A Funeral in Lewisham

Wednesday, July 14, 2009
London

My day started at 6. 30 am as I checked email and proof read my blog before calling my parents and brother Russel in Bombay. I also continued working on my Oxford Lecture and made steady progress on it until I decided to stop for breakfast (cereal and milk) and a shower. At 11. 30 am, I left my flat for the bus ride to Lewisham for the funeral of Mary Wilson whom I had interviewed at the end of last year. I did manage to get to the Church of St. Savior on time and was pleased to see so many folk from the Thursday Luncheon Club of the South London Anglo-Indian Association who had already assembled there. I walked to the church with Oscar , another man who I had interviewed, and met Cecil, Mary’s husband at the church. He was surprised but very pleased to see me indeed.

This was my first funeral in the UK and indeed my very first cremation. The mass was short and said by a South Indian or perhaps Sri Lankan priest. The eulogy delivered by Mary’s son, Peter, took the form of the recitation of a poem that was composed by Cecil. It was deeply moving and I was in tears for a good part of the service. It is amazing to me how close I feel to these folks who have shared their life stories with me. In fact, I possibly know them better than they know each other even though they have been friends for years. Certain aspects of one’s life never come up in conversation even with one’s closest friends. Everyone spoke fondly and admiringly of the devotion that Cecil showed Mary who was on dialysis for years and it was profoundly moving for me to see him dab at his eyes several times during the day. Equally emotional was their grandson. It is wonderful, I think, that these Anglo-Indians have created links that allow them to stand by and support each other in times of grief. The members of the group are hoping very much that Cecil will return soon to the Thursday Luncheon Club as this might be a way for him to resolve his loss and move on.

I was especially grateful to Dennis and Joy who gave me a ride from the church to the crematorium to the wake which was held in a pub in Lewisham called One. This couple has been extremely supportive of my work here in London and I very grateful to them too as also to a number of the other folks I had the chance to meet over the past year. They are now preparing for their Anglo-Indian Annual Day which takes places in Croydon on the first Sunday in August–alas, I will miss it as my UK visa expires on August 1 and I need to leave the country before this date. Unexpectedly, this funeral gave me a chance to meet many of these folks and thank them personally for the assistance and hospitality they extended to me over this past year. I was also pleased to meet Lynette, Cecil’s sister from Canada, who flew to London for the funeral. We have corresponded via email but hadn’t met each other earlier. This was a sad occasion but an opportunity, nevertheless, for us to connect in person. Lynette does a great job keeping Anglo-Indian history and affairs alive in her part of the world and her networking skills are enormous.

I said my goodbyes to Cecil and my friends and left the pub at 4. 30 pm to catch the buses that brought me back home at 6 pm when I took a bit of a rest before I continued with the task of sorting out papers and packing. I need to make a list soon of all the things I have to do before Llew arrives here so that I can actually spend our last few days in London doing quality stuff and not anything too boring such as packing.

At 6. 30 pm, I heard sounds in my loft and realized that I had company–a few minutes later, Loulou walked in, to my great joy. It was great to see her again after more than two weeks. Paul followed a few minutes later. They had arrived to go out for an important family dinner and, therefore, disappeared into their room to dress. I continued to work on my PC, then had a solitary dinner at home–still trying to finish leftovers in my fridge and freezer but I made myself a large salad after a long time with a mustard vinaigrette. I went to bed early knowing that I would awake the next day and have company at breakfast.

More Archival Research at Kew and Seeing the Domesday Book

Monday, July 13, 2009
London

I did not have a good night at all. Was awfully restless, then awoke at 3. 30 am with a headache. Took a pill for it and tried to get back to sleep but tossed incessantly feeling hot and cold within five minute intervals. I finally gave up at 5. 45 am, typed my blog, then fell asleep again at 6. 30 am and did not awake till 8 am. I was so annoyed with myself as I had wanted to leave the house by 7 am to take the buses that would get me to the Archives at Kew by 9 am. Fat chance!

Well, I raced through a shower and my breakfast (cereal and milk), made myself a packed lunch and left the house at 8. 50 am. I carried Owen Thorpe’s autobiography to read on the bus as I find the long journey of nearly two hours to Kew rather monotonous and I figured I might as well get another book read. I found it very interesting and not entirely serious either. It is written with a very firm tongue-in-cheek and as any boy who grew up on the Indian sub-continent in the 40s, 50s and 60s will attest, speaks of a simple but blissful childhood with dozens of friends and a multiplicity of games that kept one fit and slender. I saw so many visions of my own childhood reflected in the pages of this book that I am enjoying every moment of it. Despite the fact that Owen was brought up in South India and I in Bombay, there is such a similarity of habit, custom, tradition and experience as to make the book seem as if I have authored it. Very entertaining indeed!

Then, I was at Kew and ensconced in my seat at 10 A pouring over the last of the files that spell out policy decisions particularly those pertaining to the British Nationality Act, 1948. Needless to say, I am discovering a great deal about the legal positions that governed decisions regarding who could and could not legally enter the UK as immigrants and the extent to which the British government was willing to lend a helping hand and a leg up to the new arrivals. With all the reading I am doing, both fictional and autobiographical, and all the documents I am reading and photographing and photocopying, I feel fully steeped in the culture.

Unfortunately, I am unable to meet Alison Blunt whose work on the Anglo-Indian diaspora preceded mine. She sent me a text message to cancel our appointment due to a sudden loss in her family. I felt very sorry for her indeed and look forward to meeting her another time.

The National Archives Museum at Kew:
I was done with my research by 4 pm when I left the Archives, but on the way out I saw the entrance to the Museum of the National Archives and, of course, I cannot pass a museum without peeking inside it…so in I went. To my immense surprise, there was the famous Domesday Book that dates from the 12th century when William the Conqueror of Normandy decided to create a census, if you like, of all the landowners in the British Isles in order to determine the amount of taxes that was owned him by his new subjects! Hence, ever since that day, old and well established British families boast their age and authority by their presence (or otherwise) in this Book. Having seen the Book of Kells (at Trinity College Library, Dublin) and the Gutenberg Bible (in the British Library at King’s Cross), I was thrilled to be able to inspect the Domesday Book–which is really the earliest book of any significance produced in the British Isles.

