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Bombay is literally a barren rock, and presents no encouragement to agricultural speculations; but its commercial and maritime advantages are great. It is the only principal settlement in India, where the rise of the tides is sufficient to permit the construction of docks on a large scale; the very highest spring tides reach to 17 feet, but the usual height is 14 feet.
Bombay street scene, 2:00 pm, middle-/upper-middle-class neighborhood, sun warm, warming up. Fruit juice stands, bars, tea stalls. Youth in stone-washed jeans, sockless running shoes, plaid flannel shirt (light blue and olive), in conversation with another 20-year-old, olive slacks, blue-striped white shirt open 2 buttons at neck. Respectable middle-class women passing behind, on way home from shopping, saris in rather drab colors, expressions tired/fatalistic, plastic-rimmed glasses perched on nose of one. Cloudless sky, gusty breeze moving large leaves of tree in and out of brightness to dapple paving stones below. Street quite active with moderate traffic, vehicular, pedestrian. A pair of middle-aged men stands in conversation across street. A girl in pink western dress passes, a large red plastic bag in her hand. “State Bank of India” behind bus stop, behind passing red Maruti, white Ambassador, yellow-topped/black-bottomed cabs. A man’s bicycle parked at curb, woman in brown sari, eyes downcast, passing. Two barefoot middle-class boys, one in yellow shirt, red shorts, 10 and 8, the younger listening to long explanation. Servant women introduce a subtler color into the scene, as they sway past under enormous head-borne baskets, the first in a pale yellow, the second in a pale pink sari, both with white undergarments. An old man in a black Nehru cap, black plastic eyeglass frames, white shirt, beige jacket, white dhoti.
Descent stepwise into middle-class neighborhood, scattering of homeless camped on sidewalk by hoarded empty bottles, pile of cardboard boxes. Cool side of street offers view of sunlit pedestrians passing opposite side, though most of the traffic is “autos,” new cars, commercial trucks, an occasional large red city bus. “This little island commands the entire trade of the north-west coast of India, together with that of the Persian Gulf.” The colors of signs on storefronts are distinctive. “Reliable Chemists” has its words lettered (cut out of wood by jigsaw) and mounted on a creamy yellow ground, the “Reliable” in a matte red-orange, the “Chemists” in a matte grayed blue. “The principal cargo of a ship bound from Bombay to China.” Above, on the facing of a valence over the letters. “Is cotton.” A hand-painted green design repeated as border. “In the stowing and screwing of which.” Below the shop’s name. “The officers are remarkably dexterous.” In venous red. “The other part of their cargo consists of.” Outlined in arterial. “Sandal wood.” A name in Marathi. “Pepper.” Along with 2 bright red medical crosses. “From the Malabar coast.” In white circular fields. “Gums, drugs, and pearls.” Next door “3ple touch.” “From Arabia, Persia and Abyssinia.” In specially styled plastic 3-dimensional letters. “Elephant’s teeth.” “Clothiers & Men’s Wear” in dark blue plastic. “Cornelians.” Below this a canvas banner variously lettered. “And other produce of Cambay.” In red (with yellow drop shades). “Shark fins.” Green. “Bird nests, &c.” Plus green outlined in electric peach. “From the Maladives.” Baby blue. “Lackadives.” Plus baby blue outlined in saturated pink. “And eastern islands.” On the other side a Konica store (photo supplies), its rainbow drawn from the international advertising format, but at the curb a local Xerox sign, letters descending in dark blue outlined in very pale, very thin border, on deep yellow ground, black border.
Busy market scene, opposite railway station, view from under as-yet-incomplete overpass. Fruit stall, author seated beside it, with bright oranges, apples, hanging bunches of grapes. Two women, the elder in fantastically-colored outfit: blue choli, magenta floral-patterned sari, draped with light fabric shawl in half a dozen bright colors. Melons, pomegranates, figs (in boxes), more unidentifiable fruits. Author approached by beggar in bright sari, monkey on leash. Beggar complains that proffered coin is inadequate. Monkey mounts author’s boot as he continues to write; beggar continues to exhort, using drum with leather thongs to create racket/underscore her points.
Bright sunlight catches woman in red sari crossing main street, her 3-year-old son, green shorts, white shirt in her arms. The light pours through the loose elements in her wind-blown garment. Meanwhile the white light reflected off the street’s asphalt strongly contrasts with the shade of the curb, where a line of 6 merchants, standing in various postures, as another 2 sit to tend melons, squashes, grapes, oranges, string beans. Behind them and downstreet the sunlight catches the pie-shaped sections of a vendor’s umbrella: purple, yellow, alizarin, emerald; the 4 colors repeated, as a tall man in white walks by, a guard in khaki. Behind them a woman in yellow top, portly bulge in her bright red, green-bordered sari, all 3 colors accentuating her dark brown skin, black tresses.
“Among the Europeans the rage for country houses prevails as generally as at Madras, and is attended with the same inconveniences, all business being necessarily transacted in the fort. The generality of the country houses are comfortable and even elegant, and though not so splendid as those of Calcutta and Madras, are better adapted to the climate and enjoy more beautiful views” (Hamilton).
Author stepwise ascent into middle-/upper-middle-class neighborhood, he now seated on concrete planter surrounding a large tree. Street, swept this morning, with only a scattering of yellow, yellow-green leaves. Workers, middle-class denizens, girls in the peculiar colors of the rich and upper-middle class: pink, cream, black; pale yellow pajama pants and jackets, they passing by, in “sophisticated” conversation, licking ice cream cones. Downstreet a group of old women in procession crosses the street, every one of its members wearing some white garment, most in association with a pastel sari. A man in his mid-30s, also in white, a bolt of yellow polka dot fabric rolled up under his arm, looks at author intently as his description progresses. A woman and her daughter, the portly mother in purple top, yellow-and-white sari, spits into the street as she observes author writing; the daughter, a pannier of bright stainless steel pots atop her head, an ocher shift worn gracefully below, looks at him with the darker regard of someone laboring. Behind these passersby, the constant activity at a sign shop, where customers enter and leave: tea delivered from the tea stall across the street; a painter painting at a sign. His recent works, stacked in view of the sidewalk: a full-color portrait of an Indian woman’s face (turned sideways); a sign reading “FINE INKS INDIA” (the words headed down), another reading “231 DN ROAD” (its numerals and characters headed up). Author stepwise descent into a new, lower-middle-class/working-class neighborhood.
“Eating House / Grade III.” Muslim men in caps, workers in light brown uniforms. “The Parsee inhabitants possess nearly the whole of the island.” Smell of gas, cheap vegetable oil. “Open For All Community / No Side Food Allowed.” “In general they are a tall comely race, athletic and well-formed.” View across street of blue-and-white-painted petrol pump (service station), boy walking off duty, to this side of street, New-York-like posture of resignation. “And much fairer than the natives of Hindostan.” “Wash Basin ─ Do Not Comb.” Atmosphere of desperate quietude, restaurant interior. Parked outside: yellow-topped, black-bodied taxis, a smaller unidentifiable vehicle under black plastic wrap, fluttering in the occasional gusts of breeze that interrupt this noontime sultriness. A 60-year-old woman passes on sidewalk, brightly sunstruck in her hooded red-and-cream sari. “The females are more remarkable for chastity than cleanliness.” In contrapposto she looks back into restaurant. “The girls are delicate & pleasing, but the bloom of youth soon disappears.” Food arrives: oil-drenched, pepper-infiltrated omelet, fry-burnt chapattis, cup of “nessceffé.” “And before 20 they grow coarse and masculine.” Another elderly woman standing on sidewalk, sari in deep green, yellow/red bordered. A gold earring graces her beautiful profile, as she stares out contemplatively into space. A red double-decker bus occludes both doorways as it passes. (Quotations from Hamilton.)
“The launch bobbed, and soon Gateway of India became a hazy monument.” Bombay Central continuation, “Hindustan Tyres,” “Same Day Service” (Bharat Laundry). “On board, N. Chandra was picturising a ‘love’ duet on Dharam-Anil for Humla.” Lad in “University Shop” light blue sweatshirt passing. “Lunch-break.” “Why nervous?” ─ ad ─ “If you have lost vitality” ─ plastered on wall, half torn off ─ “Country Fame, Leading Specialist is Available.” Dharmendra snoozed, after gorging a cake-shop (half a dozen pastries). Magazine stand, visage of a movie star (multiple images), swaying in the breeze. “While a windswept Anil, clad in shorts, did the interview.” A woman of 30 in black choli, black sari (patterned in chinoiserie) passes along the street. “Both of us raising our voices.” Pan stall, lottery tickets, general food stall. “Drowned by the drone of the chugging launch.” Large pile of rain-sodden debris, a single sandal atop it, several feet from curb.
MOVIE: “What next?” Najivam Co-op Housing portal.
Anil (half getting up from his seat): “Madh Island.” Wind-whip, sudden rain-deposit.
MOVIE: “No, really. What next after Tezaab, Ram Lakhan, Eeshwar? Twenty-degree instantaneous temperature drop.
Anil: “My next release is Rakhwala.” Rain-laden wind whipping through 60-foot tunnel to dampen author page. “But even if that clicks it doesn’t mean that I’m a superstar.” Interior view of 12-story housing block.
MOVIE: “Don’t four hits in a row make a superstar?” Dirty cream; unpainted; single freshly-cream-painted units.
Anil: “I’ve become a big star but I’m not convinced that I’m a superstar.” Views of laundry at half the portals. “I still need a good script, a good director.” A woman looking down from the fifth floor, a piece of underwear in her hand. “In fact, calling me a superstar.” Which she now hands to an older woman balanced on a stool. “Is one way to make me retire.” Who, placing it on a stick, elevates it to a pole overhead to hang it.
MOVIE: “Why are you so scared of the superstar label?” In the courtyard below, sunlight emerging, stands a khaki-clad guard, whistle in hand, attached to his shirt with a green cord. He wears a red beret.
