Tag Archive | Anglo-Indians

A Funeral in Lewisham

Jul14

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

Jul13

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 English Historian of the Raj and More Archival Research at Kew

Jul11

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

Jul10

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

Jul10

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.

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

Jul7

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

Jul6

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.

Pottering in Harry’s Footsteps

Jun26

Friday, June 26, 2009
Oxford and Witney

I guess the great weather had to come to an end sometime and that happened today. I awoke to the drumming of raindrops on my windowpane and though my curtains were drawn and didn’t allow me to see the falling droplets, I could hear them. I awoke at 7. 00 am, read Harry Potter for about 45 minutes, then got up to wash and dress and start breakfast at 9 am. It was a Continental affair again with a new face at the table—a girl from Johns Hopkins whose name I did not catch. We had a companionable breakfast and then it was time for me to get dressed and get to St. Antony’s College to pick up my ID card.

But great disappointment awaited me there as the card had not arrived (stuck somewhere in in an inter-office mailbag) and since today is Friday, I cannot expect to get it until Monday morning. Needless to say, I was annoyed as I walked towards The Broad. I had an 11.oo am appointment with an Anglo-Indian called Philip who had agreed to drive up to Oxford to meet me as he lives in nearby Bicester (pronounced ‘Bister’–bizaare!). The rain had stopped but the rain-washed scent of fresh summer flowers wafted towards me from the passing gardens along Woodstock Road with each step I took. The air was fresh and clean and despite the lack of sunshine, it was warm and rather humid and I had to pull my hoodie off.

An Interview with another Anglo-Indian:
Philip was already at the Blackwell’s Bookstore coffee shop when I arrived there. Every time I need to meet someone in Oxford, this has become the spot for our rendezvous—being opposite the Sheldonian Theater, it is very easy to spot—though as Philip pointed out to me, there are two or three Blackwell’s Bookstores in town. Over a café latte, Philip answered all my questions very patiently indeed. I found a great deal in him to admire especially his dedication to fund raising which allows him to help destitute Anglo-Indians in India. Our conversation was very interesting with never a dull moment. As always, the stories of these individuals inspire me deeply and make my fieldwork really stimulating.

The Harry Potter Tour:
It was almost 1. 30 by the time we left Blackwell’s. I crossed Broad Street (The Broad) to get to the Oxford Information Center but found that the folks who wished to take the Harry Potter Tour had already gathered outside the store. I joined them, produced my ticket and was introduced to the guide who would start to lead the tour in a few minutes. There were 20 people on the tour, of which at least half the number were children between the ages of six and eleven. The tour began with an introduction outside the store and from then on, it continued for two hours, the bulk of which I found deeply uninteresting.

In fact, I believe that this tour is a real misnomer. It merely cashes in on the Harry Potter hype and left me felling deeply disappointed. As the tour guide stated at the outset, “This is a tour about Oxford with a little bit of Harry Potter thrown in”. Granted I have only seen the first Harry Potter film, but the fact that I have read all the books (and recently at that) ought to have made it fascinating for me. Instead of which, I found myself bored stiff for most of the tour. The commentary was slow and lack luster and just very monotonously delivered and I found the kids just wilting with boredom. I doubt many of the adults were deeply stimulated either.

The group was led to just three spots associated with the Harry Potter films: the Divinity School where we were told about one of the scenes (when Harry is in the sanatorium in Book Four—The Goblet of Fire) and then we were shown pictures of Duke Humphrey’s Library where a part of the first film was shot. But we were not allowed into the library. When I asked the guide why he weren’t taken there, he said we’d have had to pay more. But we had already paid over 10 pounds for this tour! It wasn’t inexpensive, so why wasn’t Duke Humphrey’s Library included? Such a rip off!!!

Next, we went to New College where, in the cloisters, we were shown the spot where Malfoy is turned into a ferret under the shady branches of a spreading oak. Inside, in New College Chapel, we were shown the Joshua Reynolds stained glass windows and an El Greco painting of St. James–but there were no further associations with Potter.