The Book is handwritten in exquisite calligraphy by a single monk who wrote on parchment leaves (obtained from the stomachs of sheep) and then illuminated (illustrated) each page with beautifully decorative borders and motifs. There is also a Little Domesday Book which contains similar entries for a few other parts of the British Isles and these two together make intriguing viewing. I also saw the chest that was used for its safekeeping.

Also on display at the Museum is the register in which Henry VIII’s Bishop Thomas Cranmer began a slow and painful record of all the ecclesiastical properties that fell under the jurisdiction of the Crown following the Disillusion of the Monastries in 1538. This too us superbly illuminated with a rather interested representation of Henry VIII himself on the front page–wonder if it was made from a life pose or from memory. Though this museum is small, it has some rather wonderful exhibits and I was amazed, as always, at the condition of these priceless artifacts and the pride with which they are placed on display in the UK.

Though it is a bit of a hike getting to the National Archives which are situated in the midst of residential Kew, it really is worth going there just to see the Domesday Book. And really it is of significance that the book is placed here as thousands of ordinary people go to these Archives each year to trace their family history as the building is a receptacle for a thousand years of British documentary history. My own research in this place has proven invaluable–not only in helping me understand the state of affairs that brought Anglo-Indians to the UK but the manner in which bureaucratic principles of policy design and decisions were inherited by those of us who can trace our own history to the former British colonies. It amazes me how racist these men were (and they were always men then) in whose hands the running of the Indian sub-continent was placed and how despite their animus towards people of color, they never ever said so in so many words. As one of the more thoughtful and reflective of my Anglo-Indian subjects told me, “The British will never tell you to your face that they dislike you because you are brown…but boy, read the sub text which is present all the time…and the writing’s on the wall!” Certainly in the documents I examined (many of which I have photographed) that date from the early 1950s, it is crystal clear that British officials tried their hardest to keep Anglo-Indians out of England after India’s Independence. Indeed, had the Anglo-Indians been privy to the discussions that occured among the officials in whose hands their own fate was held, they would never have been surprized by the racism they encountered when they arrived here. No wonder so many of them have told me how grateful they are for the current climate of political correctness which, at the very least, prevents mainstream Britons from verbally expressing their dislike of people who do not come from what the documents describe as “white stock”.

By 5. 50, I was home to check email and receive instructions and directions from my friend Oscar for the funeral I will attend tomorrow of Mary Wilson whom I had the pleasure of interviewing. I also used Journey Planner on my PC to figure out how to get to Lewsiham on the buses tomorrow. Then, I made a To-Do List of items I must slowly start to do as the days fly by and the day of Llew’s arrival is upon me. Top of the list is to compete drafting and editing my lecture to be delivered at Oxford in a couple of weeks from now. It is, however, a great weight of my mind to know that I have successfully finished all my interviews and all my intended research at the British Library and the National Archives at Kew.

Feeling marvelously light (mentally), I started my packing. Hauling boxes out of my closet and pulling down one of my suitcases, I stated to put all my recent shopping into it and placed myself in Wind Down Mode. Then, when I had accomplished a great deal of clearing of papers and books, I stopped at 9. oo pm to have my dinner (Zurek, the delicious soured Polish soup to which we had been introduced in Poland and which I found in a Polish grocery store at Croydon and rice and vegetable curry). I watched a spot of the BBC News as I ate, then decided that since I slept so badly last night, I had better try to get to bed early tonight.

An Anglo-Indian Bash in Wembley

Sunday, July 12, 2009
London

With just one interview left to be transcribed, I awoke at 7. 30 and decided to finish it up–but that was after I read some Potter–the last novel is taking me longer to go through than the previous one. Then I was grabbing a bit of cereal and a mango, showering, dressing and taking a series of buses to Wembley Central for the summer party thrown by Gerry and Coreen–to which I was invited about two months ago. En route, I began reading Owen’s book and have to say that I find it absorbing.

The party was great…loads of people present–relatives and friends. This core Anglo-Indian group that calls themselves The Gang take it in rotation to meet periodically at their homes. Gerry and Coreen have an enviable parcel of property in Wembley that allows them to throw a huge bash complete with shamianas, and a family of caterers who cook the meal on site–all surrounded by the many aviaries filled with exotic birds that forms the center of their unusual business.

This is your typical Anglo-Indian party…only scaled up to include rock and roll hits of the 50s, 60s and 70s, a really great bunch of guys who know each other well and take to the dance floor at the drop of a hat to shake a leg and let their hair down. The booze flowed and I particularly enjoyed a Gerry concoction he called Mango Fool–more like a Mango Lassi which, spiked with Bacardi, took me to the Bahamas! Needless to say, the food–all Indian, all cooked by a Pakistani woman called Farah who had the most adorable brood of kids helping her out–was great, particularly the appetisers–a variety of kebabs of which the Chicken Tikka and Lamb Chops were to die for.

I met a couple of folks, who, over the months, I have interviewed and who seemed pleased to see me again. And then I met a bunch of folks I have never seen before–in the case of so many of them, I feel terrible that it is now time for me to return Stateside for I know that they would have made great company during all the months that I was alone in this city and even greater friends. I was very happy to meet and chat with George Hillier who spearheaded the creation of the Anglo-Indian associations in the UK and was the shaping force behind the many London Anglo-Indian dances of years gone by.

I had a bit of a shock when it was revealed to me that one of the Anglo-Indian ladies that I had interviewed several months ago has passed away. Her funeral is on Tuesday and I would dearly love to attend it but I have already made plans to meet up for lunch with Prof. Alison Blunt, a fellow scholar of the Anglo-Indian diaspora, and I fear that I will be unable to change that appointment as I have only a few days left now to play around with before Llew gets here and I have to leave. I was very sad indeed to receive the news as I had been welcomed warmly by this person and her husband at their home in Lewisham and had partaken of her excellent chicken curry and had enjoyed a very interesting conversation with her. Little did I know that before I returned home, one of the folks I have interviewed would be no more. It makes me realize once again how important it is that the oral history of these lovely people be recorded for posterity before it is too late.

