by Aline Dobbie
Graham and I returned to Bhopal exhausted but happy at having the opportunity to experience this wealth of antiquity. This great land never fails to amaze me, vast fortresses, temples, cities, mausoleums, rock art, wildlife, flora, cuisine, music, textiles and crafts keep presenting themselves as new and thought-provoking experiences. Along with all that are the people, mostly happy, spiritual and getting on with their lives. Yes, I know only too well about the suffering, deprivation and poverty that is part and parcel of India’s billion population. I care deeply about it and never dismiss it totally from my mind but, truly, there is such a wealth of wonder for anyone to assimilate and enjoy. My advice to the westerner is to enjoy and take away some of all this in your heart and mind and demonstrate your caring by giving to a reputable organisation – there are so many NGOs (non-governmental organisations) that are constantly requiring our help.
Whenever I return from a long morning of sightseeing I feel quite dehydrated and long for an ice cold coke with lots of lemon and ice. In a reputable hotel such as the Noor us Sabah, the ice is no danger but in lots of other places I would not adulterate my bottled drink. It was great to just stretch out and enjoy the quiet of our suite where someone had thoughtfully put a vase of flowers and left me a gift. After a light lunch, we were ready to go out again and see the various places of interest or, at least, make a choice between them and then do a bit of shopping. There are, as I say, a number of places worthy of interest including the Birla Mandir Museum, which houses some of the finest stone sculpture to be found in Madhya Pradesh. There is Bharat Bhavan which is considered to be provincial India’s most outstanding arts centre. One of the interesting exhibits is that of the adivasi art. The Gond painter Jangarh Singh Shyam was featured in Mark Tully’s well known book ‘No Full Stops in India’, which I would recommend to anyone visiting India for the first time. There are a number of his works on display.
For us the main attraction is The Museum of Man which is the attempt to tell the story of India’s indigenous minorities, the adivasis or ‘original inhabitants’. I have already spoken of the tribal people and the gradual erosion of their traditional culture, this sadly continues with more and more of the modern brutal world impacting on their way of life. Modern governments always feel embarrassed by what they think of as anachronisms, but I wish they would value them for what they are, people who link us all to our original roots and cultures. They deserve our respect and help, not ridicule. Specialist adivasi men and women were brought in to construct and depict their own particular way of life and this hillside ‘page of history and culture’ is in marked contrast to the noisy teeming city below. Here, in the West, we do this sort of exhibition very well and produce atmospheric depictions of ancient times. In India, one has to realise that the exhibition is depicting ancient and modern, i.e., some of what still exists. Even here in Biggar, very near to where I live, we have wonderful little museums, indeed, it is considered to be the king of museum towns in Scotland, despite its small population, but they all depict activities and actions of past times; in India, there is the realisation that the time is not yet past. I do not know what the future holds for India’s adivasis but I pray that governments will respect them and not bully them and exploit them needlessly. Even in Botswana we recently heard of coercion towards the Bushmen of the Kalahari by their own government, who wished to relocate them from their natural living and hunting grounds into some barren suburban site. I think, with the world’s help, the Bushmen won that round. Let us hope influential men and women seek to help the adivasi populations of India.