The third location associated with the film was Christ Church College where we taken up the stairs with the spectacular fan-vaulted ceiling (where Prof. McGonnagal greets the new freshman students to Hogwarts) to the Great Hall (which was the inspiration for the Hall in the films—I repeat, this was the inspiration for the Dining Hall at Hogwarts, but the film was not shot on location here.)

So, basically, we were taken into Christ Church College to see the Hall and the Cathedral (both of which we could have done on our own without joining a Harry Potter Tour). Needless to say, I was deeply irritated with the entire tour, which I thought was a complete waste of money. I certainly hope that the Inspector Morse Tour which I am taking tomorrow will be more interesting and will have a younger and livelier guide and one who can make the commentary more humorous and more absorbing.

My Tour of Christ Church Cathedral:
I have to say that I found the tour of Christ Church Cathedral very interesting (but it had nothing whatsoever to do with Harry Potter). In fact, the guide had left us by this point and said goodbye, so we wandered around on our own. I have never been in here before and have decided that I will try to attend Evensong here tomorrow at 6 pm. Christ Church Choir is world famous (like King’s College Choir in Cambridge) and one of the highlights of my stay in England had been the opportunity to listen to them last December when I was in Cambridge.

Christ Church College has a rich and unique history. Not only was it founded by Cardinal Wolsey who began building it with his own colossal fortune (which explains why the symbol of the college is a Cardinal’s hat) but when he fell out of favor with the king, construction was abandoned until King Henry VIII took interest in it once again, called it King’s College for a while and later called it Christ Church College.The foundations of what were intended to become the cloisters can still be seen around the quadrangle. These were never completed. It is a Cathedral because it contains the seat or chair (‘cathedra’ in Latin) of a bishop. Thus, it is both a cathedral as well as a college chapel—the only one of its kind in the UK. It was used during the Civil War by Charles I as a refuge until he tried to escape from Oxford, was caught and led to his execution. It has some beautiful stained glass windows by Edward Burne-Jones done in the distinctive style of the Pre-Raphaelites. I found all of this material much more interesting than anything I saw on the Harry Potter Tour.

A Trip to Witney to Meet A Friend:
I hurried out of Christ Church College to try to find a bus that would take me to Witney where I had made plans to meet an old Oxford friend, Stan Fuller, once Hall Stewart at Exeter College when I was a student there. Stan and I have stayed friends over the years only through letters and the annual Christmas cards as he does not use email. Over the years, on my many trips to Oxford, I have met him for a cup of coffee and each time, I have found that his health has deteriorated some more. In recent years, he has become practically disabled with a knee injury that had rendered him bound to a wheel chair at home (he is now 77 years old). Though he does walk about with the aid of a walker, it is very difficult for him to move about.

I would have been pleased to have seen him in his own home, but clearly he did not wish to have me over in his house in Eynsham (pronounced En-shim). He suggested we meet in Witney Market Square and I took the Stagecoach S1 from Gloucester Green to meet him—a lovely journey that took about 45 minutes, given the rush hour traffic. I had a lively conversation on the bus with a lady who pointed out very interesting things to me along the way as the bus wound through the patch work quilt of the fields, past the little picturesque, typically English villages of the Cotswolds and a multitude of animals—horses, sheep and dappled cows were all in pasture .

Stan was waiting for me and I have to say that I was shocked to see how much he has aged since we last met—which must have been about eight to ten years ago. He has put on an enormous amount of weight (probably from lack of exercise) and he has black bags or pouches hanging under his eyes which I do not recall seeing before. My heart went out to him and I was so saddened by the manner in which he has aged. Given the hardships he had encountered to meet me, I was deeply touched by the effort he put into our meeting.