Anil: “It’s very tough to be a superstar.” Sun now strikes beret, molding its form from a deep shadowed ruby to a glistening carmine. “Like Michael Jackson is a superstar.” Ad for “Prakh Computer Services.” “I think the only superstar in India is Amitabh Bachchan. Even a lousy film can run because of him. There will never be another star like Amitabh.”
MOVIE: Bombay Central sidewalk scene. “Talking about Amitabh.” Author seated, ledge of sidewalk shrine. “Do you consider yourself lucky.” Blue-and-white, green-and-white tiles. “That you’re not his contemporary?” One tile-inset in form of Christ, drops of blood dripping from his hand.
Anil: The other tile-inset in form of Vishnu. “I don’t think I’m lucky that I’m in the next generation after Amitabh’s.” Cobra in hand. “I came at a difficult time when there was an onslaught of color TV, video, cable.” Across from author, also under shade of tree, a tent family. My first film, Woh Saat Din, was one that can be enjoyed on video also. Lively daughter of 27 in white dress, black pulla. “Like Amitabh’s Anand.” Her father, late 60s, seated on daybed under their awning, whose corners have been attached by rope to heavy pavement shards. “But unfortunately, unlike Amitabh, I lost a chunk of my audience to video.” Attendants at a bus stop, also but 20 feet away, glance nervously, dully, suspiciously at author. “In such a milieu it’s an even greater achievement that I’ve reached a stage where they are calling me a superstar.”
MOVIE: “No, Anil, what I meant was that it must be exasperating knowing that between you and No. 1 stands the big B. Like it was for Vinod?”
Anil: “I don’t think Vinod was unlucky as far as timing. In fact he is lucky, because he did his best films with Bachchan. Bachchan is still in the hero slot and very much there.”
MOVIE: “Besides him who do you think are your rivals today? Aamir??”
Anil: Piled in an aluminum basin is the family’s yet-to-do laundry. “No, Aamir is too young.” Beside the tree, 2 water vessels, one of clay, one of black plastic. “My immediate rivals are those heroes who give more hits than me.” Also seated on author’s ledge, a bus-waiting youth, black-and-white-check plastic carry-all bag in one hand, a bicycle fender in the other. “It could even be Sunny or anyone else for that matter.”
MOVIE: Two white-panted, white-jacketed men step to author’s side, engage him in conversation. “Rajesh Khanna brought in romance and Amitabh anger.” A third joins him, shows author his sixth finger. “What is your forte?” Urges author to include this detail in his book.
Anil: “I wanted to carve a different niche for myself.” A swarthy green-shirted type steps up to observe goings-on, a small medallion at his throat. “I have brought in innocence and fun.” A third, white-suited, man continues in boisterous repartee with author, stranger-litany variations.
MOVIE: “Sorry to interrupt. But when audiences talk about a great actor.” Brother of second white-shirted man arrives. “They always mention his dramatic scenes.” Author clowns around with him as well. “Jesters are never taken seriously.” Another type in zebra-striped pants arrives.
Anil: “Fun and innocence does not mean that I’m not a serious hero.” Owner of tent proudly arrives. Boisterous white-suited man laughs in further open repartee with author. “Rajesh Khanna was good at dramatic scenes, but the dominant factor was romance.” His betel-stained teeth agape in open smile. “In my instance innocence . . . is the major factor.” Crowd dispersing.
“A word may be said here on the subject of the well-known uniform of the Bombay constabulary, the bright yellow cap and the dark blue tunic and knickers, which once caused a wag to style the Bombay police-sepoy “the empty black bottle with the yellow seal.” The origin of the uniform is obscure; but it was certainly in use in 1838, for Mrs. Postans describes the dress of the men as “a dark blue coat, black belt, and yellow turban.”
“Charles Forjett (served 1855-1863) owed his later success as a police-officer to three main factors, namely his great linguistic facility, his wide knowledge of Indian caste-customs and habits, and his masterly capacity for assuming native disguises. Born and bred in India, he had learnt the vernaculars of the Bombay Presidency in his youth, and had been familiar from his earliest years with those subtle differences of belief and custom which the average home-bred Englishman knows nothing about and can never master. His black hair and sallow complexion ─ in brief, the strong ‘strain of the country’ in his blood ─ enabled him, when disguised, to pass among natives of India as one of themselves.”
“A graphic and animated description of these disasters of the Greeks” (Sir Alexander Burnes, A Voyage to the Indus, 1834) “has been likewise given by Quintus Curtius, and is nowhere more remarkable than in the allusion to the ‘knolls’ rising above the viewer like ‘little islands,’ for at full tide the mangrove shrubs present exactly that appearance; but let the author speak in his own words: ─”
Tour of Bombay Central Railway Station surround, through lower-middle-class housing project at tracks’ edge, author largely ignored by denizens as he makes his way through garbage, open-sewer-filled courtyards, past pair of 11-year-old girls cheerfully doing wash, past image of Sinha in templet niche, past open hallways, through which one can see hall dwellers’ paraphernalia, past final courtyard and on up steps to other railway overpass.
“‘About the third hour, the ocean, according to a regular alternation, began to flow in furiously, driving back the river. The river, at first, resisted; then, impressed with a new force, rushed upwards with more impetuosity than torrents descend a precipitous channel. The mass on board, unacquainted with the nature of the tide, saw only prodigies and symbols of the wrath of the gods.’”
“Forjett’s fame rests mainly upon his action during the Mutiny.” “‘Ever and anon the sea swelled.’” “This period was fraught with anxiety for the English residents of Bombay.” “‘And on plains, recently dry, descended a diffused flood.’” “At this date the military forces in Bombay comprised three native regiments and one British force of 400 men.” “‘The vessels lifted from their sections, and the whole fleet dispersed.’” “The native troops were implicitly trusted by their officers.” “‘Those who had debarked, in terror and astonishment at the calamity, ran from all quarters towards the ships.’” “And the chief danger apprehended by the Bombay Government was from the Muhammadan population of the city, which numbered about 150,000.” “‘But tumultuous hurry is slow.’” Author returns home, having encompassed the neighborhood.
“Forjett from the first combated this view and wrote a special letter to the Governor’s Private Secretary, warning him that the danger was from the troops.” “‘Now the tide had inundated all the fields skirting the river.’” “His own inquiries had convinced him that the townspeople would not rise unless the native regiments gave them the lead, and that the latter were planning mutiny.” Six-story middle-class apartments, their sidewalks for whole blocks at a time filled with tent-dwellers, who have stretched their large sheets of black plastic from fence irons to sidewalk, and live, packed side by side, in spaces of 40 or 50 square feet. “Much to the disgust of General Shortt he made no secret of his views, declaring that the sepoys were the real potential source of disturbance and danger.” “‘Only tops of knolls rising above it like little islands.’” Most are out on the sidewalk, sitting in groups of 3 or 4, mothers with their infants, brother and sister, father and children. “‘To these, from the evacuated ships, the majority swam in consternation.’”
“Forjett’s own force consisted of 60 European police and a number of Indian constables; but on the fidelity of the latter he could not implicitly rely.” “‘The dispersed fleet was partly riding in deep water, where the land was depressed into dells; and partly resting on the shoals, where the tide had covered elevated ground.” “Consequently, after news reached Bombay of the disasters at Cawapore and other centers.” “‘Suddenly breaks on the Macedonians a new alarm, more vivid than the former.’” “He obtained Lord Elphinstone’s special permission to enroll a body of 50 European mounted police.” “‘The sea began to ebb.’” A pair of women, both tending small children, glance at author. “‘The deluge, with a violent drain, retreated from the firth, disclosing tracts just before deeply buried.’” Glance at one another; then broadly smile at author, smiling even more broadly as he returns their smile. “‘Unbayed, the ships pitched some upon their prows, others upon their sides. The planks were strewed with baggage, arms, loose planks, and fragments of oars. The soldiers scarcely believed what they suffered and witnessed. Shipwrecks on dry land, the sea in a river.’”
“Meanwhile the Muharram, which was always an occasion of anxiety and frequently of disturbance, was drawing near. The plans made by the Government for maintaining order involved the division of the European troops and police into small parties, which were posted in various parts of the town.” “‘Nor yet ended their unhappiness; for ignorant that the speedy return of the tide would set their ships afloat, they predicted to themselves famine and death.’” A car passes, filled with half a dozen middle-class teenie youth. “Forjett disapproved wholly of this arrangement, as no considerable body of European troops or police would be at hand to quell a mutiny of the sepoys, which was certain to break out in the neighborhood of their barracks.” They wave, lean out the window, shout hellos, as author completes final leg of neighborhood circumspection. “He was naturally not empowered to revise the arrangement of the military forces; but he definitely informed Lord Elphinstone that he felt bound to disobey the orders for the distribution of the police. ‘It is a very risky thing,’ said the Governor, ‘to disobey orders; but I am sure you will do nothing rash.’”
“‘Terrifying monsters, too, left by the waves, were gliding about at random.’ Our little fleet did not encounter such calamity and alarm as that of Nearchos, in Q. Curtius’s words, ─ ‘by a gradual diffusion, the inundation began to raise the ships, presently flooding all the fields, setting the fleet in motion.’” Author on past Muslim Center, past Methodist Center, past YMCA playground.
“Despite the risk, Forjett disobeyed the orders and concentrated all his efforts on outwitting the plotters.” “‘I shall not now dwell on these subjects, though eminently interesting.’” He summoned a meeting of the leading Muhammadans and addressed them in very strong terms on the subject of fomenting disorder─a step which earned Lord Elphinstone’s personal commendation.” “But in the course of my narrative I shall endeavor to identify the modern Indus with the features of remoter times.” “Then, night after night, both before and during the celebration of the festival, he wandered about the city in disguise. Whenever he heard anyone speaking of the mutineer’s succession in other parts of India in anything like a tone of exultation he arrested him on the spot.” “It is difficult to describe the enthusiasm one feels on first beholding the scenes which have exercised the genius of Alexander.” “A whistle brought up three or more of his detective police, who took charge of the culprit and marched him off to the lock-up.” “The Scamander has an immortality which the vast Mississippi can never eclipse.” “The bad characters of the town were so much alarmed by these mysterious arrests, which seemed to indicate that the authorities knew all that was afoot.” “And the descent of the Indus by Alexander of Macedon.” “That they relinquished their plans for an outbreak.” “Is, perhaps, the most authentic and best attested event in profane history.” Author himself returns to YMCA.