One of the folk I particularly enjoyed chatting with was Bash, Gerry’s financial adviser, who also then offered to give me a ride home. Except that when we got into his car–the cutest little silver grey model–and began our journey, he sensed my interest and made a few detours en route to show me some of the sights that Wembley could offer–such as the iconic Stadium where ever so many sports events and entertainment shows are held and a little further afield, the famous public school, colloquially known as ‘Harrow’ at Harrow-on-The-Hill where Jawaharlal Nehru was once a student and from where he wrote some of the most moving letters to his father Motilal as he tried to cope with the strangeness of the country into which he had been thrust as a tender teenager!

I was struck both by the stadium’s unique design–it has a rather odd semi-circular hoop that seems to stand suspended above it–and even more so by the glorious red brick buildings that comprise the prestigious school. Build in the Tudor idiom, they reveal the kind of extraordinary brickwork of which only the Tudors and the Elizabethans were capable–black brick making interesting herringbone and diamond patterns to relieve the monotony of the red walls. There are castellated tops, a grand approach comprising steps punctuated by rose bush beds and a rather lovely grey and white church with a slender spire reminiscent of the one on the chapel roof of Exeter College, Oxford. This school served as the location for Hogwarts School for Wizards in the Harry Potter films. Despite the failing light, I took a few pictures before we left the venue. Indeed, the entire little village of Harrow-on-The-Hill is prettiness personified with the heart of Old Harrow comprising a warren of narrow streets lined by bookstores, coffee shops and trendy restaurants. It never ceases to amaze me how many quaint parts of London I have yet to see and with this school visited, I can tick another item off my List of Things To Do in London–thanks to Bash and his offer to include a bit of unexpected sightseeing on my agenda.

Back at my place, Bash stayed for a cup of coffee before we said goodbye. I had a conversation with Llew before I prepared for bed and as I intend to spend the day tomorrow at the National Archives at Kew, for which I need to leave my early, I went off to bed straight away.

An English Historian of the Raj and More Archival Research at Kew

Saturday, July 11, 2009
London

While the rest of the world snoozed and had a lazy weekend lie-in, I awoke at the crack of dawn, read some more Potter, then showered, breakfasted and left my flat to catch the many buses that would take me to Wandsworth where I had an appointment with an Englishwoman who has written and researched extensively on British History in India from the 17th to the 19th centuries. Rosie lives in a very charming home overlooking a park in the beautiful hamlet of Wandsworth with her Goan husband Stanley who is also a historian and, according to her, has “written the definitive history of the Indian army”.

It amazes me that after a whole year in London, there are still some parts of it that I have never traversed. The bits south of Victoria, for instance–Battersea and Clapham and Wandsworth– are still unknown to me and in the bus today, I discovered them. Of course, the buses are the best way to see these hidden corners of the city as they take you through a maze of narrow streets lined with terraced houses whose front gardens are brimming with abundant summer foliage and scent-ridden blossoms. Jasmine is tumbling over moss-covered brick walls in an untidy disarray of fragrant blooms that grow sweeter at dusk. I have noticed that the plant we call “butterfly bush” (budeleia) in the States (and that despite so much care I have never managed to coax out of the ground or to produce a single lush flower-head) grows luxuriantly here, almost like a weed. It is seen in every hedge, its fat purple conical flower heads appearing almost as abundantly as lilacs. There are scarlet poppies growing wild along the roads and in ditches–they are truly weeds in this country– and hydrangeas have started to appear in a variety of hues. As for the hanging baskets, there must me some magic formula that causes them to explode as they do in England in a ferocious palette of primary shades as petunias flow copiously, bizzie-lizzies crowd the brim and leafy fronds of wispy ferns add to the bulk of these globular creations. I am constantly in awe of their abundance.

Rosie’s home is lovely–it is filled with the items she has purchased on her frequent trips to India–loads of Islamic artifacts from Lucknow. There is a gaddi, as was favored by the Nawabs of Awadh (formerly Oudh), covered in a sequin-laden, chiffon-like duppata. There are loads of pictures that hark back to good times in the Indian colony. The bathroom is a Cath Kidson creation–her wall paper and fabric designs are everywhere in posies of roses–in keeping with the owner’s name! The ‘Cries of London’ series of picture adorn the walls–a strange contrast, this Victorianness, with the Indianness of the black and white photos of Raj nostalgia outside.The kitchen is equally lived-in–loads of china line solid dressers, plants galore crowd around a tile-covered table. This is your typical English interior (the kind I have always adored and tried to emulate in my own decorating)… and then there is the garden with its own real apple tree laden with chartreuse fruit, some having already fallen on the lawn. I mean this is the stuff of which one reads in Enid Blyton’s books, isn’t it?–the apple tree at the bottom of the garden. And to see it in reality is rather overwhelming and I have to take a picture.

Rosie and I have a very interesting chat over a cup of coffee that she produces with some spicy samosas . Fellow academics have so much in common, not the least of which is their constant quest and delight in knowledge. She, like me, leads tours to India–her’s focusing exclusively on Raj History in the North. She shares her itinerary with me and I am intrigued to discover that there are still so many corners of India I have yet to traverse despite a lifetime spent traveling in the beloved country of my birth. I silently resolve to fill this lacuna in my wandering. She also informs me about new books about Anglo-Indian history that have just been published and promises to put me on to the authors. I am deeply indebted to her and her willingness to share her sources.

Then, I find myself saying goodbye. Stanley accompanies me to the bus stop and we chat about American colonial history in my neck of the Connecticut woods–Southport and Fairfield–what he calls “Puritan America”. He is soft spoken and I have to strain to hear him correctly. When my bus arrives, I jump on to it and several detours later–one of which takes me to Putney High Street where I find a complete set of unopened Penhaligon purse-sized scent phials in the Cancer Research Shop–I finally arrive at the National Archives at Kew.

