Inside Dubai bachelor's wild Emirates Hills pad: Giant tree, 12 nightclubs, party pool and swings

He is famously dubbed the “Great Gatsby of Dubai” by friends—and he knows how to make an entrance. On the day of our visit, Mahesh Tourani greets us in a red and black shirt, boldly unbuttoned, while lounging on a swing under a banyan tree. “There’s no middle way,” he says, echoing his life philosophy. “It’s either my way or your way.” Whimsical, audacious, and refreshingly unfiltered, he sets the tone right at the door. “This house is me—completely mine,” he says, before gesturing to the fantastical setting. “I me and myself. Judge, jury, executioner.” His swing isn’t just a seat—it’s a vibe. And yes, there are no children or other adults in this 50,000 sq ft estate. “It’s just me,” he shrugs with delight. For someone who designed his dream home down to the last mood light, a dramatic welcome is simply part of the plan.

Mahesh Tourani doesn’t believe in ordinary spaces. “Each piece has a story,” he says, showing off a tree he had cut, planed, joined, and fashioned into furniture. A textile designer by training, he channels his sense of style into architecture. “The colours came naturally to me,” he says. What began as a struggle for uniqueness became a global design adventure. “I went to Banyan Tree,” he recalls. “I asked myself: Why do I love it here? The answer was: because it makes you feel like you’re on vacation forever.” That revelation birthed the theme—“a resort that dulls down everything.” No bright tones. Just earthy stones, softened light, and layered textures. “Super Potato from Japan gave me the granite walls. Armani gave me the palette. Banyan Tree gave me the soul.” The result? A home that blends three worlds—and feels like none other in Emirates Hills.

Imagine Armani’s muted elegance meeting Japanese architectural philosophy, wrapped around a faux-real banyan tree—and you get Mahesh Tourani’s villa. “Armani is my favourite designer,” he confesses. “Combine that with Super Potato’s stonework and Banyan Tree’s essence, and you have my home.” The villa’s tones are hushed but never boring. “It had to feel like nature came indoors,” he says. “Even the stones are from granite quarries—ones most people throw away. I kept them, carved them, and turned them into features.” Tourani’s passion for texture is obsessive and almost poetic. “Super Potato made it an art form,” he adds. Nothing is done for the sake of it. From the metallic bronze doors to the carved mountains and waterfalls, everything has depth. “You’ll never see a bright stone in this house.” That’s deliberate. This is not just a rich man’s mansion. It’s a philosophy rendered in wood, water, and silence.

While others spend millions on chandeliers, Mahesh Tourani put up a 35-foot banyan tree. “A friend of mine bought a light for two million,” he scoffs. “Didn’t make sense to me.” Instead, his entrance is dominated by a massive banyan tree with a swing underneath. “I wasn’t convinced for five seconds. On the sixth second, I said done.” The tree is the work of Naturescape, a U.S. firm. “It looks real—but it’s artificial. Except the leaves. They’re real. They’ve got a coating, so they stay green forever.” The tree, he says, is now his calling card. “Everyone says, ‘Oh, the tree house!’” It’s whimsical, theatrical, and totally on-brand. “If you’re entering a home like mine, you need a wow factor.” Tourani didn’t want sculptures or ostentatious installations. He wanted a talking point. And he got one. Because in Emirates Hills, your entrance must say it all.

Some decisions take months. Mahesh Tourani commits in six seconds. That’s how long it took to say yes to the banyan tree. “Rebecca—my Irish designer—showed me a sketch. I wasn’t sure. Five seconds later, I said done,” he grins. “And that’s how I operate. It’s instinctive.” Tourani gives his designer credit, but his voice is in every corner. “I’ve done 25% of this house,” he says. “Rebecca gets 75%.” The swing, the tree, the sculptural lighting—it’s part fantasy, part resort. “I didn’t want a typical living room. I have three nightclubs, I don’t need another couch,” he quips. From textures to tiles, every element reflects his travels and instincts. “It’s not just about aesthetics. It’s about emotion.” His home doesn’t just show off wealth—it reveals personality. And in a world of template luxury, that’s what makes it unforgettable.

Call it the most travelled man cave in Dubai. Tourani’s home is a tribute to his adventures. “If I go to Tuscany, I build Tuscany here. If I go to Bali, I recreate it here. Goa? I have a Goa room.” His Emirates Hills mansion has 12 entertainment zones, each styled after destinations that inspired him. “Every area is a postcard,” he says. His Lulus-inspired room came from a single night at the exclusive 5 Hertford Street in London.

“I was sitting in the smoking area. It hit me. I called Rebecca and flew her in the next day from Ireland.” He then recreated the mood, textures, and vibe, ceiling to floor. “It’s not copying. It’s memory-making,” he insists. And the result? A home that’s part museum, part fantasy, and 100% Mahesh. “Each corner tells a story,” he says. “That’s the only way I’d live.”