*
“Gate of India” ─ taxi driver ─ /Gateway of India, large triumphal arch dimmed by polluted, humid early-morning air. “Erected to Commemorate the Landing of George V in 1911.” Plaster-cast penguin with mouth open (trash receptacle). Taj Inter-Continental Hotel looming behind, turret in washed-off paint, rusted. “The growth of the European population, resulting from the expansion of the trade of the post” (S.M. Edwards, The Bombay City Police) “and increasing disinclination on the part of the Government and society to countenance the old system of liaisons with Indian women.” Bombay citizen, next to author, cast on left arm, glances into notebook. “May have induced the authorities to regard the establishment of the European brothel and the presence of the European prostitute as deplorable but necessary evils.” Man in pink socks, tennis sneakers, white silk jacket, white creased pants, walks about Gateway, on floor of which a woman, with 3-year-old daughter, sits vending Bombay guides.
“Providing that the women were kept under reasonable control and the police were sufficiently vigilant to ensure the non-occurrence of open scandals.” Behind-author wash of waves, slopping their dirty gray onto ghats below. “No direct steps were taken to abolish a feature of urban life which struck occasional travelers and others as inexpressibly shocking.” To author’s other side, granite bench, woman in pink sari, boyfriend in brush moustache. Another couple arrives, she in pale olive skin, gray kurta-pajama, darker gray veil. “To the peripatetic procurer.” Spray splashes up and lightly dampens author’s cheek. “Who visited Bombay at frequent intervals.” A fishing dory putt-putts, falling into the trough between waves. “In order to relieve the women of their savings and ascertain the demand for fresh arrivals.” Desultory crowd at gateway. “The police showed no mercy.” Sitting on ledge overlooking bay. “And the regular use of the Foreigners Act toward the close of the last century.” Strolling, photographing views. “Indicates that by that date Bombay (like Calcutta and Madras) had become a regular halting-point in the procurer’s disgraceful itinerary from Europe to the Far East.” An elderly mother in gray silk, a daughter in rust-salmon, a son-in-law in see-through white shirt, his halter undershirt forming a U at the back of his neck.
“MCGD” read the stanchions, many coats of white enamel, holding the spiked black chains that meaninglessly surround bushes in flower beds, which in turn surround the monument. “It must be remembered that the number of European professional prostitutes in India has never been large.” Behind, the Gateway itself, its attractive basalt surface, its muted, professional Islamic manner. “And the worst features of the traffic, as understood in Europe, are fortunately absent.” To the left, the facade of the Taj, many gray-green gabled excrescences. “That is to say, the women of this class who find their way to the brothels of the Grant Road neighborhood.” Farther to the left, the variegation of white, gray, cream, turquoise building fronts. “And to the less secluded rooms in and around the notorious Cursetji Suklaji Street, which used to be known on their account as safed gali, or ‘white lane.’” Former mansions turned hotels. “Are not decoyed thither by force or fraud.” Youth, his arms folded over his knee, the waves sloshing behind him.
“The women usually arrive unaccompanied.” Empty lobby. “And of their own choice.” Taj Inter-Continental Hotel, air-conditioned humidity. “And they are well over the age of majority.” A rather unluxurious setting, lawn furniture heavily overpainted, upholstered, in green vinyl. “Before they first set foot in the Bombay bandar.” Octagonal coffee table, ashtray atop it. “On the whole their treatment in the brothel is not bad.” Elevator doors continue to open, close, in regular rhythm. “And they are not subjected to cruelty.” None of them in use but all alternately indicating their availability. The ‘mistress’ of the brothel.” At lobby’s end: “Who is herself a time-expired prostitute.” “‘Jewels’ / ‘Gazdar’ / ‘Objets d’art.’” “And has sometimes paid a heavy sum to her predecessor for the good-will of the house.” Its modest showcases rather uninviting. “Feeds and houses the women in return for 50 per cent of their daily earnings.”
Through glass doors to inner lobby (“For Residents & Members Only,” bronze embossed letters, 4-foot stand). “As her own livelihood and capital are at stake.” Through open Muslim portal a single swimmer bathes in the blue, white-rimmed pool. “She is usually careful to see.” Now strolls about in his mid-aged girth. “That nothing occurs to give the house a bad name among her clientele.” Having wrapped a towel about his green trunks. “Or to warrant punitive action on the part of the police.” He steps to a pile of clothes, picks up a white shirt, struggles to get it onto his still-damp flesh.
Meanwhile, an elderly tourist arrives, also white, in white beach robe, white slippers; traipses through lobby, through open glass doors, through portico, on to pool. “European women of this class are found only in the chief maritime cities ─ Calcutta, Bombay, Madras, Karachi and Rangoon, the only places in India which contain a considerable miscellaneous European population.” Visible through glass at side of doors, which the wind continues to open, a foot, 6 inches, 3. “Their total number is not large.” Are the 2 bare feet of an Indian woman in red shorts, resting on a white lawn table. “Some of them originally were doubtless victims of the ‘white-slave’ trafficker.” The double chairs of the central group of furniture. “But their initiation to life had happened several years before they found their way to India.” Like the single chairs that form the group where author sits. “With funds advanced to them by the pimp, or as they style him in their jargon, ‘the fancy-man.’” Sit on a circular ring of green. “Who first led them astray.” With beige imitation metal grillwork designs. “There have been instances in Bombay of these women.” A sweeper arrives. “Contriving to accumulate sufficient savings in the course of 10 or 12 years of continuous prostitution.” Dusts behind counter. “To return to their own country.” Over the pool’s high slat fence the open window of an apartment. “And settle down there in comparative respectability.” A red garment hung from its window handle.
“The Changing Face of Love” (May 1989 Movie ─ “It gives you the complete picture”). Launch disposition, Elephanta departure await, 2 well-to-do Indian tourists, craning necks 180 degrees to regard author. Beyond their now diverted faces, a side view of Taj Inter-Continental from water level, up over mortised retaining wall, graffiti in pale blue, bright red. “Yesterday Nasir Hussain made hearts beat; today it’s his son Mansoor Khan who has the girls in the audience screaming hysterically with euphoria.” Over the visual scene the sad, languorous strains of a male vocalist, in Islamic-Maratha lament. “Love is . . . keeping pace with the times.” To Taj’s right an enormous bronze equestrian statue, behind it the modern addition, in Islamic high-rise, to the Taj Inter-Continental. “Has Nasir lost what Mansoor has found?” As the waves ride us higher and lower the yellow-leafed foliage surrounding horse and rider appear and disappear.
MOVIE: “What does love mean to you?”
Nasir: “Love means different things to different people.” Up on the dock the ticket seller catches at tourists before they descend the ramp ticketless. “At a tender age love is everything. But after some time love gets divided.” At the launch’s bow ropes tug the hitch in 2 directions. “One gets busy with children, with a career.” Its foredeck, painted a bright green, has faded badly. “You might still love and respect the person but the intensity is gone. You might still care but you don’t have the time to express it.”
Mansoor: “Love is something I am still trying to define. I love my wife and that is a life-time commitment. But that does not mean I can’t love other people.” Indian tourist in gray, green-gemmed gold-set ring, looks into notebook; observes author registration; averts gaze. “There is of course a difference between the two types of love.” The foredeck has only gradually filled to 8 couples. “The former is finite, the latter is infinite.” An old gentleman with 2-inch moustache, his jaded son. “Simply because the committed one is for a single entity, while the other includes several people, it is open-ended and keeps growing.”
MOVIE: “What about love in Hindi films?” A couple in early middle age, both rather unattractive. “What do you think of the way it is projected?” A young man in gray and his youthful companion. An elderly couple.
Nasir: “Love in early Hindi films used to be very theatrical and unrealistic. A typical scene would be a boy closing a girl’s eyes from behind and saying “Bolo main kaun hoon.” This was the height of romanticism. Now the 4 couples have been joined by a generous, talkative Japanese-speaking Indian guide, who shows to his seat a Japanese businessman, red golf-shirted, his wife taking the seat next to him. “Today, of course, there is an atmosphere of liberalism, and people even show live-in relationships.” She in designer jeans, green tee-shirt, a classic Utamaro beauty, same age as her husband. “Yet, our audience is orthodox and we can’t show everything.” A siren sounds: it is 9:00 am. Attentively the Japanese couple absorbs the guide’s commentary. “Today most college boys and girls are having sex, but we can’t show that.” Behind them, the boat’s name in Arabic script.
“The Elephanta is a Small Island in the Arabian Sea about 10 kilometers north-east of Gate of India.” Lines cast, complement of late-arriving, single male Indians aboard, we are under way, backing out of our berth. Last view of Gateway, tall Taj above it, white, baby-blue and red launches to one side of wharf. “It is approachable by launches both ordinary and luxury types.” Forward view of gray-silhouetted tankers, some showing faintly their rust-stained sides, one with double towers atop it. “The trip is refreshing and a change from the busy mechanical life of Bombay.” The sea grows rougher as we reach the offshore waters, making writing difficult.
Deep-water calming effect, passage of various craft to starboard, leeward. To star, a huge orange tanker, circled “B” on its aft stack; to lee, a white, pale-green and dark-green tanker, yellow armatures projecting from its deck, an “N” on its stack. Vague mounds of island top appear on horizon, details gradually emergent. “Corina,” a rusted hulk, looms into view, water jetting out her portals. A line of distant tankers standing off a shore filled with high-rise buildings.
