COLONIAL HANGOVER

 

COLONIAL HANGOVER

Oh Papa! where were you? Exclaimed Rey. I saw he and Hina had been struggling with his school tie. I had gone for my morning walk and it seemed they were at sea making a knot for the new school tie. Thank God I didn’t have to suffer this utterly useless piece of garment in my school I thought! Countless millions of Indian kids have suffered this noose around their delicate neck in the tropical heat. Just to follow in the footsteps of the Brits! As have the legal eagles of UP and Bihar and Bengal and Madras, suffered the black coat that is mandatory in Indian courts. The other day I happened to go to High Court of J&K and Ladakh and was surprised to see lawyers wearing a long black robe over and above the black coat and roaming around like those wizards in Harry Potter movies. And it was 36 degrees in the heat wave (?) that had gripped Kashmir on that 25^th day of June 2025.  ‘Akhir kab tak’? I ask. Thank God we no longer have judges lording over the proceedings in those strange and funny wigs! On second thoughts, can the government bring back the wigs to finger them as they won’t allow the NJAC? And won’t clear the backlog of 4 crore cases while annually going on mass vacations?

Our unconditional love for all things western truly baffling. Inspite of our chronic shortage of water and much greater shortage of toilet etiquette, we have replaced the humble ‘Indian Toilet’ in public conveniences for the ‘Western Commode’. Our higher echelons are filled with the ‘Brown Sahibs’. Especially in the Army I joined they were everywhere. We took our baby steps in tune with the bagpipers playing Scottish tunes in the heat of Meerut. We wore Mess dresses which would not be out of place in medieval England. There were tailors like Mehtab (God bless his noble soul) who raised an Army of children on the earnings brought by lifetime of stitching these special line of garments for us Griffins. Old timers in the Army still lived as if they were serving His Majesty! They offered Beer and Gin during lunch and whiskey in evenings as if the Sun had never set for the English!  We tried to latch on; though in our hearts we knew, a lassi during noon and a Thandai in evening would be better for our ‘native’ heart and soul. However ‘It Was Not Done’ and we could ‘Not be a Sissy’. So we followed the conventions. ‘Called On’ the seniors faithfully when we joined new stations. It was an alien concept for us. To understand it better I borrowed a book on Mess Etiquette by one Colonel Roach from the unit libraray.

 It muddled my mind further as it suggested I had to go and drop ‘card’ starting at the senior most government official including the Governor or the President (Viceroy)  and then lower in the pecking order. Good sense prevailed as I junked it as outdated. I stuck to my Battalion only. Thank God ‘Ball Dancing‘ had become rare and though I heard of a couple of Generals who could waltz, I or my wife never encountered one. Now all those relics are safely retired. Till date, I have not been able to fathom what the couples engaged in ‘Ball Dance’ underwent in their minds and hearts; looking into each other’s eyes while maintaining close physical intimacy. I am sure few Indians can indulge in such activity with own spouse!

Before Army, I had gawked at the exclusive ‘club’ in great awe. Once a member, I thought I will indulge in clubbing seriously rubbing shoulders with the who’s who of Cantonment and city. However, once admitted I found its era had already ended. Gone were the days along with disappeared whites and their plethora of servants who ensured the Goras had all the time to kill in evenings, An average British Bungalow in the Cantt used to have 60 odd servants for an officer during Raj - bhishti, khansama, the Khidmatgar, the dhobi, the darzi, the pankhawala, the sweeper, the cook, the barber, the syce, the  ayah, the mali, the abdar, the tonga driver, the hookahwala, the harkara, and barber. However, I continued funding the 1868 vintage club with my monthly subscription for sake of heritage and in search of utopia..

During my career, I came across lot of Bombastic slogans displayed boldly in various Army units. I myself painted many myself in my subunits. Fantastic Quotes of Napolean, Churchill, Slim, Montgomery, Eisenhower, adorned the walls in my Areas of Influence. Till one day I realized they made no sense to my troops! Since that day I returned to my roots. I gave names like ‘Desert Riders’, Hamesha Mustaid’ and ‘Sabse Aagey’ to units I commanded. Those names stuck and are till today motivating the soldiers! Infact you just have to tell the e - Rickshaw wallah to take you to ‘Sabse Aagey’ and need not tell the longish 4 word name of the unit!

The Prime Minister has identified ‘Breaking the Shackles of slavery’ as one of his KRA’s. But given our obsession for everything English or Western, its anybody’s guess how long before we stop thinking, speaking, living in English. Our English. None other than our own Cambridge educated Manmohan Singh had to once tell the assembled white people that whether they understood him or not, he was actually speaking in English!

Thankfully, PM remains resolute. NEP’s 3 language formula is a step in that direction. So is calling India ‘Bharat’ and his speeches in international fora in Hindi. More and more people are proud to express themselves in Hindi now. People like Sudhanshu Trivedi are making people rethink of power of expression in the vernacular. Even English News Channels like Times Now and Republic TV have metamorphosed into more or less Hindi channels what with Arnab Goswami too improving his Hindi by leap and bounds! Maybe in our life time we will see coming of age of Bharat and truly be proud of ‘Hamara Bharat Mahan’.