I know the ropes here now and the systems that operate in this place–each place has different rules, but this time I am able to obtain a year-long Reader’s Ticket that gives me access to Confidential and Top Secret documents exchanged between officials on both sides–in Great Britain and in India at the time of the transfer of power. It is such fascinating information that I am enthralled and wish I could make notes about everything.

So much policy decision is becoming clear to me–the ones that prevailed with regards to repatriation of the Anglo-Indians in the UK makes absorbing reading and I realize how heavy were the odds against these people when they arrived here–and how creditable is their achievement in this country, even if slight in relation to their Indian counterparts–for they were clearly victims of racism and every attempt was made to keep them out of England and not to extend them a leg-up once they got here. Suddenly every story they shared with me about their early struggles in this country is all the more laudable. I now have a very good idea of the thesis I will create as I start to think about the writing of my book and the slant it will take as I begin to retell their oral histories.

Back home–the journey by bus took me exactly two hours–I transcribed one more interview–a rather long and very interesting one with Joe who has extremely unique views on his fifty odd years in the UK–then sat to eat my dinner while watching some nonsense on TV. I have to say that the Pakistani mangoes I bought in West Croydon are superb and tomorrow when I get to Wembley, I intend to buy myself another box–for not having had access to mangoes from the Indian sub-continent all these years while living in the States, I really do want to make the most of the opportunity I have this summer in the UK and pig out on them.

Examining Documents in the National Archives at Kew

Friday, July 10, 2009
London

I left my house at 9. 30 this morning after breakfast and a shower to catch a multiplicity of buses that finally took me to Kew Green where I asked for directions and found The National Archives. These are housed in a splendid modern building that is beautifully designed around a large artificial lake filled with geese. This is the place I had wanted to reach a few days ago when I was caught in unspeakable traffic at Chiswick and turned back. This morning, it wasn’t too bad and within two hours, I was there.

I made the error of forgetting to take picture ID with me–I had meant to carry my driver’s license. But when I pleaded my case and told them that so many documents were being held for me, the manager relented and gave me a reader’s ticket valid for today. I was, therefore, able to start my research at 12. 30 and believe me, I have no idea where the hours passed from then on.
It was 5 pm and the library was closing when next I lifted my head up! I was assigned Seat 10A and my requested documents had been stashed in a locker that was also marked 10A. This place is the very personification of organization and efficiency and I am deeply impressed. I had allotted the last two weeks of my stay here to examine these documents and because this place is so far out of the way, I hoped to finish it in two trips. But I fear I might need a few more sittings.

At any rate, the material I am reading in the files from the middle of the last century of the UK High Commission in Delhi and the Commonwealth Relations Office at Downing Street is pure gold. I finally have my hands on the very documents I hoped would shed light on the top level, highly confidential discussions that went on regarding the repatriation of Anglo-Indians from India and Pakistan to the Commonwealth countries and the concerns that were voiced regarding their welfare and progress in their newly adopted environments. I am absolutely delighted at what I have unearthed and I am very much indebted to Alison Blunt of the University of London whose bibliographical work has set me on the road towards finding this information and, therefore, being able to analyse and interpret it in the light of what I know of the personal experiences of the Anglo-Indian immigrants who made England their home and who have shared their lives with me over the past one year.

I finished with three files but since I requested six, I will be returning tomorrow to pour over the rest of them. What fascinates me, apart from the material itself, is the old tissue paper on which these letters were typed, the several typewritten copies of each item in these files (British bureaucrats sure loved to have everything typed and filed in triplicate!–now we know where the Indian obsession with bureaucratic red tape oirginates!!), the various stages through which the drafts went on the road to the finalization of policy decisions, the actual handwriting of the individual officials who were involved in this process–in fountain pen, no less. There is not a ball point pen in sight! It is difficult to decipher their handwriting occasionally (though some have exquisite penmanship) and the endless bureaucratic notes and scribbles they have made while cross referencing earlier documents or files or policies.

It so reminds me of my days in the Reserve Bank of India where I had a short stint in the Personnel Policy Department where I went through loads of files that were exactly like these–files bound in white tape that had passed through the hands of half a dozen different men in half a dozen different offices and bore the thought processes and logic of them all, each one justifying his decision and arguing his stance. The ability of these men to draft letters, memos, referendum, etc. is so marvelous. Indeed, their linguistic skills are enviable and there is nothing but the Queen’s English evident in page after page. In their diction and choice of phrase, I am continually reminded of my Dad, a veteran banker himself, whose own drafting skills were stupendous and whose old-fashioned forms of expression continue to delight me today. I am hard pressed to find a single grammatical or stylistic error anywhere! What a magnificent gold mine of information that has turned out to be and I am so excited at my findings! Indeed, this is the sort of day for which every researcher waits…and after a year in this country, I have laid my hands on exactly the sort of documents that I hoped I’d be able to quote in the chapters that will form the body of my next book. I was so absorbed by my reading and my typing of the extracts I wanted to preserve that I took just ten minutes to eat a packed lunch that I had carried with me and then I was back at my assigned desk again.

Then, I was on the bus at 5 pm, falling asleep in the slowly moving traffic (what a good thing I was not driving!) and arriving home at exactly 7.00 pm when I sat down to eat a slice of cake. Next thing I knew, I was transcribing an interview I did with Malcolm a few days ago and with this done, I have only two more interviews to transcribe before I bring my research work entirely up to date. I sat to eat my dinner at 10.00 pm while watching extracts from a documentary on the Hampton Court Flower Show.

Tomorrow, I am headed back to Kew and the Archives but only after I have had a meeting with Rosie Llewellyn-Jones, an English scholar who lives in Wandsworth and who has published her work on the Anglo-Indian community. Our mutual friend Blair Williams of New Jersey made the cyber introduction and Rosie was more than pleased to meet me tomorrow. I intend to go directly from her place to Kew.

The last weeks of my stay here in the UK seem to be leaving me with almost no time for any fun activities so I am very pleased that I completed almost all the items on my To Do List very gradually over the last one year! Now that I am down to the wire, I cannot afford to scrimp on library time, so I have my nose very firmly to the grind.