Ask Mahesh Tourani how many bedrooms his 50,000-square-foot villa has, and he’ll answer with a laugh: “Five. But 12 areas to party.” Priorities, clearly. “This living room? I don’t even use it. I have three nightclubs,” he says casually. His home is a playground for a host who refuses to play by the rules. “Sometimes I get bored with one section, so I shift the party to another. We even do progressive dinners—drinks here, starters there, desserts outdoors.” Each space is uniquely themed, yet all share his signature blend of drama and comfort. “It’s a vibe. It has to feel right,” he says. You’re never more than a few steps away from a waterfall, a bar, a terrace, or a dancefloor. “It’s for me first,” he says. “But my guests get the bonus of experiencing it too.” And clearly, they keep coming back for more.

There’s a giant Buddha and Medusa staring down at you—and Mahesh Tourani has thoughts. “People walk in and say, ‘Oh, Versace!’ I say, wrong. Versace copied Medusa. This is the real deal.” Tourani is big on symbolism. Buddha, he says, is serenity. Medusa is chaos. “It’s the yin and yang,” he explains. “The house has both.” The space is a study in dichotomy. Where Buddha offers stillness, Medusa brings drama. “You need a focal point in any home. I wanted people to walk in and wonder.” And they do. From sculptural lions with glowing eyes to ferns climbing abandoned mossy facades, nothing is random. “I’m not bipolar,” he laughs. “I’m very much unipolar. But I like balance.” So if serenity is too quiet, there’s always a snakes-headed diva waiting around the corner. Because why not?

Who needs a committee when you’re Mahesh Tourani? “It’s just me—I me and myself,” he declares. “Judge, jury, executioner.” His voice is stamped across every decision in the home. “Even my houseboys are trained for one person. Just me.” With no spouse or children influencing the interiors, he’s free to be whimsical and bold. “I live for me,” he shrugs. From swings to moody bars and forest-like conservatories, the design reflects a self-made aesthetic without compromise. “People keep asking—who is this house for? It’s for my pleasure,” he says. “I love hosting, but I don’t decorate for guests.” Every choice—be it Super Potato’s granite, Armani’s tones, or a midnight waterfall—was his. “It’s selfish, yes. But it’s sacred.” In Tourani’s world, that’s not just allowed. It’s essential.

“Be selfish—but don’t harm anyone,” Mahesh Tourani says, summing up his life and home philosophy in one line. “It’s okay to say no, to want to be alone, to watch a movie and just be with yourself.” For someone who built a mansion that can host hundreds, this moment of solitude is everything. “Selfishness has been misunderstood. It’s self-care,” he says. And it reflects in how he designed his spaces. The lights are dim, the stones earthy, the vibe unhurried. “I made this for myself. If I don’t want to step out, I won’t. I have a Tuscany here, a Goa there, a Bali corner. Why go anywhere?” Every detail, from the bar setup to the Buddha, speaks to this elegant self-containment. “Live your life. Don’t apologise for joy,” he says. And in a city built on gloss, that’s as rebellious as it gets.

Mahesh Tourani wasn’t always sold on Emirates Hills. “I told my partner he was a fool to buy there—it felt too far. Time proved me wrong,” he admits. Now, he’s one of its most flamboyant residents. “It’s the only area in Dubai with full-sized homes. No townhouses. No commercial mess. Just independent villas.” As property prices boom, he explains the appeal: “Scarcity. Even if you want one, you can’t find it.” With plots now going at AED 4,500 per square foot, Tourani claims his plot might be the best in the neighbourhood. “I won’t sell even if they double it,” he says. “This is the centre of town now, not the outskirts.” Unlike Dubai Hills, where he says developments are disjointed, “Emirates Hills is cohesive.” And while Lakshmi Mittal’s name may be making headlines, Tourani has been here—building fantasy and flex—long before it was cool.

In case you are wondering why don’t more Indians buy beachfront villa, Tourani has a theory: “We’re not beach people. No one wants to get dark.” He’s half-joking, but the point is cultural. “Out of 100 Indians, you won’t find one who says ‘Let’s go chill at the beach.’” Instead, he—and many others—crave greenery, gardens, water bodies. “We grew up in Bombay staring at concrete and sea. I wanted bridges, lakes, flowers.” For him, Emirates Hills checks all those boxes. “Even if you gave me a plot in Jumeirah Bay at half the price, I wouldn’t take it,” he says firmly. Tourani’s idea of luxury is a verdant, layered space that feels like a private park. “I’m a hardcore greenery kind of guy,” he says, gesturing at the wraparound foliage. “The sea is flat. It’s boring. This”—he spreads his arms to his villa—“this is me.”