Gudu took us to shop at the Madhya Pradesh State Cottage Industries. This was an interesting exercise. First, we realised that it would be good to have some rupees in cash, our original sum having dwindled. This was absolutely no problem. We went to a small air-conditioned office, glass walled with a locked door, which was opened by a security guard. He inspects you and realizes that you want to use the ATM and unlocks the door and leaves you to your machinations. It could not be easier, out pops the cash after the usual procedure that one would follow anywhere. The Cottage Industries had not, however, yet opened, though it was long past the hour! The security guard realised that we wanted to enter and, though it was nothing to do with him, he spoke sharply to some young people whom he presumably recognised as staff and told them to hurry up and open the shop for us. The usual inertia, lack of motivation and I suspect pure boredom was reigning. We enjoyed ourselves and bought several gifts for Christmas plus one or two other things including some wonderful curtaining. It was ridiculously cheap and yet so good – it cost about a pound for a metre. Graham, bless him, valiantly carried the ten metre package out to the jeep. I asked them to parcel it up and courier it, for an additional fee of course, but, no, this is a government organisation and using one’s initiative is out of the question! So, we had to go to a baggage shop and buy a cheap holdall to take all the new acquired gifts and material! It was fun and the young girls seem to enjoy the contact and banter that went on. Bhopal is not yet on a tourist route and so they do not meet many foreigners; people who might visit them would be delegates to a convention or diplomatic visitors, I formed the impression that the various Eastern races like the Japanese and Koreans did not do much shopping – they always seem to be worshipping at the shrine of western designers. Shopping in India to me is a delight, and not for myself really because our home is fully furnished and adorned, but as gifts. Miniature paintings, beaded handbags for evening wear, inexpensive cotton baggy trousers for lounging around, jewellery, ornaments there is such a wealth of choice, and our friends appear to be pleased with our presents, but then I do try to choose carefully!
The Noor us Sabah allowed us to use our suite until the very last minute before leaving the hotel. This was very helpful because there is nothing more tiring than waiting around in foyers and departure lounges. I was feeling quite jumpy about the flight because, unfortunately, Indian Airlines are notorious for changing departure times and it would have been awful to lose the flight by half an hour. As it was, it seemed delayed and Bhopal airport had the benefit of our close scrutiny. We had said farewell to Gudu and were sorry to part; a long journey can bond people together and he is a nice man. We found a suitable gift for his wife and children and an appropriate financial reward for him. He said he would wait to see that our aircraft did touch down and then after that leave for the first stage of his journey back to Gwalior. I said that he should please not travel at night but of course do not know what he decided.
Airport security at this domestic airport was intense about which we felt very comfortable. The entire luggage was x-rayed and also individually inspected and we were all given a body search by male and female officers. This is pretty normal procedure anyway in India for air travel but now they are even more thorough. Just as one was about to walk out of the departure lounge on to the tarmac there was another body search and investigation of one’s hand luggage. Eventually, the plane took off and, feeling quite hungry, I ate the airline food, which was tolerable. Arrival at Delhi Domestic airport was efficient and at 22.15 we were met by young Farokh from The Travel House and taken to The Maurya Hotel and Towers. This lovely hotel belongs to the Welcomgroup which is an ITC company but has a business connection with The Sheraton Group worldwide. Truly, this is one of the world’s leading hotels with enormous emphasis on service and perfection. The décor and standards are amongst the best in the world and many state presidents such as Bill Clinton and Vladimir Putin stayed here on their official visits.
There had been plans to give us a full suite with our own butler but I declined as it would have been unappreciated as we had such an early start the following morning. The normal towers suite was lovely. However I asked to see the presidential suites and was shown to one. It was as if one had moved into a complete apartment, superbly appointed with its own roof garden and spa pool on the terrace. This would be a most wonderful venue for a small reception and dinner party with a good view looking out on
to the elegant areas of New Delhi. We were both tired but arriving at The Maurya rejuvenated us and we decided to go and dine at The Dum Phukt.