Last Interviews with Anglo-Indians

Thursday, July 9, 2009
London

No matter how much time I estimate it will take to arrive somewhere on the buses, it usually takes double! So, after breakfast and a shower, I left my flat at Farringdon at 8. 20 am for a meeting at 10 am at Norwood Junction to meet an Anglo-Indian couple from Surrey who had agreed to speak with me. Halfway through the bus ride, I realized that I had left their phone numbers behind–not that they had a mobile phone anyway…so I would not be able to contact them though I was running late.

Well, the bus route was probably one of the longest I have ever taken and when I did reach my destination (the Clock Tower) at Norwood Junction, they were nowhere to be seen. I had expected this, of course, as I did not think they would wait for longer than a half hour.

But since their ultimate destination was St. Chad’s Church in which a weekly Thursday Anglo-Indian Luncheon Meeting is held, that was where I headed and there they were! I was embarrassed at being so late, flustered, stressed and certainly not in the best frame of mind to do an interview–and that too with two people simultaneously. Also, I dislike the idea of meeting anyone at that meeting as the place is like a typical Indian ‘mela’. There are 150 to 200 people present in a church hall and the din is deafening! I find the atmosphere there deeply overwhelming and not conducive to any kind of academic activity–though it is great for socializing which is why they are there!

When I tried to get this couple to meet me some place else, they stubbornly refused–it was St. Chad’s or nowhere else! Though they are both retired, they are, like the loads of other elderly Anglo-Indians I had tried to meet–sooooooo busy they could not fit me anywhere on their calendars for over three months now!!! In my desperation to talk to them, I agreed to meet them at St. Chad’s. Bad idea from the get-g0. What with my tardiness, the unsuitability of the venue and the fact that they were in a hurry to return to their meeting, I did two of the most unsuccessful interviews I have ever done. But I guess, they swelled my numbers and I was looking for 50 people overall, so I am not entirely unhappy.

Having traveled all the way to this venue, I wish I could have said hello to a few of the Anglo-Indians who have been so kind and have given me so generously of their time such as the Ribeiros, Neville Johnston, Cecil Wilson, etc. but though I met Claire Jansen and exchanged a peck on the cheek with her and Ashley Jacob, I had to slink quietly out when the meeting began and did not manage to meet anyone else. Such a pity as I don’t think I will see any of them again and I have come to think of each of them as friends!

A bus ride then took me to West Croydon station where I was meeting another Anglo-Indian gentleman who arrived on the train from Surrey to speak to me. Owen Thorpe suggested lunch in the cafeteria at John Lewis but somewhere on the way there, he mentioned a dosa instead and I promptly told him that I would prefer the South Indian restaurant!

So off we went to eat vadas and dosas and a mango lassi (to which he treated me) and boy, was that fabulous! We chose a quiet corner and I ended up doing a superb interview at leisure (thank heavens he wasn’t in a hurry) and in silence, which allowed me to take notes freely and allowed him to take off and tell me about his life in India and the UK.

Owen is also a writer and has just published his memoir entitled Paper Boats in the Monsoon: Life in the Lost World of Anglo-India (Trafford, Canada). He presented me with an autographed copy of his book and was the last word in graciousness. For anyone interested in reading more about this book, here is Owen’s website: www.owenthorpe.co.uk

I was so glad that my very last interview in this country went off so well and was with someone who was eager to speak with me and freely give me of his time and memories. In fact, I felt a trifle sentimental as I scribbled everything he said as this was the very last time I would be asking the same questions! In total, I found 51 people who were willing to speak to me (across two generations) and I am very pleased indeed as this number will make my sample survey valid academically and allow me to create my own statistics.

At the end of our interview, being ever the gentleman he is, Owen escorted me to an Indian grocery store so I could buy some mangoes! I was looking for Alphonsos but I guess it is long past the season and I had to settle for some Pakistani ones which the salesman promised would be terrific!

Owen then dropped me to the bus stop and I promptly fell asleep during the long and very boring ride back home. I changed to the 63 at Elephant and Castle and was home by 5. 30. I took a short rest, then sat at my laptop and hammered out all three interviews as I transcribed my notes. I have now only three more interviews to transcribe–the ones I did in West Drayton and I hope to catch up in the next couple of days. With all these interviews in the bag and my data collection proceeding at the libraries and the archives, I shall be able to start analysis of it as soon as I return home to the States.

I ate a late, very late dinner (was so engrossed in my work that I did not stop until nearly 11 pm), mainly leftovers from my birthday dinner, then enjoyed a slice of Black Forest Cake and went to bed after reading some more Potter.

A Most Productive Birthday!

Wednesday, July 8, 2009
London

So I awoke at 6. 30 am to the realization that it was my birthday! This is not the first time I have had a birthday in a foreign country while entirely on my own. Twenty-two years ago, I was in Oxford on July 8 and not a single soul knew that it was my birthday! This time round, my cell phone did not stop ringing and I was delighted to hear from Bombay, the USA, Canada and friends right here in London who called, sent me e-cards as well as conventional cards. It was great and I certainly did not feel alone. At 8. 30 am, Isobel arrived to get on with her secretarial work for Paul and she was the first person to wish me.

I had little time to dawdle, though, as I had made plans to have my bureau-desk transported to Acton today through Headley’s Humper. Llew’s friend had loaned me his car with a driver and he arrived at 11.00 am which left me a good hour to edit my Oxford lecture. With the help of some carpet fitters who are currently working in the building, we got the desk into the back seat of the car in three minutes flat and rather effortlessly at that.

We had horrendous traffic all the way to Acton. But when we did get there, at about 1. 30 pm, I had the most nightmarish experience you can imagine. I mean, it was surreal. That same desk that had taken two guys almost no time to put into the car took eight blokes and about twenty minutes to get out! Believe me, I almost fell down on my knees in prayer as they struggled and huffed and puffed and tried to get the thing out of the doors. We tried everything: we moved both the car seats forward, we pressed down on the seat cushions to make more room, they attempted just about every trick in the book–all to no avail. In desperation, I began praying and then just when I thought there was no possible way to get it out, someone came up with the bright idea of duplicating in reverse the manner in which it had been fitted in. And that finally did it! Voila! The desk slid out and I could breathe freely again. As I said, it was a nightmare!

