A Greeting That Opens the Doors to India MUMBAI - If a city were a person, Mumbai would resemble a faded aristocrat, cash poor but asset rich, resplendent despite a veneer of grime. In this island city, nothing exemplifies that legacy better than the stately pile that is the 560-room Taj Mahal Palace hotel. For residents and tourists alike, the 100-year-old Taj is something special. It is the place for special occasions, the hotel you choose to impress a guest. Part of the experience are the hotel's six doormen, commonly called durbaans in Hindi but referred to a bit more formally within the company as dwar pals, or door caretakers. Among them is Jaswinder Singh, better known as "Daddy." He is one of the hotel's most photographed features: a Sikh who stands 1.80 meters tall, or 5-foot-11, but whose turban makes him appear much taller. Mr. Singh's eight-hour shifts are usually split between the hotel's palace wing, the historic, and more expensive, part of the building, and its newer tower wing. He often stands in the hotel drive, wearing his uniform of a long cream tunic and pants with an embroidered cummerbund, to open car doors and welcome guests with folded hands and the traditional "namaste" greeting. "Some foreigners don't always know what "namaste" means," Mr. Singh, 44, said in Hindi. "In that case, I explain it means "welcome," and follow up with a "good morning, good afternoon or evening," depending on the time." Divia Thani Daswani, editor of the India edition of Condé Nast Traveler, said of the doormen: "What they are actually doing is minor, but people are going to remember the visual experience of entering this historic building and being greeted by these big, strong, charming-looking men. The durbaans, with their traditional dress, set a certain expectation for foreign visitors: That they are about to start an India experience, that they are not just entering a set of revolving doors. For locals, they bring a familiarity because they have been there for so long. Other than an 18-month stint at the Taj Bengal in Kolkata in the early 1990s, Mr. Singh has spent his 12-year hotel career at the Taj in Mumbai. Although he comes from a farming family in the Punjab, Mr. Singh and his male relatives have embraced the role of durbaan. His father, Nidhan Singh, was a doorman at the Taj for 25 years, a cousin works alongside him, and his brother performs a similar role at the Taj Lands End hotel in suburban Mumbai. "It was my father's dream that after his retirement, I would also work here," Mr. Singh said with a tinge of pride. His father retired on April 30, 2001, and returned to the family village, where he still lives. Mr. Singh joined the company a week later. "If my children had wanted to do this, I would've been happy," he added. But it is their life. They need to do what makes them happy. One of his two sons is in the Indian Army, the other wants to study in Australia, and his daughter is training to become a doctor. Mr. Singh says his nickname "Daddy" is part of the family tradition - that he got it because of his own strong resemblance to his father, who was referred to affectionately as "Daddy-ji" by the staff. But according to Nikhila Palat, the hotel's head of public relations, the junior Mr. Singh used to say, "That's not how Daddy did it." The nickname stuck. As a child, Mr. Singh remembers visiting the hotel and his father would point out the various cars that came and went, training him to be observant. Over the years, he said, he has come to recognize guests not just by their faces, but also by their cars and bodyguards. Over the years, the Taj has welcomed many famous guests, including heads of state, celebrities and, just last month, the Aga Khan. When asked who he has greeted, Mr. Singh said diplomatically: "Everyone who comes to the Taj is a V.I.P." But eventually he singles out Indian celebrities like the Bollywood star Sunny Deol and his father, the actor Dharmendra; the former track star Milkha Singh and the cricketer-turned-politician Navjot Singh Sidhu. "They always take the time to talk to me and ask how I am doing," Mr. Singh said. I am a known face because I look just like my father. Many old-time guests enquire after him, and sometimes mistake me for him. Also friendly is the conductor Zubin Mehta. He "always recognizes me and talks to me," Mr. Singh said. Mr. Singh takes his job seriously, recounting how he waded through knee-deep water to get to work during flooding in 2005 and didn't return home for two days. He was on his way to work in November 2008 when gunfire broke out, the start of a three-day attack by Pakistani terrorists on several sites around the city. The Taj was one of the last locations secured by the police; 31 of the 164 people who died in the incident were in the hotel, which was set afire. Mr. Singh got into the hotel just after the siege and recalls being shocked by the damage. It was my duty to come. We, all the doormen and security, had to keep the public and media at bay. I don't like to speak about those days," Mr. Singh said, choking up. Hotels across the city strengthened their security as a result of the attacks, so, for example, the doors to the palace wing are open only 12 hours a day. Mr. Singh and his colleagues now have few opportunities to greet heads of state or to linger with dignitaries. He misses the old days: "I used to like being at the palace doors because we used to interact with the guests a lot more."