Three kilometers out, Elephanta indicated by Japanese-speaking guide. A barge-like ship, gray crane with red operating cab atop its 2-story platform; another, sizeable, yellow industrial crane, dwarfed by the ship’s proportions; a fork lift in yellow and black; a profusion of rigging. A ship whose nationality is difficult to ascertain by virtue of its fluttering standard, though, once past, given away by the Greek letters on its stern.
At last, total Bombay skyline hove into view, mid-way through Elephanta voyage. Nearshore dockage: “Great Eastern,” “Stena Bulk,” “Great Eastern.” Jump-cut to scrubby promontory, culminating in new electric plant, its single high smokestack rising through mist, striped red-white-red, then higher up a band of white, and on to a gray extension. A green forested patch in sunlight at island’s hill-rise.
Ninety-degree pan from island’s mass across open water to sudden Elephanta apparition, its green reality, its tiny wharf awaiting us. Motor greatly reduced, we begin our final glide, our guide rehearsing simplicities of our voyage hither. “After getting down from the launch” (tourist literature) “one has to walk about 2 kilometers from Rajbunder and about 1/4 kilometer from Shetbunder landing place.” It would appear that we have arrived at the latter, for the steps to the caves are in sight above. “One must climb 120 steps to reach the temple, cut in the Deccan Trap Mountains about 200 feet in height. Coolies are available to make the ascent in an armed chair.”
Guide (a sophisticated Bombay museum type) preparing to narrate Nataraj Shiva, warming up with technical details of the cave’s excavation: “no dynamite, exclusively chisel.” Shiva in first of 9 panels, eyes downcast. “Golden Age.” Brahma figure to upper right of Shiva, lesser figures in close attendance, guide with brown-checked umbrella, tightly wrapped, held out over shoulder. “Parvati, Ganesh” commentation continuation, guide’s left hand on hip. “We go to the next panel. . . .”
“Metaphysics & Metaphor” (tourist literature): “When we enter the Main Cave we see to our right the Nataraj Shiva, who visualizes his mystic dance of creation.” Author following guided tour at some distance, so as (a) to observe the great sculptural works in some quietude, (b) to observe the entourage in its ensemble. “The God is here shown as setting the whole universe in motion, himself remaining unperturbed.” Guide’s voice, however, due to perfect acoustics, still clearly audible: “The Siva-ling, this is a symbol of Siva. . . . Energy in which all the world was created.” Double figures at entranceway to either side of geometrically pure rectangular portal. “Dug to the center of the earth . . .” Light on mountainside visible through portal to right, sun struck grass, cliff, tree trunks. Guide, umbrella under arm, both hands lifting in unison. “We translate to the highest level . . . .”
“Here all activity” (tourist text) “whether spiritual or physical, is included in the term ‘action.’” Author having difficulty keeping up with demands of art, commentary, registration. “How is one to be free from the bondage of action, even though one may be acting?” Guide commentating yet another great representation of Shiva: “He is in a very angry mood, wearing a necklace of skulls.” Indian tourist in cream silk shift steps before author. Shiva side-lit ─ “a sword in his right hand” ─ leg, inner thought, bathed in light. “The Portuguese . . .” Tourist’s wife gets too close to author, moves away. German-speaking Indian guide at other end of colonnade also audible (see perfect acoustics), thereby entering yet another voice. “Alles schlange . . . wieder ein Symbol . . . so voll Schmuck” ─ each phrase further animated with a dance-like gesture, her 3-member entourage in full attention. “Das is immer ein Symbol.” Beyond which, through gap in portal, a local tribeswoman draws water, sari hitched between her buttocks in photo opportunity for Japanese cameras. Onward to Maheshmurti Shiva, flanked on right by Shiva and Parvati, on left by the Ardhanarishwara. Author’s solitary shadow on central tri-partite Shiva, crown dust-encrusted, Brahma, Vishnu manifestations, Cobra, Lotus apparitions. “Jewelry and flowers in his hair,” says guide. “The manner in which the Gita has solved the problem” (tourist lit. gloss) “is unique.” “So, bitte, folgen Sie mir.” “As destroyer . . . he has a hooked nose . . . mastering over all 5 senses,” says our guide. “The Gita explains: ‘Do your allotted work, but renounce its fruit.’” Author again lagging behind party. “‘Be detached and work.’” “The door was shut, this much destroyed,” says our guide. “It may be they identified it with the Christian trinity.” “In short” (tourist text), “‘He falls who gives up action; he rises who gives up only the reward.’”
“So wie eine Frau, weil auf dieser Seite.“View through to opposite side of cave to photographing Japanese woman. “Gott Siva als Zerstörer.” Japanese man in attendance, Indian guide with staff in hand, massive sunlit columns behind her. “Shiva is shown in his destructive aspect as the killer of Andhaka, the personification of darkness or ignorance that blinds human beings” (tourist literature). Japanese woman puts away camera, takes out notebook. “And is vanquished only by the trident of Light & Knowledge.” Author circling the whole inner space of the cave, past iconographical English tour (“Please come,” says guide), past Japanese couple with their guide, past Germans, past independent Indian tourists, finally coming to rest at temple center for more distant view of Shiva Maheshmurti, its gentleness, forcefulness, liveliness much greater when seen from proper angle of vision. “If man is entangled in a vicious circle, there is no end to this circle and it will lead to ruin.” Japanese tourists in midst of their explanatory tour, wife patting away at her yellow/white-powdered face, adjusting corners of purplish lipstick, patting purple ribbon in her hair. As she finishes, she, her husband and their guide are joined by the Germans: “Ja, ganz oben . . . so da ist die Hauptzeit Shivas.” Graceful, potbellied, middle-aged Japanese-speaking Indian guide in simultaneous hand gestures, pointer in right hand, golden bangles on her left wrist. Joining the Japanese and Germans, 3 Indian tourists, father insisting that mother and son pose by sitting at feet of (feetless) Shiva; mother in wine-colored sari, gold nose pin; son in loose-fitting white shirt, stone-washed jeans, untied, bloated athletic shoes. Japanese man moaning with approval, as Japanese-speaking Indian guide continues her lovely commentary, holding up successively her little finger, her ring finger, her middle finger in trimurthi elucidation. Sound of German camera clicking.
“The only remedy to overcome all these sins is by the raft of knowledge.” Author descending into separate Shiva temple, earth vulva entrance, birds flapping up and soaring out of his scribbling focus. “Only just as you have crossed the sea by the help of Launch do you encounter the Island” (tourist literature continuation). High above, over outstretched leafy trees, over diagonal swathe of grass, over rock-cut face, over lintel, capital, column, 2 hawks in nearly motionless suspension. “The mountain is part of the western ghats.” Author to lip of entrance cave. “The valley is wooded, with mangos, tamarind, karanda and other trees.” He regards floor, with its magic dancing circle. “The foreshore of sand and mud is fringed by mangrove bushes and palms.” Descends to circle, its surround of massive cutaway mountain, sound of gentle water-drip. “The local population of the Island is 1000.” His hand on wet cliff face to steady himself for final 2-foot drop to dancing floor; finally at circle’s center, sun beating on head. “In the ancient literature, the island was known as ‘Sharapuri.’” Author alone, sound of Japanese, German, English, Indian voices mingled into a pleasant blur of indistinctness overhead in adjacent main cave. “The first component denotes the Gharis or Guravas.” Voice of Japanese-language guide emerging from general murmur: “Brahma-san, Vishnu-san, Shiva-san.” “I.e., the sudra priests of Saivite temples.” Author, finishing page, prepares to depart. “The second, puri, denotes town.” Author climbing rocks to exit. “These you can overcome, as per Gita, cutting asunder with the sword of knowledge this doubt in your heart, born of ignorance.” Author, eyes toward distant Bombay, descending seaside steps.
Colaba, monsoon rain outbreak, guest-house marble-step-sit, flutter/spatter on roof of white Maruti Suzuki, pour on red Maruti Suzuki, downpour over everything: corrugated roof of bus stop, banyan leafage, asphalt street. Rain into puddles of already standing rain, rain on taxi rooftops, wind-blown rain against red-painted red brick. Rainfall on roofs of late model blue, brown Suzukis. Woman past in yellow undergarment, red sari, both soaked. Two energetic bicyclists upstreet through the rain. Woman past in patterned sari, head ineffectually hooded. Yellow-topped black taxi op cops fare, speeds off, leaving white-dressed pedestrian with black umbrella behind. The rain slows to drizzle. Crow in tree preening itself. Single rain drops (white) visibly descending past open apartment window (black). Drizzle slowing to drips, mist, mistiness. Closing note book, author departs.
Restaurant re-situation (rain now recommenced), view of Hanuman in yellow halo, gray beard. “Monsoon Ushers in New Life” (newspaper headline). Through-portal view across street to “Relief” (white letters, outlined in red). “The Southwest monsoon is almost here with dark, gray clouds spanning the Bombay skies, bringing occasional showers.” “Raincoat” (white letters outlined in blue). “The weatherman at the Colaba observatory tries hard to predict the rains with clockwork precision.” “Reliable” (orange). “The Bombay monsoon has its own distinctive features. “Raincoats Rainhats” (lime green). “Holding the cityman ─ caught in the wet of the sweltering summer heat ─ spellbound, but not for long. (On black ground.) “A nightmare lasting for four months haunts a population of more than nine million with heavy rains pounding the city and suburbs, causing havoc.” “Reliable” (blue on white ground).
“Normal life is thrown out of gear and Bombayites face hardships like floods and traffic jams and late trains.” “Raincoats” (black). “Hapless hutment dwellers and those on footpaths bear the brunt of the rain.” Hanging from hooks above entranceway: 4 black umbrellas. “Houses collapse.” Two colorful parasols (tiger skin and pale plum). “Landslides take a heavy toll of lives.” Four pieces of rainwear: “The Bombay Municipal Corporation and the railway authorities carry out desilting of nullahs much before the monsoon.” Black; floral-patterned. “But generally this does not prevent the floods from clogging many places.” Red; dark brown.