The silver lining to this awful cloud was that the gentleman who assisted me in the office upstairs, one Sega, was marvelously cooperative and made my life very easy indeed as I obtained a receipt from him. We were on the road in about a half hour and in less than twenty minutes, we were in Central London again–this time the traffic spared us!

I was dropped at Waitrose at Brunswick Square as I wanted to buy a load of supplies for dinner. I had invited my former neighbors Tim and Barbara over for dinner and they were expected about 7. 30 pm. I had a bit of a lie-down before I started putting together my no-cook menu:

1. Mesclun Salad with Grapefruit, Croutons and Toasted Goat Cheese with Citrus Vinaigrette.
2. Summer Couscous with Lemon Vinaigrette, Preserved Lemons, Toasted Almonds, Parsley and Dried Cranberries.
3. Parma Ham with Peaches in a Mint Vinaigrette.
4. Corn and Tomato Salad with Bacon and Basil in a Balsamic Vinaigrette.

And for dessert: Waitrose’s Black Forest Gateau. Since it was my birthday, I guess there had to be a cake!

With Buck’s Fizz cooling in the fridge and a bottle of white wine, I put out a few roasted almonds and some Indonesian crisps, then stepped back to change and get dressed. I so enjoyed putting together this no-fuss meal. It was simplicity itself and such a great way to beat the summer heat.

My guests arrived promptly at half-seven (as they say here!). It was great to see them again. They came bearing a large box of Leonidas’ Belgian chocolates–top of the line goodies that I know Llew will enjoy sharing with me.

Needless to say, we had a lovely evening, as always. They did discover it was my birthday only when they saw the cards that I had received. Incredibly, it was almost 11.00 pm before we knew it and when they left, I spent the next half hour clearing and washing up and still continuing to receive email messages. wishing me for the year.

My fridge is now full of leftovers and I will try my best to finish it all up before I leave. With my desk on its way to the States, a great weight is off my mind. I have now to think of ways and means to shrink all my stuff into four suitcases–two will go with Llew, two with me! It is a daunting prospect but, hopefully, will all be accomplished.

I am more than grateful for what has been an extraordinary year for me! I feel profoundly blessed for everything that this year brought along with it; but, most of all, for the love of doting parents, an adoring husband, devoted brothers, a loving sister-in-law, the cutest niece and nephew, a caring daughter and loads of fond friends–including the newest ones that I have made here in London–the company of two of whom ensured that I was not alone on my special day though so far away!

Library Research, a Disastrous Bus Ride and ‘Pottering’ Around Leicester Square Premiere!

Tuesday, July 7, 2009
London

I had intended to spend the entire day doing research at the libraries. But you know what they say about Man Proposing and God Disposing. It wasn’t as if I awoke late—nothing of the kind. In fact, I awoke at 6. 30 am, read another 40 pages of Potter, called my parents in Bombay, cooked myself some scrambled eggs with sausages and bacon (as I am trying to finish up all the food in my freezer in preparation for my departure at the end of the month), then showered and left my flat.

At the British Library:
I had expected to arrive at the British Library at 10 when it opened, but I got there about 10.30 and by the time I took possession of the documents that were held for me in the Asian Section (former India Office Library Collection), it was 10. 45 am.

One glance at a longish Anglo-Indian Memorandum of 1934 convinced me that I needed to photocopy the entire 32 pages of it. However, the cost was 88p per page and when I asked the assistant for help, he told me that he would see if the same document was available in Microfilm, in which case I could photocopy it myself at a cost of merely 20p a page—big improvement that! He then called for the item and informed me that it would take at least an hour before it was located and handed over to me.

This lent me the time to read a marvelous memoir by an Englishwoman named Elinor Tollinton who had spent most of her life in British India as the daughter of a former ICS man (A.R. Astbury) and later the wife of a British lawyer (Phil Tollinton). It was like turning the pages of The Jewel in the Crown all over again. She presented the memoir to the British Library in 1988, a little after the Raj Revival of the mid-1980s had brought tons of TV watching pleasure to Great Britain as it soaked in Imperial nostalgia—The Jewel in the Crown, the Far Pavilions, Gandhi, Heat and Dust—all these films had flooded the market at the time probably motivating people like Elinor to tell it as it really was; for she ends her memoir saying, “Recent films and sophisticated propaganda have introduced a picture which does not always accord with the facts. I know because I was there.”

The memoir, typewritten on very fine tissue-like paper is accompanied by an album of photographs that documents the construction of so many Public Works Projects in the undivided Punjab—bridges over the rivers, lodges and government bungalows in the Simla hills and the railroad lines and the new trains that were created to take Raj officials to the hills to escape the heat and dust of the plains in summer. It was not just the history buff in me that thrilled to these words but indeed the travel lover as well, for the memoir takes us through Germany before the war, Northern India at the time of the Raj–particularly Lyallpur (now in Pakistan) and Simla– Oxford where Elinor and her family moved after the Independence of India and Austria where they went on vacations.

It is a marvelous record of the adventures they encountered as they met with a gallery of personalities that fill the history books of the period: Gandhi, Nehru, Rajagopalacharia, Sir John Simon (of the Simon Commission) and Lord Wavel (last but one Viceroy of India). In-between Elinor talks about the epileptic fits that almost took the life of her son, Hugh, and her daughter Elizabeth’s refusal to answer to anything but her nickname, Buffy. At her school interview in London upon returning from India , when asked to spell her name, she said, B-U-F-F-Y, much to her mother’s acute embarrassment.

I had expected to find some information about the interaction of these British officials with Anglo-Indians but except for one small mention of their proficiency in running the Railways, there was nothing at all. Nevertheless, I did not consider it a waste of time and I was swept away into the Edwardian world with a vengeance—one of my favorite periods in history.