I suggested we get to a pub for a meal and that’s where we ended. Witney is a small medieval market town with its little market square, its stone shelter, its clock tower, its village green abutting a church with a brown stone turret-like spire. There is the sprinkling of shops and pubs in the market square and it was in one if these that we settled down for a natter. I ordered a half pint of cider for myself and a ginger ale for Stan who chose fish and chips while I had the steak and ale pie. There was rather a lot to talk about and Stan was eager to tell me everything about his family—his wife, his children and grand children. His interest in British History is very impressive and he always fills me in on valuable local historical information when we get together. He told me, for instance, that Witney used to be the center of the wool blanket industry—sadly, the last factory closed over ten years ago. He also told me that the native Americans were very partial to Witney blankets and that they once averted a massacre by using Witney blankets that they knotted together to shimmy down a ravine while the US Cavalry settled down for the night intending to attack them the next morning. I thought it was amusing that Stan referred to them as “red Indians”—a phrase that we used to use for native Americans when we lived in India. It has been a long time since I have heard that phrase!

Twenty-two years ago, it was a much younger and more vigorous Stan who had driven my friend Dr. Firdaus Gandavia (then a young doctoral student like myself) and me to Boar’s Hill to Matthew Arnold’s field to see his “dreaming spires of Oxford” from the vantage point at which he had sat and composed his famous poem The Scholar Gypsy. I still have a picture that I had taken then as I had perched on a wooden stile that protected the field from straying cattle. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since that lovely summer’s evening, so many years ago, and these memories were very much on my mind as I recalled how much local history Stan had introduced us to then. If only we could stop the Hand of Time from marching on in its destructive fashion, robbing us of our vitality and energy and leaving us to nurse wounded shadows of ourselves in our old age. All these thoughts made my meeting with Stan very poignant indeed and I am very glad that I made the effort to get together with him. Who knows, but the next time I return to Oxford, Stan might no longer by able to meet me anywhere!

It was finally time to say goodbye to Stan at 8. 20 pm when we stood together at the bus stop to wait for the bus that would drop him off at Eynsham and take me on to Oxford. It was while we were at the bus stop that he broke the news to me that a famous singer had died last night,. He could not get his name and asked the young girl sitting at the bus stop, “Who was the singer who passed away last night?” and she replied, “Michael Jackson”. You could have struck me down with a feather! Of course, I have no access to news media of any kind…so I had no idea anything of the sort had happened. Needless to say, I was speechless and when I finally did receive the details, the young girl told me he had died of a heart attack.

I have to say that I was still reeling with shock when I got off the bus at Oxford and walked on the Banbury Road to my place.

I spent the evening typing this blog and chatting with Llew and then getting ready for bed as I was suddenly very tired indeed.

First Time Visit to the Natural History Museum

Jun22

Monday, June 22, 2009
London

Hard to believe that after a whole year of museum-hopping in this city, there are still some important museums I have not yet seen. The Natural History Museum is a case in point. 2009 marks the second birth centenary of Charles Darwin, perhaps the greatest naturalist the world has ever known–so it seemed important that I should make the time to visit this shrine to his intellectual productivity. As you can tell, science is not my chief priority–which explains why I have visited several rather unknown museums, whilst this one had gone unnoticed.

But first things first. I have to say that I am delighted that my sleep patterns have improved tremendously. I awoke at 6. 30 pm and finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince–yyeess!!!–which has proven to be my favorite of the lot so far–though poor Dumbledore dies and Harry dumps Ginny! With just one more to go, it seems as if I might well meet my goal of reading all seven novels before my return to the States. My students should be very pleased as they were the ones who induced me to start reading the series.

But after reading for an hour, I felt very drowsy again and I fell back to sleep, only awaking at
8. 30 am. After checking email and blogging, it was about 1o am. when I got out of bed and decided to have not breakfast but brunch as I had to leave the house for a memorial service at Royal Holloway College for my friend and colleague Sally who passed away last year.

So I ate a plate full of salad and foccaccia and prawns and pasta–a real smorgasbord featuring all the leftovers I could find in my fridge. Lunch done, I called to find out exactly where the service would be held and discovered, to my horror, that it was not at Royal Holloway’s campus in Bloomsbury but in Egham, Surrey, to which I had to travel for the service. That meant taking a mainline train from Waterloo and going on a journey of 40 minutes into the countryside.

I had not bargained for so long a journey and had not left myself enough time. There was no way I would make it to the campus in Surrey especially if there were only two trains each hour to Egham. So I abandoned the idea of attending the service and took buses instead to Kensington where I spent a while browsing in the upscale thrift stores before making my way to the wonderful edifice that comprises the Natural History Museum.

