cooks! There is Tom Yam Goong, Pla Hima Thord Rad Rrik (snow fish in a delicious red sauce) and Gaeng Kiew Wan Khae (lamb in the famous green curry).

Since this is the last night, Lebua ups the ante and dinner at Sirocco, where the Man U team dined the previous evening, is a spectacular seven-course affair, beginning with sea urchin (with a rich butter-cheese-sauce taste) and ending with a divine Opera 2013, with Kayambe, 72 per cent chocolate, coffee, and almond.

Farmers’ market

Cocktails come that have been designed to tease each of the five senses in turn, and boy, do they! The lights of the city twinkle merrily all around. Revellers stand beyond the tables in an open space, their drinks glimmering in tall glasses and their faces shining in the play of shadows and moonlight. The jazz band strikes up again.

Night in Bangkok — for those of us on the terrace and those of us behind the lights — gives the impression it is still firm and young; and no, I cannot get used to this, I tell myself. The evanescence of the night and the party is exactly what makes it memorable.

And then I go and pack.

Devapriya Roy is the author of The Vague Woman’s Handbook and The Weight Loss Club, and is currently working on ‘The Heat and Dust Project’ with writer-husband Saurav Jha. She has just succumbed to the addictions of Twitter and can be found at @DevapriyaRoy