When, my document arrived, Chris, the assistant, showed me how to register to use the copy machine and how to photocopy from the microfilm reader. By 3. 30 pm, I was all done but I was starving as I hadn’t even taken a break for lunch having found my reading so absorbing. Back downstairs, it was pouring rain and I ate my quiche in the quadrangle under a large umbrella of the café outside called The Last Word. Then, I decided to wait a bit until the worst of the downpour had passed (as I had no umbrella) and when the fury of the shower had abated, I caught Bus 10 to Hammersmith and then changed to the 391 to Richmond.

A Disastrous Bus Ride:
I intended to travel next to the National Archives at Kew where several other documents were being held for me. This Archives are open on Tuesdays until 7 pm, which would leave me a good two to three hours to examine a few of them. That’s when my plans went completely awry. The bus took ages to arrive and when it did, two of them, infuriatingly, came together. And then the creeping and the crawling began. We were still at Oxford Street about 45 minutes later. By the time, I arrived at Hammersmith; it was already almost 6 pm. Still, I decided to push on and at least get to the Archives so that I could find out where exactly they are located and take the Tube there next time round.

Well, the 391 was even worse and by the time we reached Chiswick Road, it was past 7 pm. Yes, it had taken me three hours to get from King’s Cross to Chiswick!!! The Archives would have closed by then, so filled with irritation at myself for having chosen to take the bus, I got off at Gunnersburys Station intending to return home by Tube as I simply couldn’t stand the idea of doing the same bus journey in reverse!

Pottering Around Leicester Square:
Only instead of taking the Underground, I took the overground train! This meant that I had to get off at Willesden from where I transferred to the Bakerloo Line to get to Baker Street. At that point, I remembered that tonight was the World Premiere of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Well, the premiere was at Leicester Square and while the hoopla had begun last night, I thought I should try to catch a glimpse of at least one star. Besides, attempting to see a premiere at Leicester Square is supposedly one of the free things you can do in London and just for hoots, I thought, why not???

So there I was at Leicester Square where I arrived at 8.00pm. Alas, I was 15 minutes too late for the stars of the film had already entered the two theaters that were simultaneously showing the film and had disappeared. There was a huge stage set up, however, and though most of the crowd had left to grab dinner, a few stragglers were hanging about it. No one was clear exactly what was likely to happen later in the evening but the rumor did the rounds that the stars were inside watching the film and would emerge 115 minutes later to climb the stage and humor their fans.

The stage set was covered with red and yellow flags that featured the Gryffyndor logo on it: a dragon spewing fire, while another crest featured two crowns. I did not have my camera with me and after standing in the midst of the excited crowds for a while, I heard an organizer announce that the film had started late and it would not be until 10 pm that the stars would come out of the theater!

Just when I began to feel as if I should get back home (it had, after all, been a long day), who should emerge from the theater but Mr. Pottymouth Himself–Gordon Ramsay of Hell’s Kitchen fame with his wife Tana and his two kids. They must have wanted to use the toilet or something for they left the movie half-way through it! At any rate, with the crowd giving him a rather lukewarm cheer, he ascended the stairs with his young family and disappeared on the other side.
I heard someone standing next to me say to her companion, “Who was that?” and her companion said, “Oh, he’s that famous TV cook but I can’t get his name!” My Dad always used to say: “Fame is the food that dead men eat…I have no stomach for such meat” quoting someone or the other! (It was actually Henry Austin Dobson, 1840-1921).

Well, then, that was my brush with fame. I did not feel motivated enough to wait until 10.00 pm and I turned right around, took two buses that got me back home after which I ate a rice and curry dinner while watching extracts on BBC One of the Michael Jackson Memorial Service in LA, checked and responded to my email and wrote this blog before getting to bed.

The new Harry Potter film opens on July 15, so perhaps I shall see it when I get back home to the States—this novel was my favorite of the lot and though I want to go back to Southport and watch all the films in sequence, I must say that I am sorely tempted to see this one right here and now!

Interviewing Anglo-Indians in West Drayton

Monday, July 6, 2009
London

My day began at 6. 30 am when I resumed reading the last Harry Potter. Reached page 165 before I decided to spend some time reviewing my Oxford lecture. I was supposed to leave the flat at 10 am to catch the 10. 42 train from Paddington to get to West Drayton where I would be interviewing three Anglo-Indians who had agreed to chat with me.

After my breakfast and a shower, I drafted my lecture for about an hour and then it was time to leave. I took the Tube to Paddington, bought my ticket and got on the train as scheduled. Malcolm was awaiting my arrival at the station and since he picked me up in his car and drove me to this place, he made it so easy for me to get to my destination. I have to say that I have forgotten what a luxury it is to get around by car since I have been using public transport for almost a year now.

His friend Terry had just arrived as we pulled up to his driveway and, a little later, we were joined by Joe. The three of them, friends who go back a long way to their early youthful days back in India where they were classmates in the same school, have a wonderful camaraderie that is born by years of enjoying a tried and tested friendship.

I have to say that I found it much easier this time to interview three blokes at the same time. I seem to have perfected the method and organization that it takes to direct my questions from one to the other. I still find it disturbing when two of them start speaking to each other while I am talking to a third one as I simply cannot hear or concentrate on what the third is saying. Some people have the tendency to lose interest in the interview and start a conversation that has no bearing on the questions I wish to ask or the issues I wish to cover. That is why it is easiest for me to interview one person at a time. Anyway, for the most part, I managed to keep the conversation on track and I have to say that I received three very satisfying interviews by the time I was done.

We stopped half way through to enjoy the delicious lunch that Malcolm had prepared. He is a good chef and his parathas served with grilled chicken, dal and a potato sabzi were very tasty–good homey Indian food with no frills, but just wholesome and home made and very tasty. I have been touched repeatedly by the warmth and hospitality of these indivdiuals and the generosity they have exhibited as they have invited me to their homes and served me meals. It is great to see that they have not lost this aspect of their Anglo-Indian spirit, though I have to say that some served me nothing more than a cup of coffee despite my long distance to and from their homes.