Well, first of all, I have to say that the building is simply splendid. It rivals the Victoria and Albert Museum, I think, in grandeur and bulk. Its entrance towers above in the form of twin turrets and the rest of the structure is equally imposing. Made of honey colored stone with gray granite banding it at intervals, it is covered with wonderful sculptures of animals and birds all around the exterior walls.

But wait till you see the interior. I mean, it is just stunning. I am shocked that I might so easily have missed appreciating this incredible structure. Even if the collection is not really my cup of tea, the building is worth a visit for the sheer splendour of its architecture and I am so glad I went.

There is a kind of austere beauty about the inside achieved by the use of honey colored arches, and pillars and columns, all minutely carved with primates clinging to the sides and a crisscross design reminiscent of bamboo or sugar canes. It is really fantastic. And then, of course, there is the imposing dinosaur skeleton that dominates the central hall causing every kid to take a step back. At the far end of the hall is a lovely marble sculpture of Darwin himself looking benign and avuncular and so kind some kids might consider jumping into his lap for a picture–which might explain why there is a barricade around it to prevent any such hi-jinks!

I asked the guy at the Information Desk for suggestions. Where should a first-time visitor to the museum begin? Did he have a list of highlights? He was helpful but couldn’t really answer my questions. All he did was give me a map and describe the entire museum to me. However, because he did suggest that I begin with The Vault, that was where I first headed. This is a section on the second floor that deals with natural stone formations and The Vault contains precious and semi-precious stones, as the guy put it “as large as eggs”. And so they were: rubies and diamonds and aquamarines and peridots and a host of other stones. There was also a collection of every kind of colored diamond in the world which took 25 years to put together–pretty impressive.

I was more fascinated by the actual meteorites that have reached the earth after hurtling through space, having originated on the planet Mars or on the moon. You can actually touch a meteorite that was as large as a stool! All of this stuff was pretty wild and I have to admit that I was excited (though for some inexplicable reason, I felt sleepy and at one point was ready to collapse). It was clearly time for a cup of ginger and lemon tea and a cupcake that I had purchased from the famous Hummingbird Bakery in Kensington (a date cake with caramel topping–deeelicious!). This pepped me up somewhat and off I went again.

This time I aimed for the giant sequoia or Californian redwood that is cut in a marvelous cross section that allows you to see the thousand odd rings that proclaim its age–it was finally felled at the age of 1335 years! Of course, having visited the giant redwood forests in California last year, having seen these cross sections before and having actually stood under these trees, I have to say that I was not that impressed. Still, it made a good addition to the museum.

Next, I went out in search of the Blue Whale–a massive replica of it with its skeleton intact is visible on a floor with a whole host of other large animals–elephants, giraffes, hippos, yaks, bison, etc. The size of the blue whale was, I have to say, stupendous, and had I not seen this mammal in relation to the other animals around it, I would simply never have been able to fathom (excuse the pun!) its size! I mean it was staggeringly colossal.

I could not leave the museum without taking a look at the dinosaur section and the museum has a grand one–loads of dinosaur skeletons (though these are all plaster models, I believe) and a few fully mechanized dinosaurs of various sizes that growled menacingly at the kids–much to their wonderment and delight. It is probably because I do not have little ones that I am deprived of the pleasure of taking them to see things like this–but I have to say that this visit to the museum took me back to Bombay and the days when my parents used to take us on weekends to places such as the Prince of Wales Museum where one of our favorite sections was the Natural History section with all the stuffed animals. So it was good and I had a great time and was really glad that I will not be leaving London without having seen the marvels contained within this exotic space.

Before I got back home on the bus, I stopped briefly at the V&A Museum next door especially to take a picture of the Jeringham Wine Cooler (as I did not have a picture of it). I felt a twinge of regret as I left the space because I know that with my stay here soon approaching its end, I shall probably not return to the V&A again for a very long time. Still, I have to say that during the winter months, my forays through these spaces provided me with loads of hours of intellectual pleasure and I am so glad I had this wonderful opportunity.