“A popular song says ─ ‘Whether there’s sunshine or rain, umbrellas are always handy.’” Inside, a child’s rainbow-paneled umbrella hangs alongside a transparent plastic model. “And you can see millions of commuters opening these in unison at the Victoria Terminus and Churchgate stations.” A doubly illustrated banner to the left: “Another unruffled sea pulsates with swelling tides.” A schematic sun with human face. “Rain reaching high above the parapets of Marine Drive.” An equally large circle. “To blur the windscreens of passing vehicles with its salt spray.” A black umbrella, opened, visible within.
“The offense of gambling in various forms occupied the attention of the police” (S.M. Edwards, The Bombay City Police) “to a greater degree than before, and the prevalence of rain-gambling led to a test prosecution in the magisterial courts. This form of wagering used to take place during the monsoon at Paidhoni, where a house would be rented at a high price for the four months of the rains by a group of Indian capitalists. There were two forms: Barsat ka mori and Lakdi satta. In the former, wagers were laid as to whether the rain would percolate in a fixed time through a specially prepared box filled with sand, the bankers settling the rates or odds by the appearance and direction of the clouds. In the latter case, winnings or losses depended on whether the rainfall during a fixed period was sufficient to fill the gutter of a roof and overflow. The gambling took place usually between 6:00 am and 12 noon, and again between 6:00 pm and midnight, the rates varying according to the appearance of the sky and the time left before the period open for the booking of bets expired. The practice, which was very popular, was responsible for so much loss that in 1888 two of the principal promoters of rain-gambling were prosecuted by the order of Government. The Chief Presidency Magistrate, Mr. Cooper, who tried the case, decided that rain-gambling was not an offense under the Gambling Act, as then existing, and his decision was upheld on appeal by the High Court.
West Colaba street scene, high-rise neighborhood, cricket match in progress, asphalt street, portable wicket, rubber ball. Teams dressed in street clothes with exception of 2 players, one in athletic pants, one in #13 green jersey (red collar, white number).
Pause in game. Bowler regards author with interest/animated hostility. “You like India?” he gruffly asks.
“Yes.”
“What are you writing?”
“A book.”
“What country are you coming from?”
“America.” Satisfactory responses defuse aggression, players returning to game. Run-up; bowl; “thwack.” High fly to shallow left bounces off side of 20-story cream apartment tower, is fielded by specially posted fielder in parking lot of apartment complex. Side out.
New (spin) bowler, Indian style with West Indian vigor. Swing; miss. Upper middle-class dog-walker emerges from apartment tower, large collie in tow. Across street 2 more high buildings, one “the Richard Kemchang Academy” (windows closed, painted opaque); the other, adjacent, “the elegant apartments,” blue trim on white stucco. Cars proceed into and out of street, interrupting play. Seated at end of the street, behind final fielders, 2 men sit on a porch, protected by a fence, watching the game, conversing. The house at their back is a 1940s mansion. To the west, another high-rise tower, to whose north, in salmon trim, circular balconies, yet another.
Roundabout, Nariman Point vicinity, high-rise business buildings: “Citibank,” “Business Link,” “State Bank of India.” View past roundabout (over it) of massed new growth, each building in distinctive period style: the 50s plane with pierced apertures; the 60s curtain wall of glass and steel; the 70s heavily-massed concrete cap fluted into multiple sections, slits between for light to enter office space; the 80s marble-ended metal grilled box; the standard Indian stucco-on-concrete structure.
Urchins play beside the street on sidewalk margin, trading peanuts, throwing stones, even viewing movies from a drum, shown by a man humorously clapping 2 small cymbals in a constant rhythm. As author observes, a crowd gathers, grandmother, granddaughter, mother all hitting him up for “baksheesh,” movie vendor exhorting him as well ─ to take a look into his drum of films.
Sunday afternoon, the plaza is virtually traffickless. The walk through Colaba has progressed from busy, even turbulent lower-middle-class neighborhoods through middle-class individual dwellings to still operative mansions. Thence to a quick shoreline passage of “boatments” (squalid families too, too poor for boats, for anything but plastic sheets) and on again to the sudden emergence of office buildings.
A little girl passes in magenta frock-top, polka dot trousers in green and pink.
Prince of Wales Museum. “Lack of unity has been a dominant characteristic of Indian history.” Entranceway. “Periods of peace have been interspersed.” Circular court of marble slabs. “With frequent periods of war.” Cut to diminish in breadth from circumference along 2 radii. “And India lay torn between belligerent kingdoms.” Circle in white, bordered in black, with a central circle also in black. “Occasionally a central authority would superimpose unity.” Circles also underlie the bases of pillars around the circumference. “Thus the unification by the British who ruled from Delhi.” Author seated on steps to second floor, displays of Indian Pre- and Proto-History behind him, Classic India off to left in front of him (from this vantage not visible).
“Few countries can match the ethnographic complexity of this land.” Portly women move down the steps 2 paces per step, in silk saris, their belly-folds hanging out at side and front. “But for the common roots of religion, culture and history.” Two reach out helping hands to a third in support/concern. “The Indian empire of the British would have crumbled into many more units than two.” Families of well-dressed Bombay denizens move quickly among the displays. “The creation of the state of Maharashtra.” From Vishnu to Sala to Ganesh. “Points to India’s awareness of danger.” From Apsaras to Parvati to Shiva. “To her political geography.” A sudden crowd of dark-skinned tourists mounts the stair. “Its racial composition is a peculiar combination of northern Aryans and southern Dravidians.” Followed by a woman, her white-costumed, red-haired mother in tow. In a bench at the edge of the central marble floor sit a father (in black-and-white running shoes), a mother (pink kurta, magenta pajamas), a baby, its head in the father’s lap. A long line of visitors awaits the chance to purchase admission tickets, back lit from the sunny light of outdoor forecourt. (Quotations from G.S. Singh, Maratha Geopolitics and the Indian Nation.)
Transfer to modern museum. “This Gallery is constructed in memory of Jehangir (born 15th November 1911 killed 23rd October 1944) from a donation by his Father, Sir Cowasji Jehangir.” “It is curious that the germs of nationalism exist in the very name of the State in question ─ Maharashtra ─ which means ‘great nation.’” Photography display: “Professional” (bare tit, soft focus portrait, fashion blouziness ─ worn jean jacket over negligee; vamp dress). Abstraction. Geometric forms in native, genre scenes. Stagy modern forms. Modern advertising.
“For centuries it existed as a traditional region.” “trimitee art group: Exhibition & Sculptures.” Slick palette knife constructions, excrescent compositions in daubs, in non-structural post-impressionist imitations. Hackneyed subjects. Patrons in quiet demeanor, show of mild interest. A mountain vista: crude balcony foreground, perspective inadequately handled, foliage in acidic greens/muddy blue-greens, messy ocher patches. Sky of inauthentic scumbles. Sketchy views of anatomically incorrect water buffalo, a boatload of umbrellaed river passengers, its skies in a rabies of purply magenta, green and blue splotches. A red wood house on a mountain of rancid butter. Fog made out of paint. More landscapes of unlikely colors. A roomful of mountainous scenes of no-man’s land. All art school work ─ at best.
“It evolved from a nucleus near Poona.” Steps-of-the-gallery view of Museum Art Gallery Circle. “And expanded into a vast empire.” Three delicate, gentle girls arriving with expectations of pleasure. “Embracing lands beyond Delhi, Goa and Balasore ─ the last in the modern state of Orissa.” Across the way an overwhelming display of Victoriana: “The Sir Cowasjee Jehangir Building for the Elphinstone College.” Three more girls arriving, 2 in very tight pants: bright-blue ribbed corduroy; stitched jeans; the third in a pink dress. An exiting mother with 2 daughters and son, all done up in their Sunday best.
Background interference of traffic noise, sparse but still intermittently annoying. “The politico-religious consciousness of the Marathas has had a distinct character.” Big bus, big truck, yellow water carrier. “In popular parlance it is called the ‘Maratha Dharma.’” A yellow-topped, black-bodied taxi backing up the street. “Or ‘Maratha Religion.’” A black scooter drones northward behind a humming moped.
“Thus the Marathas have had a political consciousness that distinguishes them from the average followers of the Hindu faith.” An overweight woman in clothes too colorful for her expansive girth: a red-hemmed, bright yellow sari. Her rather oafish husband, dull-brown-suited, in tow. “Their powerful influence upon the history of India has earned them a pride of place.” Their 5-year-old son following, his dull-brown suit cut from the same cloth as the father’s.
“Once again they have succeeded in regrouping themselves after prolonged struggle.” Two light-brown-suited custodians step to the door of the museum to loaf in conversation. The sun is nearly hidden by a drift of diaphanous gray. A truck from Natesan’s backs over the curb and up to the Museum steps, where 6 or 8 workers gather to unload it. “Their success proves the existence and the strength of Maratha’s physical core in the western Deccan.” Out of the cab steps the driver in a black-and-white-striped shirt, whose diagonals include, as insets, images of a sailing ship. “And their cultural, economic and political identification with the region they dominated.” After 5 minutes no one as yet has opened the truck’s cargo compartment.
“BANDH IS ON IN CITY. The rank and file of the Shiv Sena, Bharatiya Janata Party and Rashtriya Swayamjewak Sang (RSS) today drew their final plans to bring the entire State to standstill on Monday to protest against the brutal killings of 26 RSS volunteers in Moga city of Faridkot district in Punjab on Sunday last. In Bombay the beginning of the bandh was felt just around midnight today with private vehicles moving out of the roads and taxi drivers refusing to ply.”