Still, I know I will go back with wonderful memories in addition to the data I have collected. I took the train back (Malcolm dropped me back to West Drayton station) and I took the Number 15 bus back from Paddington. Once home at 6 pm, I transcribed the interview I had done in Oxford with Philip. By the time I was done proofreading and editing, it was 8. 30 pm. I stopped for dinner (quiche with sushi that I picked up from Simply Food) and then I sat to find bus directions to get to the National Archives at Kew tomorrow where I shall be spending most of the day reviewing documents; but this will be only after I have spent a couple of hours at the British Library looking again at the documents I examined a few days ago.

As the Month of July marches on, I find myself very busy but I am trying not to panic and hoping that I will be able to look at all the material I want to review before I leave at the end of the month.

Departure from Kent and Michael’s 60th Birthday Party

Sunday, July 5 2009
Isle of Sheppey, Kent and London

It turned cool during the night and what a relief that was all around for the heat had indeed been rather oppressive. I awoke at 7.00 am after a very restful night and got washed and dressed and ate a bowl of Aldi’s muesli (only 2% fat, said Cherry, and, therefore, superior to Tesco’s Finest muesli) and milk and got dressed for the 9 am mass at their small shed-like church where Cherry and David are Eucharistic Ministers.

Mass with a Small Island Community:
The nice thing about the mass was that everyone seemed to know everyone else—it is a very small island community and I really did feel the sense of friendship and fellowship in the members of the congregation. Fr. Frank, the parish priest and the one for whom Cherry does part-time secretarial work, was a jolly good soul and he joked with me when he was introduced to me. I really did like him immediately. He has, what the local newspapers have described as a “scruffy” dog called Breeze and the dog follows him around so faithfully that he actually perches himself on the altar during the mass. I have to say that I am not sure I like that too much as I believe it to be rather disrespectful of the sanctity of the altar–but, of course, this is my personal opinion and the rest of the congregation does not seem to find it offensive.

The other thing I found very disturbing about the mass was the constant wailing of the kids whose parents did not have the courtesy to walk out of church with them even when the Gospel reading and the sermon were on. While I do not expect every church to have a Cry Room as we have in our parish at St. Thomas Aquinas in Fairfield, Connecticut, I do expect parents to be considerate of the congregation when their kids are badly-behaved. Of course, other than this, I found the mass very good and I particularly liked the sermon that Fr. Frank preached—which was thoughtful and humorous and very enlightening.

After Mass, we returned home for a little fresh fruit—I tasted the cherries and strawberries from Mount Ephraim Farm and a fresh nectarine, which was really sweet, and delicious and less than an hour later, we were rushing off to Sittingbourne station so that I could catch the 12.16 train and get back to London Victoria.

Off to Maida Vale for Michael’s Bash:
I intended to get straight to Maida Vale for the 60th birthday party of my new friend Michael. I arrived at Victoria in exactly one hour and found the bus stop opposite the Apollo Victoria Theater (where Wicked is still going strong). The bus (Number 16) came along in just a few minutes and off I went, arriving at Elgin Avenue in about a half hour. I found the Anderson’s beautiful ‘Garden Flat’ easily enough and by the time I reached there at 1. 50, there were already a few people including Sushil who had arrived exactly at 1. 30, he said, when the party began.

I had a really enjoyable afternoon and met some wonderful ladies—whom I dearly wish I had met earlier in my stay here in London, There was Anju and Chote and Natasha and with them I had a wonderful conversation. I also met Cecil and his partner Anne and a very nice young guy called Andrew who has promised to put me on to an Anglo-Indian MP whom he says lives just below him in Acton. I really do hope I will have a chance to meet him.

The ladies were funny and interesting and we discussed a number of things including Salman Rushdie’s novels, their varied backgrounds, the ways in which they are all connected, etc. It really was a lovely gathering and best of all, the food was superb. The seekh kebabs and the mince samosas were fabulous. I lost count of the number of small wine glasses of Pimm’s cocktails I drank and then when lunch was served, it was marvelous. That biryani is easily one of the best I have eaten and the raita was equally delicious. There was a brinjal curry and a very interesting salad with cherry tomatoes, corn, avocadoes and olives in a light mayo dressing. And for dessert, the most enormous birthday cake I have seen—a grand chocolate affair with chocolate mouse and profiteroles studded on the top served with glasses of bubbly. So very Yum!

Of course, we ate and then when I saw Sushil leaving, I thought it would be good to leave with him as that would give me a chance to catch up with him as I haven’t seen him since we traveled to Calais and back.

Watching Wimbledon Men’s Finals at Home with Jack:
So, we left at 5. 15 when the Wimbledon Men’s Single Finals were still on: people had been gathering around the TV sets to keep abreast of the match. I got home at 6. 00 pm after taking the Tube from Maida Vale station and found Jack at home in the Farringdon loft watching the last bits of the match on TV in the living room. I joined him, very grateful to see him at home and together we saw the match come to its conclusion. It was a record-breaking match as Roger Federer tried hard to break Pete Sampras’ record of 14 Grand Slam titles in his fight against Andy Roddick–and did!.

Indeed Pete Sampras was present as were such age old champions as Bjorn Borg and Rod Laver (Australia). God, that aged me somewhat as I watched those old names from my youth. I remember when Laver used to play tennis and certainly Bjorn Borg was the great heart throb of my generation! So, when Federer won, Jack was disappointed as he had been rooting for Roddick, but hey, Roddick did give Federer a run for his money and Federer is invincible as anyone would agree and I rather think that his defeat to Rafael Nadal last year was truly a fluke.
At any rate Jack and I watched the end of the ceremony, the prize distributing, the interviews with the champions, etc. before Jack left and I was able to turn to my unpacking as well as catching up with this blog and a few calls that I had to make as I was determined to talk to Chriselle to whom I haven’t spoken for nearly two weeks.

Then, it was time for me to take a shower, do my laundry and get ready for what promises to be a very busy week ahead with interviews scheduled tomorrow at West Drayton and another visit to the British Library.