The Dum Phukt is an elegant restaurant with a pianist tinkling the ivories and the most delicious food. Their other great restaurant The Bukhara is rated as one of the ten best restaurants in the world. The Maitre D’ was helpful and friendly and nicely judged what we would like to eat at that late hour, his recommendation of a bottle of red wine from Maharashtra was good. An elegant small meal with a beautiful wine in interesting surroundings people watching was a perfect end to a busy day.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
The Jat Regimental Reunion
The alarm call pierced my sleep and we both threw ourselves in the shower for the start of another action-packed day. In no time at all, Brigadier Satish Kumar, our old friend would arrive and then we would set off on the fairly long drive to Bareilly. It was great to see Satish again and we piled into the Travel House car and set off. With the sun rising through the mist like a huge crimson ball, it was so interesting to watch this great city wake and its population start to go about their business. I love the early morning in the East, it is beautiful too in the West in the summer, but on a cold dark winter’s morning in Scotland there is very little charm. Having grown up in the East, I immediately return to the feeling of expectation and energy that the cool dawn light brings. The smoke of wood fires, the fast food wallah calling his wares, the sweepers cleaning, men stretching and doing old-fashioned exercises and the children rubbing their eyes but looking sweet and prim and proper in their immaculate little uniforms. Look about and you will observe a devout Muslim spreading his mat towards Mecca to pray, or a gentle old Indian woman starting her Hindu devotions with some fresh marigolds with which to adorn her preferred deity. Then, there will be servants walking dogs, and the flower man setting up his stall and, inevitably, at the roadside dhabba, tired lorry drivers having a scalding cup of chai. The fly-overs in Delhi have made a big difference to the traffic and we made good progress. Now they also have a metro which will benefit everyone, though I have yet to travel in it. Kolkata has one and so does Mumbai but I am not really that fond of the Tube back home so do not need to experiment with the Indian versions; I just hope that it has helped the average person. Long hours strap-hanging on the Central Line when working in London was one of life’s less attractive memories for me. Courageously, the authorities in Delhi have said that they want to clear the roads of the cows that wander around and snarl up the traffic. This is a good thing, provided the poor beasts are taken somewhere pastoral and fed and watered; if they are just herded into some squalid compound and left to take their chances for food I would condemn the move.
The early morning drive into Uttar Pradesh was enjoyable whilst we made good progress; indeed, we could hardly believe it. Satish wanted a quick stop at a hotel for some breakfast. This proved to be quite amusing. In true military style, he ordered for us three and the bearer went off. Then the man reappeared and said that he only had two eggs, what was he to do. Satish exploded and said why was he delaying, to get on and make the omelette and divide it between us. Something about it all was so funny, but I could not laugh openly. Here was Satish, the retired efficient army officer of senior rank querulously ordering the slow shambolic waiter as time ticked by whilst we British looked on – it somehow seemed a microcosm of India: the impatience and the inertia. When Satish exploded and said in Hindi ‘You fool, this is breakfast time, why do you not have enough eggs, what do people eat in the mornings? Eggs of course, hurry up we are going to be late .. What are you waiting for, get on with it?’ The man replies the equivalent of ‘I don’t know, but we just don’t, will you have toast? Does the sahib want tea?’ … all at a snail’s pace! Graham and I just giggled in the end because that sort of thing can happen anywhere, the Highlands of Scotland, Italy, France, Viet Nam, wherever you are in a hurry and your mission is urgent but they are going through the dull ritual of their working lives and really are not worried as to customer satisfaction. Fortunately ‘the pit stop’ was clean and reasonable which is just as important, certainly for girls!
First, we had crossed the Yamuna River and then we came to the Ganges. Again, that same special feeling enveloped me: Mother Ganga, lifeblood to millions, spiritual rejuvenation, deity and wonder. Rabindranath Tagore wrote:
‘I think of other ages that floated upon the stream of life and love and death and are forgotten, and I feel the freedom of passing away.’
Jawaharlal Nehru in his book ‘Testament’ wrote:
‘…the Ganga has been to me a symbol and a memory of the past of India, running into the present, and flowing on to the great ocean of the future.’
Both those men’s writing encapsulates my feelings for this wonderful ancient holy river. I do wish my health allowed me to make a journey from its source at Gangotri in the Himalayas down to its delta where it meets the ocean, but for the early part of such a pilgrimage I would need a physical stamina which I know I no longer have.