At home, I attended to my email, made a booking for my bus ride to Oxford and back, tried to fix a few more appointments with Anglo-Indians for interviews, had my dinner, wrote this blog and went to bed–but not before starting the very last Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows).

Visiting Cliveden and An Afternoon with Anglo-Indians

Jun21

Sunday, June 22, 2009
Maidenhead, London

Another gorgeous day in London meant that I could look forward to a wonderful day out in Maidenhead. I had been invited, many months ago, by my friends Henry and Marian Holley to join their group of local Anglo-Indians at their quarterly gathering in Maidenhead. Since I had not been able to make it there on past occasions, I really was determined to get there today and since Maidenhead is close to Windsor Castle and is reached by a train journey, I looked up my map to find out if there were any National Trust properties close by that I could visit–with the intention of killing two birds with one stone.

Well, it turned out that Cliveden (pronounced ‘Cliv-din”), another fabulous property, is in the small town of Taplow, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from Maidenhead. I had consulted with Henry on the possibility of combining an excursion to this place with an appearance at his meeting and he graciously offered to pick me up from Cliveden at the end of my visit and drive me to Maidenhead for the Anglo-Indian do.

More National Trust Peeves:
So I left my place at 9 am, took a bus to King’s Cross (as “planned construction” at Farringdon has closed down the Tube stations for the past few weekends–bummer!) and took the Tube to Paddington from where I caught the 10. 15 train to Maidenhead (9. 50 pounds round trip). A taxi that I hailed outside the station (because, once again, there is no public transport available to Cliveden–double bummer!) meant that I had to fork out another 14 pounds to get there. However, I realize that I have no choice in the matter and that until and unless the National Trust decides to run a shuttle service from the railway stations to its properties, visitors like myself will simply have to deal with the expense and the convenience.

When I arrived at Cliveden, however, I was faced with another huge disappointment. Entry to the mansion at Cliveden (which has been converted into a fancy deluxe hotel) is open to National Trust members only on Sunday (so says the website, which also refers to “timed entry”). Timed entry means that only a few visitors at a time can take guided tours inside. However, nowhere on the website is it mentioned that these timed entrances and guided tours begin only at 3. 30 pm with last entry at 5. 30 pm! Can you believe how irritated I was when I discovered this? Well, again, what could I do but deal with it? What would it take for the National Trust to state on the website and in their publicity literature that tours are given only between 3. 30 and 5.30 pm? That way, visitors would organize their day in such a way as to spend the early afternoon touring the gardens and then take the tour! Is this too much to ask of a national organization that has existed for over a century??? Really, I do believe it is time they got their act together!

Touring Cliveden’s Gardens:
Well, left with no choice, I began my tour of the garden. I had exactly one and a half hour to do this as Henry was due to pick me up at 1 pm. The map I was handed was very helpful indeed and I soon found my way through the various individual gardens that make up the property.

Before I began my own walking tour of the gardens, I watched an introductory film that filled the visitor with interesting information about the history of the house which is associated mainly with two persons: Waldorf and Nancy Astor. These were multi-millionaires who were also associated with politics (Nancy was elected MP four times). They gave glittering balls and welcomed some of the leading lights of the era into their sprawling home including members of the royal family. The house received rather unsavory attention in the mid-1970s during what has been termed The Profumo Scandal which involved an MP called John Profumo who cavorted by the pool with a young lady named Christine Keeler who was, at the same time, involved in an affair with a Russian named Ivanovic, who also happened to be a spy. All hell broke loose in the press when the affair was made public and it brought down a government at the time.

After the passing away of the Astors, the property was left to the National Trust who, for a time foolishly leased it out to an American university whose students treated the grand manor and the gardens in the way they would a student dorm–i.e. without the slightest respect for its noble antecedents–much to the horror of the retainers who watched their beloved Cliveden decay before their very eyes. When the lease ended, it was decided to turn it into a five-star hotel–an idea that has worked superbly. The Cliveden is considered one of the greatest hotels in the world and, no doubt, brings valuable revenue to the National Trust.