Forget the marble and Medusas. For Tourani, land is the real flex. “People keep talking about interiors—but in Emirates Hills, it’s the plot that matters,” he insists. When he bought his land for AED 17 million at AED 500 per square foot, he was ahead of the curve. Today, that same plot is worth over four times more. “The house only matters if it’s five to seven years old,” he adds. “After that, it’s zero. Only the land holds value.” His own home, though, bucks the trend. “It’s still in demand because it’s not ordinary.” But even he knows: “At the end of the day, you’re buying dirt. Beautiful dirt.” In a city obsessed with constant renovation, Tourani’s plot—with its location, size, and elevation—remains its greatest asset. “They don’t make land like this anymore,” he says, sipping his drink on the terrace. “That’s why it’s priceless.”

Word on the street is that Tourani’s parties are the stuff of Dubai legend. “Even billionaires say they can’t compete,” he laughs. “I throw some of the craziest bashes here.” The house has been host to everything from progressive dinners to private concerts. “We start with cocktails in the conservatory, then move to the garden, then one of the clubs—it’s a whole vibe.” Tourani’s philosophy is simple: if you’re going to live large, live loud. “Why build a house like this if you can’t fill it with people, music, life?” he asks. And while the spaces are luxurious, they’re designed to be used—not just shown off. “This isn’t a museum. It’s a mood,” he says. With 12 dedicated entertainment zones, he’s built the ultimate playground for grown-ups. And as the self-proclaimed Great Gatsby of Dubai? “Hosting isn’t an option. It’s an art.”

One of the most stunning spots in the villa is the conservatory—a high-ceilinged, waterfall-lined lounge Tourani uses when he wants to escape the party, not start one. “This is where I come to reset,” he says. “Sometimes, I need to be quiet. Alone. Still.” Despite being a serial host, he cherishes his solitude. “Even my progressive dinners have a rhythm. We’ll do starters outside, main course here, desserts in another room.” The conservatory was designed with fluidity in mind. “Everything flows. The light, the sound, the movement.” It’s part tropical hideaway, part modern-day monk’s retreat—with mood lighting, sculptural greenery, and just enough opulence to remind you where you are. “You don’t always need music and people. Sometimes, you just need a waterfall and your thoughts.” This room, he says, is where the entertainer becomes the introspector. “Balance is everything,” he adds.

Tourani’s home thrives on dualities. “You walk in, and boom—there’s a Buddha. Calm. Then you turn, and there’s Medusa—full drama.” He curated both with intent. “Every house needs something that makes people stop and ask questions,” he says. The Buddha brings peace. The Medusa provokes. “People think it’s Versace. Wrong. He copied it. This is the real mythology.” The interplay of serenity and edge defines his aesthetic. “It’s like the yin and yang. You need both in life.” These aren’t just décor choices—they’re philosophical anchors. “One keeps me grounded. The other reminds me to never be boring.” This duality reflects in his personality too—he can shift from playful to profound in seconds. “I’m not bipolar,” he jokes. “I’m just fully me.” And that means blending Eastern mysticism with Italian glamour—because in Tourani’s world, opposites don’t clash. They complement.

Every corner of Tourani’s home is a love letter to places he’s been. “Travel is my biggest design influence,” he says. “I bring back ideas, not just souvenirs.” After a stay at 5 Hertford Street, London’s most exclusive club, he recreated its outdoor smoking lounge. “I called my designer from the venue, told her to fly in. We rebuilt it here the next day.” The Bali room was inspired by a vacation. The Tuscany room followed a vineyard tour. “Why remember trips when you can live them?” he shrugs. His villa is an ever-evolving passport of places that moved him. “Every space has emotion, history, and a memory attached.” For Tourani, the real luxury isn’t marble or gold—it’s storytelling. “This house isn’t a building. It’s a journal,” he says. And every guest gets to read a chapter.

There’s no spouse. No kids. No compromises. “This is a bachelor pad on fire,” Mahesh Tourani says with a grin. “No pink roofs, no yellow doors. Just me.” He doesn’t say this with arrogance—it’s pure conviction. “Everything you see was built to serve one person’s joy—mine.” That means swings in the lobby, nightclubs in the basement, and Zen courtyards with waterfalls. His favourite corner of his mansion is his Portugal-inspired courtyard. “I didn’t want to build a family home. I wanted to build my forever fantasy.” For him, this house is more than a place—it’s a personality. “I’ve always been particular. This time, I got to be particular without permission.” Every room reflects his state of mind, from introspective retreats to high-octane lounges. “If you want a model for how to design a home without compromise, this is it.” And maybe that’s why so many want to see it. “They’re curious how far you can go when you answer to no one.”

Despite its scale, Tourani’s home is intimate—because it’s designed for one. “I’ve got two houseboys and two chefs. For one person,” he chuckles. “This house isn’t lonely. It’s personal.” He treats each space like a friend—rotating between them based on mood. “If I feel Tuscan, I go there. If I want Bali, I head to that wing.” His nights are filled with silence or sound, depending on how he feels. “Some evenings I party. Some evenings I read.” He believes solitude is underrated. “People confuse being alone with being lonely,” he says. “I’ve never been more at peace.” With no one else to please, he built a universe that reflects every facet of himself. “This home is like a mirror. It shows me who I am, every day.” And that, in a way, is its greatest luxury.