Suddenly, we hit a problem with a 7 km tail back of huge lorries that were actually heading towards us but somehow had created a gridlock. Thank goodness for Satish, who, in true military style, got out of the car and started to use his natural authority and organise the lorry drivers and eventually we were able to drive on. It happened yet again and by this time we were very worried as we were special guests of The Jat Regiment for their annual Raising Day celebrations and reunion. Finally, we arrived at our hotel. Because of the number of guests who were attending, we civilians had been accommodated at the Uberoi Grand in the Civil Lines of Bareilly. That means in the civilian town. Well, after Madhya Pradesh’s indifferent hotels, this was such a pleasant surprise with a lovely comfortable full suite with sitting and dining room and bed and bathroom and helpful staff. As we were running late we quickly changed and spruced up and drove off to the Regimental Centre where celebrations were in full swing and had been since the 18th, this being the 20th November. The parade ground was decorated and parades and events were congregated in battalion groupings around the whole area, whilst the Regimental Band and a visiting band from the Sikh Light Infantry were playing. Sadly, we had missed the wreath-laying ceremony at the Jat War Memorial which had taken place the previous morning followed by a group photo, a ladies meeting, and luncheon at Bareilly Club. Then, a band display and Beating Retreat had taken place followed by dinner at Jat House. However, here we were and the welcome was so warm and friendly. General Khanna, Colonel of the Regiment greeted us and Brigadier Shyam Lal the Commandant made us welcome (Satish Kumar had been Commandant on my previous two visits in 1997 and 1998) and we met all their ladies. People were arriving all the time and the place was swarming with generals who had all come back to demonstrate their comradeship with the Regiment. Colonel Akhe Ram arrived. He is a wonderful old man whom I just loved; he has been decorated by HM The Queen personally and is so interesting because, in his post military life, he has been hugely successful in all his endeavours and has a number of flourishing businesses. He is in his mid eighties and still wise and alert about business, yet with the depth of personality that true wisdom brings. Suddenly I felt a brush on my shoulder and it was my favourite, Gurung; it was so super to see him again. Gurung is a Nepalese and has the rank of Lance Naik or Naik by now, i.e., corporal; he made a connection with us when we were the Regiment’s guests in November 1997 and again in March of 1998. Again, it was a bond that just grew and we have kept in touch over the years through stilted letters and more recently email. Gurung was going to look after me personally and, had I eaten and drunk all that he attempted to shower on me, I would have exploded!
Welcome arch for Reception and Dinner at the Officer’s Mess, the Jat Regiment at Bareilly
The bands played, people chatted, retired officers met up with old comrades, shy ladies and children observed and talked quietly. The men sat in groups and, whilst the generals and colonels chatted, their ladies berated them
for having yet another conference. People wanted a photograph and I took many and then they asked for me to sit with the wives and children which was fun. Brigadier Shyam Lal asked General Khanna’s wife and me to go through to lunch which is called BaraKhana or big meal. It is the custom on these special occasions that everyone of all ranks eat together but, in truth, that would have been a logistical nightmare so a sample of all ranks were invited and one just helped oneself and sat next to whoever. Gurung kept following me about with more plates of food but finally I tactfully convinced him that enough was enough! As soon as we had all eaten, we dispersed; it was actually quite rapid. Most of the men went off to the golf course and we were informed that there was a full programme for Graham and me to enjoy. Subadar Major Wazir Singh of the Sikh Light Infantry Band asked if he might play something especially for me. They also had pipers amongst them so I said ‘That would be wonderful, what about Road to the Isles?’ It appeared as if a moment of panic entered his eyes so I swiftly said no, how thoughtless, please could it be The Skye Boat Song (having remembered just in time that The Skye Boat Song is the Slow March of The Jats, and indeed was played at my christening together with a full band programme). He grinned and the Band played and when they had finished I spoke in Hindi and told them how proud I was to be there with them and how happy they had made me. I then pointedly took some photos of the young ‘jawans’ or jocks in our parlance and said hello. It is always easy at these functions to concentrate on the great and the good but there would be little point to having lots of top brass if there were insufficient foot soldiers.
Aline with wives and children of serving soldiers of the Jat Regiment
Dear Gurung efficient as ever at Bharra Khanna (Luncheon)