My wanderings took me, first of all, to the Long (Italianate) Garden with its large bird shaped topiaries and its classical statuary. The Secret Garden was larger than I expected (most secret gardens are tiny and tucked away–this was neither), but it was charming indeed with delicate arbors, more statuary and a variety of flowers with an emphasis on the colors yellow and purple. Needless to say, I could not stop clicking and I soon ran out of memory space on my camera–most frustrating. I loved the Ilex Grove that was full of wild purple foxgloves. When I reached a clearing in the thickly wooded grounds, I had fabulous views over the Thames Valley with the thin ribbon of the river gleaming in the bright sunlight. Really lovely parkland for casual walks and I saw many couples strolling hand in hand as well as babies being pushed around in strollers.

I then found myself looking up at the beige mansion itself and had a chance to appreciate its classical architecture–its balconies and balustrades, its gold headed Clock Tower and its castle-like roof. It was designed by Charles Barry, the same one who designed the Houses of Parliament in London in the mid-1800s. From the Duke’s Garden with its lush herbaceous border beds with their vivid patches of color against brick walls, I made my way to the rear Terrace where I could see the Parterre with its Elizabethan Knot Garden stretching ahead of me. A few feet below me was the Chapel, a classical architectural feature to be found in a great many formal gardens…and a little further was the War Memorial Garden.

Soon it was almost 1 pm and I had to return to the Reception kiosk and on asking my way there, I passed by the Blenheim Pavilion (another classical architectural feature). I am so pleased that I made the choices I did in the past few weeks as these varied gardens have allowed me to see and appreciate the same features that make up some of the more famous English gardens such as Chatsworth and Stowe which happen to be too far away from London and not easily reached by public transport. This way, I have made the most of my National Trust membership, have reached gardens that are superbly representative of English country styles and have completely satisfied my appetite for summer garden outings.


The Anglo-Indian Gathering:
Then it was 1 pm, and Henry arrived to pick me up. In less than ten minutes, we were at the church hall of St. Edmund Campion in Maidenhead where the meeting was held. I had expected a much larger crowd, similar to the one I had found at the South London Anglo-Indian Association’s Thursday meeting but saw that there were no more than thirty folks comprising many elderly Anglo-Indians with a few white English people scattered through–the fact that it was Father’s Day probably accounted for the smaller attendance. Henry made a general brief introduction and we headed straight towards the counter where I met his wife Marion and their lovely daughter Karen who handed me a glass of orange juice. No one was drinking any alcohol which rather surprised me.

On one table was a selection of pickles and marmalade for sale–the prawn balchow was made by Henry and I couldn’t resist taking a bottle home for just 2 pounds. There was also another table full of food items on raffle. All these items were donated by the various people who had arrived there and all the proceeds raised by these raffles went towards the donations made to Anglo-Indian organizations in India. Seated at the table with me over lunch, Henry explained to me what these various charities are–they help schools in Calcutta and Madras (such as the Bateman’s School in Madras).

I also met Philip who with his partner Sue help street children in Bombay through the various charities they fund. Last year, they made donations of over five thousand pounds to charities in India. Philip explained to me the ingenious ways in which this money is raised–he receives all the rejected items from department stores like John Lewis which he then sells to the public at heavily discounted prices through car booth sales. He and his English partner Sue personally visit these schools, once a year, to supervise the activities. I was astonished to discover that they have donated computers, school buses, water coolers, etc. to these schools and will continue to do so. Indeed, in most places I go, I find the Anglo-Indians supportive of charity ventures in India, many donating through Sr. Marisa in Calcutta. Their goals and their achievements are highly impressive and perhaps more so because so few people really know how much they give because their efforts are rarely publicized.

Lunch was a marvelous pot luck affair all laid out on long tables. Everyone had brought a dish or two and there was everything you could imagine–from samosas and spring rolls for starters to parathas, steamed rice. pea pullao and a huge variety of curries: green chicken curry, beef curry, pork vindaloo, vegetable curry with raita to cool the palate. On another table stood a variety of desserts. Of course, these being my weakness, I made sure I saved room for some: my favorite Waitrose Black Forest Gateau was present but, by far, the most popular dessert was the sliced tinned mangoes with vanilla ice-cream, though I have to say that the Marks and Spencer Pecan and Meringue Roulade that I tasted for the first time was scrumptious and definitely something I will buy to enjoy myself before I leave from here.