Progress through city streets filled with pedestrians, only an occasional private vehicle or scooter, as the bandh takes effect. Newspaper stands alone are open, the populace, or half of it, out in the streets, others sunning themselves on balconies. Author makes his way past Maratha Mandir to Dr. K.A. Ahmed Chowk to V. Naik Chowk, out Tardeo Road to the entranceway to Hajali Tomb, where returning pilgrims are sprayed by the seas of returning high tide. Red flag at pier’s end signals its closing. “It is order,” says youth, one of 3 helping author to understand the situation.
View of Hajali Mosque, as tide continues to surge, its white turret, white dome, bluish against the faint blue-green of the mist-whited sky. Returning pilgrims, now doused with spray, arrive at last to step under the rope from which the red flag is suspended. Beggar children surround the end of the pier, a leper on wheels, women with babes in arms, all asking for “money.”
In the bay of filthy water, which slops higher and higher up over sidewalk, ride 2 baby-blue dinghies, half disappearing behind the incoming waves, bobbing in related, but unpredictably complementary, movements.
A boy in a raincoat, plastic fedora, walks arm-in-arm with his barefooted copain, both 10 years old. Two peasant girls at the border of sidewalk, one especially swarthy, in dirty hair, gorgeous white-aquamarine-and-brown patterned kurta, filthy black pajama pants. On her slender wrist, a pink bangle. Across her breasts the thread of rust-wine sash. The second girl, in overwrapped saffron sari, stands with finger gracefully to chin, her red dangling earrings in glamorous contrast to her dark skin, her hair dyed a light brown, streaked, also dirty. She half smiles, her almond eyes adding a complement of white, as she awaits a daughter, an elderly mother, who takes her place behind in purple, white-polka dotted sari, one arm akimbo, white hair emerging from beneath the sari’s hood. The “black” girl scratches her hair, looks into the rocks at sidewalk’s edge, picks up one and tosses it into the sea. Turning aside, she kicks at a kitten in her way, then smiles a broad smile in response to a call from someone.
Across mouth of bay from Hajali Mosque begins a curved skyline of modern buildings. As author begins to observe them, up leaps a fringe of filthy blackened water at the far sidewalk’s edge. “Accommodations in Bombay:” Skyline begins with cluster of distant rocks, the inrushing tide breaking upon them. “Airport Plaza, Airways, Ajanta, Ambassador, Ameya.” Next a rise of wall, a fort-like building surmounting it. “Amigo, Apollo, Apsara International.” A pale blue turret, white-capped, white-enthroned, a white wall-face beneath it. “Aroma, Arya Nivas, Ascot.” Beneath the dome. “Astoria, Atlantic.” Shorter apartment buildings, at some farther distance. “Bentley’s, Blue Ballerina, Bombay International.” Guard in astrakhan, gray bearded, staff in hand, blows whistle to warn sidewalkside dwellers off sidewalk. “Caesar’s Palace, Centaur, Chateau Windsor Guest House.” The sea has grown calmer. “Chatwani’s International.” The sun brighter. “Delamar, Diplomat.” Though the sky is nearly totally overcast with various clouds. “Fariyas, Fortview.” Another wave. “Galaxy, Garden, Gayland.” Enters to lave the entire near stretch of walkway with its dirty wash. “Godwin, Grand, Grand Central.” To the east of the blue dome. “Heritage, Hilltop International.” A high-rise tower, some 30 or 40 stories tall. “Hiramani, Holiday Inn, Horizon.” Cream with light gray-green trim. “Imperial Palace, Inphom, Iskcon Ashram.” To its immediate east. “Jal, Juhu.” A shorter building. “Kings, Kumkum, Kyoto.” Faced in green marble. “Laurens, Lords, Lovely.” Followed by an assortment of modern structures. “Manali, Manora, Mayura.” Next, a large cream, red-trimmed apartment complex, broadly facing into the bay. “Meghdoot, Metropole, Minerva.” Followed, after a group of modern offices, by the delicate spire of television tower arising from ground level in a graceful inverted V. “Mirabelle, MTDC.” The landscape line continues in like fashion: “Nataraj.” A lower group of beige office buildings, out of which a curtain-wall tower emerges. “National, Nelkanth, Norman’s Guest House.” More low-lying structures. “Oberoi Towers, Oriental Palace.” Masked in part by low deciduous trees. “Palace Ajanta, Palli Hills, Palm Grove.” Out of which palms begin to emerge in random fashion. “Pals, Parklane, Parkway, Poonam International.” They splay their fronds upward with insistent, increasing irregularity. “Premier, President, Purina Guest House.” As they approach the conclusion of the skyline.
“The Western and Central Railway authorities have already said that adequate measures have been taken to ensure smooth functioning of the suburban as well as through services.” Mahalaxmi Railway Station crossing, street scene below. “R.K. Hotel, Railway Hotel, Rajdoot.” “The Government Railway Police will assist the local police and Railway Protection Force (RPF) in manning the major stations.” Taxis parked, their dark yellow tops rain-washed to uniform glow/reflection. The pavement, too, in this middle-class neighborhood, also swept clear, though newly cluttered as well with waste paper, coconut rind, leaf, detritus. “Ravi, Ritz, Riviera, Rosewood, Rupam.” Friends stand to convene in the open street, which deadends at railway yard, turns instead into another courtyard filled with idle taxis. “The decisions of the organizers to halt trains. “Sahara, Salvation Army Red Shield Hostel.” “And railway authorities to operate them.” A large Sikh in black topknot shades his eyes against the sun to look upward 2 stories to scribbling author. “Are likely to endanger the law and order situation.” Who looks down past him again into the street below. Grandfather with grandson shades his eyes to look up. “Sea Green, Sea Green South, Sea King, Sea Palace, Searock, Sea Side.”
Two buildings on either side of street fill up the scene. “Seva Niketan (Sodality Home), Shalimar.” To the west a cream, blue-trimmed new construction, as yet unoccupied. “Shelley’s.” “Raj-Giri Decor / Painting Contractor,” reads a red-and-gray on white sign affixed to its side. “Siddharta, South End, Strand.” Beneath, a small Lakshmi temple, the goddess in cartoon-like delineation. “Sun-n-Sand.” Four small children have spotted author from below, ask for “baksheesh,” head for stairway to overpass. “Taj Inter-Continental, Taj Market, Transit.” To the east. “Welco,” An older building with rounded corner, its west face mildewed, spotted, streaked. “West End, WIAA Club, Women’s Graduate Union Hostel.” On up alleyway to south a varied scene: tile roofs projecting into the roadway, giving shadow to the pavement, on which denizens have gathered to display themselves in relaxed postures. “YMCA, YMCA International Guest House, YWCA.” A crowd has also gathered on the bridge ─ to observe author activity. Below, a man with large hoe shovels refuse backwards out of the street, as inactive barrow attendant attends. “Achamma Bhavan Hostel.” A middle-aged woman, petite, in black choli, elegant plum sari, sways gracefully up the street, past cars, past other pedestrians, out of the sun into deepening shadows. “Of the YWCA International Guest House.”
6:00 pm, bandh lifted; taxis revving up, off; pedestrians, bicycles, kids with hoops in motion. Jahangir Bowman Behran Marg street scene, apartment fronts, women leaning on balconies, men in undershirts, a man standing on the top of first floor, Udipi Restaurant, before second-floor “Hotel Tourist” sign. Woman in black choli, patterned blue sari, passes with white-suited man. Across-street policeman standing in Central (yellow) Bar & Restaurant (red), as altercation breaks out on corner. Crowd forms. Other paunch-bellied policemen this side of street view scene lackadaisically. An old woman in deep red sari, brilliant pale green flowers, orange leaves. In huge stylized letters: “Schroff Bar (Bar/Permit Room).”
Traffic on the increase. Two brown-uniformed policemen in consultation with 2 white-shirted policemen. To author’s left, a fancy prepared-fruit seller, his table wet with rain water, covered in red oilcloth, atop which white plates of watermelon pyramids, sections of banana, slices of pineapple. In their midst a thick cone of incense burning, its fumes swirling about. High above the Schroff Bar sign and to one side, the open palm, repeated, of the palm-reader “H.K. Gyani,” wash hung out next door. The tall apartment buildings are, some of them, 30 feet across, some a mere 18. Painted in grays, salmon, blue, their tiled roofs at different levels complement their rich architectural detail: Ionic columns, painted grillwork, elaborate fenestration.
“Before Independence.” Black marble stoop of Afghani restaurant. “After the romantic revival in the thirties.” View across to arch of “Anjuman-i-Islam Girl’s High School” (black letters on concrete-molded arch, western ornamental detail). “By the seven poets of Raavi-Kiran-Mandal, which had one very talented Sanskrit-Persian pundit, M.T. Patwardhan.” Taxis still parked 2 deep. “Who wrote Gajjalanjali, a book of Marathi ghazals.” White/blue metal luggage racks atop the 2 nearest. “And edited a Persian-Marathi dictionary.” Unfinished building. “There were noted lyricists.” Two rows of alcoves, stucco complete. “Like ‘Bee’ and Tambe.” One still in bare brick. “The best lyricist.” “OTIS” elevator sign. “Was the late G.D. Madgulkar of the Gita-Ramayana.” (Quotations from Prabhakar Machwe, “Marathi,” in Contemporary Indian Literature and Society, ed. Motilal Jotwani.)