Most of the folks had heard about me and my work from Henry over the past year and they were warmly welcoming, making a special effort to come up and talk to me over lunch. I found them a truly jolly lot and it was loads of fun to get to know them. After lunch, Henry said a few words to bring the crowd up-to-date on the state of their charities and to prep them for the big Anglo-Indian Day that is held in Croydon on the first weekend in August. Alas, though I have received many invitations from so many different groups to attend this, I simply cannot as my visa expires on August 1 and I have to leave the UK before that date! However, this group has a Bottle Sale on that occasion as well as other fund-raisers–all of which go towards the support of their less-privileged counterparts in India.

Henry then invited Nicholas Thompson to address the group and give them an update on the Bateman’s School that is run by his Cambridge-educated daughter Alex in Madras. Nicholas, an Englishman who served in the British army in India during the war, was stationed for a large part of his life in modern-day Pakistan and his daughter Alex was born there. Both of them have devoted their lives to India and to the welfare of her downtrodden.

Henry then invited me to address the crowd and tell them about my work and I was delighted to do so as well as to invite those folks who’d like to share their life stories with me to come forward and give me their names and telephone numbers. I was so pleased when so many of them came forward to meet me personally and volunteered to become a part of my study. I am even more thrilled because now I will probably return to the States at the end of July having reached my goal of 50 respondents–not only will this make my survey sample substantial enough to be recognized as a valid study group but it will increase my chances of getting my manuscript published as a book by an academic press in the UK or the USA.

So, I am truly grateful to the Holleys in ways that words cannot express because they have been supportive of my scholarly work from the very outset. It was Henry who saw the notice on the Anglo-Indian Portal website inviting Anglo-Indians to come forward to contact me. He did so and we have struck up a fine and very productive friendship for which I am very grateful indeed.

Then it was raffle time and at five pounds a pop, several folks bought 10 pounds worth of tickets–at the end of the day, the group collected almost 100 pounds that would go towards their charitable ventures. I was fortunate enough to leave the venue with a box of Cadbury’s Roses chocolates (Llew’s favorite) and a bottle of Buck’s Fizz–the very essence of an English summer! However, there were folks who went home with as many as five and six prizes that included everything from chocolates and bottles of wine to ceramic mugs and tins of sweets.

When the event came to a close, everyone pooled in to clean and clear out the space. It was at this point that so many folks came forward to give me their names and telephone numbers. A few of them live as far away as Oxford and they have promised to get together with me when I am in Oxford next week. I was so taken by the willingness with which they offered to share their stories with me. It makes me feel as if my year in the UK was a hundred per cent productive in terms of my research.

Henry and Marion invited me back to their home in Maidenhead for a cup of tea where we were joined by close friends of their–Royce and Leona and Terry. Seated in their living room over cups of Marion’s steaming cups and joined later by daughter Karen, I sat back and drowned in laughter created by these folks as they reminisced about their growing days in India and about the many hilarious experiences on their trips back–for they do return as tourists and travel on Indian trains, and as they recalled the various cultural misunderstandings that have assailed them, I doubled up with laughter. It was a hysterically funny evening and I don’t think I have laughed so much in a very long time. Clearly, these folks have the deepest affection for the land of their birth and they return to it with the warmest anticipation. Despite the many changes they have seen in India since their departure for greener pastures and the many inconveniences they face when they are there, they clearly have a fantastic time with their family members and return with a bagful of priceless memories.

Then it was time for me to leave. Henry dropped me back to Maidenhead station for the 7. 06 train. I arrived home at exactly 9 pm but was so stuffed from all the eating I had done all afternoon that I skipped dinner (they had also sent me home with a load of leftover curries which will keep me fed for the next couple of days!). I spent a while reviewing my email, blogged a little bit, downloaded my pictures from my camera and went to bed about 11. 00 pm. after what had been another truly memorable day.