Four women in brilliant saris seated in stoop next author: emerald; yellow over purple choli; bright light blue; multicolored yellow-and-red over green choli. “More than a lakh copies of this lyric-sequence were sold.” Farther down, a swarthy man leaning against the building wall. “And Vinoba Bhave was moved to tears listening to it.” Reclined, searching a scrap of newspaper for some distraction. “Besides the traditional semi-religious and love lyrics.” The women await something, each in a large kumkum. “The nationalist poetry.” Even farther down, 2 men in white shirts. “Which had two great names before Independence.” Green over-smocks. “Swatantryavir Vinayak Damodar Savarkar and Sane Guruji.” Work at stringing a daybed with twine. “Was not continued in the same measure after 1947.” Three of the women have reseated themselves on stoop, the largest of the 4, a woman of 40, pacing, her girth swathed in emerald over darker green. “Gandhi did not attract many poets, nor did Nehru, while Maharashtra had no such leader of stature who could be remembered in poetry.” The middle of the 3 seated women extends her feet to reveal lovely silver marriage anklets, silver rings on her second toes, brown plastic-imitation leather chappals. “Some old poets like Yeshwant wrote epics on Shivaji.” All 3 women, having noticed author registration activity, now regard him, gaze intently, amusedly, with lively interest. “Some ‘progressive’ poets sang of Russian Revolution, Vietnam and the workers-and-peasants’ struggles.” The nearest and most sympathetic, several front teeth missing, clasps her hands together, looking even more deeply, even more inquiringly at author. “But except the late Amarshekh no one could make a mark.” The bed-stringers continue their work. “Sharatchandra Mukibodh, Vinda Karandiakar (in his earlier phase) and Narayan Surve are the only three leftist poets acceptable to the Communists.” The woman shouts at author. “The Socialists had ‘Kusumagraj,’ Vasant Bapat and many others as their spokesmen.” Questions him in Marathi. “But neither the Emergency nor its lifting gave any memorable poems.” Finally gives up. A single slender volume containing work about the Emergency.” Laughs. “Has been published.” Author finishes page.
A.H. Ansari Chowk, 6:40 pm, fire station driveway, view of fire fighters’ monument (“Erected by Public Subscription in Sacred Memory of the Officers and Men of the Bombay Fire Services Who Lost Their Lives in the Dock Explosions While on Duty 14th April 1944”). Recently-installed marble slabs, more ancient pillars. “Though blank verse and vers libre were made fashionable in the late thirties.” Fire station with 2 red buses (personnel carriers). “By ex-progressive poets.” A 1930s hook-and-ladder truck. “Like A.R. Deshpande ‘Anil,’ N.G. Joshi and Mangesh Padgaonkar.” Two tankers (without locomotion). “It continued to be a draw.” Atop the firehouse a look-out tower. “Marathi poetry showed a rebellious modernist turn in the forties in the poems of B.S. Mardhekar.” Fireman out from firehouse to relight eternal flame in monument. “He wrote little, but did something which T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound did to English poetry.”
Across-square view of curved apartment front, as it moves through more than 90 degrees of plaza. “B.S. Mardhekar was accused of pornography.” Top floor painted pale green, next floor down in a highly saturated mauve-pink. “One of his collections was brought to the court, but later he was acquitted.” A man lies relaxing atop the total structure, stretching his arms, yawning, as he gazes at the sky. “The conservatives called him progressive.” Now sits up, leans over, spits on sidewalk 5 floors below. “The progressives called him a nihilist.”
The stores in the square are closed for this day of the bandh, some sporting new-fangled signs: “B.S. Mardhekar blazed the trail of the new poetry.” “BATA BATA BATA BATA BATA,” fancy lettering, others in an older mode. “P.S. Rege, Dilip Chitre, C.T. Khanolkar.” An older woman in saturated yellow, red-hemmed sari, “‘Grace’ and Arun Kolakar all followed in their wake.” Crosses the large plaza barefoot. “Rege made a distinctive name for himself with the use of a conspicuous idiom of linguistic experimentation.” Above: a fine pale sky, North Indian cloud of white fluff, gray gauze intermingled.
The Muslim element, so hard to come at, is come upon all of a sudden, as, turning homeward, author finds himself in the midst of busy Arab street life, the climate immediately changed. Greetings are neither so warm nor so deferential. The sidewalk filth of passage hence, robustly in the Bombay style, has become aggressive, almost overwhelming. Stalls push out into the street, the crowd itself taking up most of available passageway. A sense of camaraderie prevails, and the stranger is received as a somewhat threatening oddity. There is relatively little sign of Arabic institutions per se, rather a difference in style. Outside the barber shop, where holiday eve customers are being shaved, sits a row of elders. Merchants of fabric ─ even fine wares ─ display them openly on the curb. All life, in fact, gravitates more decidedly toward the center of the street. There is a mosque, painted bright green, within whose inner court are visible priestly figures gathering up prayer mats against the chance of an imminent rain burst, but the mosque is less than dominant. A certain ethnicity prevails, though it is not the ethnicity of New York Jew or Italian or Chinese, not a separateness, an efficiency, an exclusive purchase on some piece of the pie, but rather an all-pervasive sense. We are Indians but we are also Muslims, and we will die for this, have died, but also have conquered. We care not much what you think of it all, for it is larger than you. With relief author returns to an ordinary Hindu neighborhood.
*
Bombay neighborhood (Wadi), Gujarati/Portuguese ancient alleyway, small individual houses, one vehicle passageway, Christian shrine, inscription in Portuguese, Hindu shrine, opened to permit exit of mango tree. Across-street view of Mahavir Building. Cow in alleyway, 2 women arriving, early 20s, wine-flowered cholis, rust-and-cream saris. As he writes, author closely observed by black-panted, pink‑(Benneton‑)shirted girl, tea glass in hand. Red cross, Marathi script. Leafy arbor with Hindu temple portal. Woman passing looks back over shoulder, strong-boned, big-breasted, in pale blue choli, green floral cotton sari. “Cowest Jain Clinic of Hospitals” across street, red railing, black spikes. Baby of 2 or 3 in silver anklets, Hindu temple interior. Ganesh, his cage open, many delightful multicolored ceramic tiles (9 of them). Pigeon inside temple sits atop an image of Krishna. Street traffic moves slowly in the brightening early afternoon sun.
Second Wadi view, predominantly Christian neighborhood, opposite moss-covered house, #37, Himkar. Girl past in green blouse, green matching (rather short) western skirt, her lanky legs a rare sight. “MM1503 Lamby” scooter, its front damaged from stone strike, black plastic covers to shield driver’s hands from rain. Adjacent wooden portico, stucco-stone building, stained glass at second/third stories.
“Anonymous communications are exceedingly common in India.” Girgaum sidewalk progress, 1:00 pm. “And as a rule.” Immense black midden constructed at curbside. “It is practically impossible to trace their authorship.” Gujarati neighborhood. “A case of this type.” Gujarati restaurant approach. “Which presented unusual features.” The Deccan Merchants Co-op Bank, Ltd. “Was successfully investigated by the police in 1915.” Sandals for sale next door, strong odor of fresh-cut leather.
Up-street view of rust-red, yellow-trimmed Portuguese church. “For more than two years a series of objectionable and defamatory postcards had been received by high officials, prominent Indians, and clubs. “Trinkas / Wine / Shop / Brandy,” each word in a different pastel. Arrival at circle: “Sharma Computer Centre,” advertised on 10 different signs. “Any event of public interest during that period resulted in a shower of these typed communications, which were always very scurrilous and on occasion flagrantly indecent.”
Sidewalk progress continuation. Man in white mask purchasing leather goods. “Majestic Opticians.” Porter seated within his own empty basket; a woman seated on doorstep, yawning. “They were addressed not only to residents of Bombay but to officials in other parts of India as well.” Onward. “To the Governor.” Pan stall. “The Viceroy.” “Legacy of Rage” (movie ad). “And even to members of the Royal Family in England. “Plastic Lamination Done Here.” “The C.I.D. had been able to establish the fact that all the cards and letters were typed on a single machine of a particular and well-known make. “Honesty & Co. / Stationery & Diary Makers.” “And having done that, they proceeded with the approval of the postal authorities, to subject all postcards received in the General Post Office to close scrutiny throughout a period of several weeks.”
“B.M. Palekar / Bookseller / Exhibitor / Children [sic] Books, Picture Books, Story Books, Comics.” “At length their patience was rewarded.” “Amar Chitra Katha. Government approved National Leader Photo. Sunday Closed.” “A card was found, which on careful scrutiny was seen to have been typed on the missing machine.” Bookstore interior: “And as it was an ordinary and bona fide business communication it was not difficult to locate the machine.” Large display, under musty breeze of overhead fan, books in colorful Marathi covers, table-top religious literature (pocket size). “It proved to be the property of a well-known Indian merchant.” Children’s books with old-fashioned illustrations on their covers. “Further inquiry rendered it certain that he was the author of the anonymous cards.” Wall above: famous cricket players, large 4-inch by 6-inch cards.
“He was therefore arrested and released on bail.” Opposite wall photos of famous people: Dr. Rajendra Prasad. “While the police were collecting further evidence to support the charge against him.” Dr. S. Radhakrishnan. “The accused.” Pakki Ruddin Ali Ahmed. “Who had many influential friends.” Gyanji Zail Sing (turbaned), Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, Lal Bahadur Shastri. “Confessed his guilt to one of them and asked his advice.”
Cool drink stand interior, dark blue-and-white ceramic checkerboard floor, rows of bottled drinks running along 3 walls of interior. “The friend advised him to make a clean breast of the whole matter to the Commissioner of Police and throw himself on his mercy.” Davara Rose Syrup, Rogers Orange (first rank). “This he agreed at the moment but in the end failed to do.” Rogers Strawberry, Rogers Lemonade (second rank). “And a few days later, while ostensibly endeavoring to light a gas-stove with a bottle of methylated spirits.” Rogers Soda Water (third rank). “He was so severely burned about the body that he died in a few hours.” Close scrutiny of author activity, bare-footed, white-panted, gray-shirted op, 3 graduated red plastic tubs behind him.
At porch of stall 2 men in white kurtas drinking pink rose-syrup milk drinks, holding their pinkies aloft. “The case caused some commotion in the community to which the accused belonged, and the Commissioner was urged to refrain at the inquest from any allusion to the criminal inquiry into the authorship of the postcards.” Op cracking ice cubes, opening up syrup bottles (orange); taps measuring spoon on bottom of sink; enters ice cube, enters syrup. “But this the Commissioner refused to do, in view of the wild rumors about the case being spread about the City, some of which placed the police in a false and undesirable position.” Op places one glass atop another, mouth to mouth, in order to shake.
“It was doubtless satisfactory to the friends of the deceased.” Three matrons at glass, darkened end of stall. “That the Coroner’s jury found themselves able to pronounce a verdict of accidental death.” Family group seated, modern mommy in brown hair, yellow shift, bangles; hubby in tinted shades, thin 1-year-old in his arms, she using red plastic receiver of just-purchased toy phone, its apparatus still in its brown corrugated cardboard box. “It only remains to add.” “Hello? Hello?” ─ mommy helping baby to practice. “That after the arrest of the accused.” Honk of car horns passing. “The plague of anonymous postcards entirely ceased.” Large plastic Frooti container (ad) with artificial orange peel closed over its lip.
Gujarati restaurant wait, coupon procured, seat on marble bench taken, communal marble-clad waiting room, row of exclusively male patrons, dressed in expensive slacks, shirts open 2 or 3 buttons to reveal gold chainwear. Watch-face wall clock reading 2:15, Marathi-lettered pennon in dark blue, dark red, metallic gold. Through-portal view of menu ─ all in Marathi ─ on black chalkboard, pink, light green, pale blue lettering. Gorgeous coupon-giver in pale skin, yellow yoke on white smock, gold pendant earrings. She has a separate fan, directed at her neck, a second fan cooling the collective clientele. A black phone sits on the countertop, behind it another in dirty green. From the kitchen the whiff of ginger. “No Smoking.” The humid atmosphere oppressive.
Late-afternoon shopping expedition, “Tribhsvandar Jhanvi,” fancy jeweler, black velvet back panels, white leather insets, diamond broaches set in gold, diamond earrings, Plexiglas cases. “Everything has diamonds with it” ─ author looking for rubies for his sister.
“Oh, yes!”
“I don’t think we’ll find what we’re looking for.”
“Are you interested in rubies?”
“Yes, but we’re only window shopping.” On counter, Minnie Mouse with a champagne glass in her hand; red frock, yellow underpants, red bow in pigtailed hair. Languorous ruby salesgirl in pink patterned dress, 3-dimensional gold heart. Second in blue silk sari, raven braid. Video camera at one end of counter, video screen at the other. Salesgirl still holding tray of rubies, all extravagantly set in diamonds, each piece equal to several months of author’s Indian salary.
Mombai Devi Temple courtyard. Cow in stall pisses into already deposited cow pie. Man seated to one side, tattered umbrella helping to shade him from an ample sun. Gipsy in extravagantly brocaded cape, emerald skirt, multicolored patterns appliquéd; an infant in arms, black kurta, gold-inwoven. Coconut, palm leaf, marigold, all for sale as puja offering, floor of filthy courtyard, female figures seated on it. At its center, a metal plate, fire burning.
Deputy Director’s office, United States Information Service, after-hours view. American Center Bulletin, May 1989, still photo from the movie “Hoosiers” (starring Gene Hackman). “‘Hoosiers’ is a warm and sensitive story based on a real ‘David-and-Goliath’ episode in Midwest basketball history.” British Deputy High Commission Newsletter, July-August 1989. “Bombay Concert Orchestra.” “In 1951 Coach Norman Dale, running away from an earlier career crisis.” “William Wordsworth and the Age of English Romanticism.” “Arrives at the rural hamlet of Hickory, Indiana.” “Poetry reading: Nissim Ezekiel, Ninaz Khodaiji and Sirish Shahane, in association with the poetry circle.” “Pulls together a group of high school kids.” “National Center for the Performing Arts, Nariman Point, Bombay.” “And leads them to the state basketball championship finals.” “Little Theater: Rosa Luxembourg.” “Against a team from a big city high school.” “Maltar Rao Sardesai ─ Lecture/Demonstration on Tabla.”
Secretary-receptionist’s desk, entrance hall, gray commercial carpet, scrubby rhododendrons in pots on floor, a turquoise vase within a clay saucer. Coffee table between equidistant black vinyl sofas. On it: The Americans and the Arts; Problems of Communism (4 issues); The Dance in America; SPAN (“A Publication of USIS”): “Indo-US Expedition: A Himalayan Success”; National Center for the Performing Arts Quarterly: “What is Khyal? Creativity within North India’s Classical Music Tradition.” Receptionist’s desk: calendars for May, June, July 1989 displayed on wall. On desk: Webster’s Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary; scotch-tape dispenser; Swingline stapler; Camel Stamp Pad. On table to left: IMB Correcting Selectric III, telephone, paper clip tray. On table to right: Bi-Peninsular: The Magazine of Indo-Italian Friendship. Behind desk: Wang computer on table, separate keyboard.
Hallway continuation: poster photos in luxuriously unreal light/chiaroscuro/saturation: “New Orleans, U.S. Ahhh.” Flag with hot dogs for stripes, a cake for starfield. “Los Angeles,” “Atlanta,” “New York” (the Statue of Liberty); “Seattle,” “Chicago,” “Houston” (freeway green with early morning light, silhouetted pink, magenta, indigo high-rise buildings).
Program Officer’s office, table visible from hallway: Lewis Perry, Intellectual Life in America: A History, beneath which, The Most Popular Plays in American Theater. Author steps into a second office, where Program Manager has given him permission to browse her bookshelf: Schubnell, N. Scott Momaday; Scott Momaday, House Made of Dawn; David Hare, Plenty. Family Matters; The Dance in America; American Literature Survey; Film: A Reference Guide; Selected Bibliography of Women in India. Following the books, a ceramic pot, atop a coaster, inside another coaster, all 3 atop a small vase, inside an ashtray. Book spine continuation: Richard Monaco, New American Poetry; There Must be a Lone Ranger; Lonnie Erdrich, Tracks. Second (middle) shelf, larger books laid flat: Bullfinch’s Mythology; Sri Aurobindo, Essays on The Gita; his Synthesis of Yoga; Feature Films on 8 and 16MM. Dickinson, The Complete Poems; The Sense of Order; The Vonnegut Statement; New Broadways. At the end of shelf a stack of books, spines not visible. Third (bottom) shelf: International Film Guide 1976 (upside down); Manipulated Reality; Feature Films on 8 and 16MM (paperback edition). Hollywood Costumes; Poems by Joyce Carol Oates (subtitle, title not visible). Foirades/Fizzles; Echo and Allusion in the Art of Jasper Johns.
Bombay overhead park scene, 9:00 am, view from fourth floor, YMCA International Guest House. Three skinny teenagers at cricket pitch, batsman cleaning the ball in a large rain puddle. “In the long contest of the European nations for India, England emerged the winner.” On the basketball court 2 much younger kids play 2-man soccer, their ball a patchwork of black and white. At the corner of the park, a large humped white Brahma bull lazily grazes at refuse. “Her gift was partly the gift of fortune.” Tail swishing away pesky flies with emphatic determination. “But mainly the result of four elements in the national character.” Visible from author’s vantage point, the hovels of the homeless, their black vinyl roofs augmented with pieces of green plastic. “First, a marvelous patience and self-restraint in refusing to enter on territorial conquests or projects of Indian aggrandisement, until she had gathered strength enough to succeed.” A young mother in sheer turquoise wrap pulls shaven-headed 3-year-old son along behind her. The soccer players departed, a solitary boy on a red bike makes a round of the basketball court, departing for a corner of the park.
“Second, an indomitable persistence in those projects once they were entered upon.” Below, in the street outside the park’s perimeter, a yellow/blue/red-hatted veena salesman plies his trade. “And a total incapacity, on the part of her servants in India, of being stopped by defeat.” Author to station, inside park, 9:30 am, yellow-cream and pink balustrades of International YMCA visible above. Below, a young man passes with spray tank, coating one by one the park’s large puddles in anti-mosquito emulsion. Three 8-year-old cricketers now occupy the basketball court, whose backboards are tilted, rims netless.
“Third, an admirable mutual confidence of the Company’s servants in one another at times of trouble.” In the opposite direction, at park’s far corner, infants of 2, 3, 4 play with sticks in the muddy puddles, the sun catching the water as it splashes up from their feet. The park is surrounded by rather stately, freshly-painted tall buildings, in the intervals by older buildings of 3 or 4 stories. Palms, ashoka trees, other more massive, more broadly-spreading deciduous growth randomly fills the neighborhood.
“Fourth, and chief of all.” YMCA alphabet/numbers class, teacher of 10 with ruler in hand, pigtails tied in light blue bows. “The resolute support of the English nation at home.” Blue smock over white blouse, gray, yellow-hemmed pajama pants. “England has never doubted that she must retrieve every disaster which may befall Englishmen in India.” Her 3 dozen kids of 4-6 seated on mats, half a dozen slates among them. Not much study going on. Older instructor arrives, asks for ruler, thwacks a 6-year-old, holds out ruler, shaking it as she offers further instruction. Sheepishly he holds his schoolbag in front of his face; offers back-chat; is thwacked a parting blow; runs off crying.
Twelve-year-old instructor approaches author. “Nor did she ever sacrifice the work of her Indian servants to the exigencies of diplomacy in Europe.” Is joined by her 10-year-old assistant, a 6-year-old student with slate, seeking confirmation of her results. “For she was the only European power which unconsciously but absolutely carried out these two principles of policy.” “Eyes,” says 10-year-old instructor, her back to author, as she resumes instruction, pointing to her eyes. Author points to his. Seated class giggles. “Nose,” she says, pointing to nose. Author causes the class to laugh. Instructor swivels head, smiles. Author smiles at her. “Teeth,” she says. Three or 4 children have joined seated author. A swarthy 4-year-old leans against him, offering a crumpled piece of paper. “Ears,” says instructor. Author stops writing; points to his. Two dozen kids all giggle in unison, as a dozen now crowd about author’s notebook. “The result . . .” Suddenly, on their teacher’s command, all must return to the scene of instruction. “Is the British India of today.” Departing author waves. Children wave back. (Quotations from The Imperial Gazetteer.)