London Diary

Six Yards To Elegance

The sari is fast disappearing from the London social scene. Indian women of a certain age turn up at parties in ‘kurtis’ and cigarette pants. On top of that, the custom of calling everyone by their first names scrubs out age gaps and helps foster the illusion of youth (if you want to rile someone up, try addressing her as ‘aunty’). But age shows, no matter how thin she is. It’s a case of mutton dressed as lamb. Some have abandoned Indian outfits altogether and wear only frocks. The ubiquitous black pantsuit in winter makes me feel as though I am at a perpetual funeral. The sari is one of the last bastions of national dress left in the world. I for one love their innumerable colours and textures and weaves and make it a point to wear saris in jewelled tones to black-tie dinners.

Gap Year That Never Ended

Another year, another anniversary. It makes me wonder what problems were solved by the Partition. What was the point if India still has to bear attacks from Pakistan? My husband (Lord Gulam Noon) was trapped in Mumbai’s Taj Mahal Hotel in last November’s terrorist attack. Kasab and his partners in crime had no list of demands, no agenda, except to bring India down on its knees. So what’s changed since the ’40s, when Mahatma Gandhi wrote this postcard to Maulana Bari: “Maulana Saheb, aap ka mohabbat se bhara hua khat mujhe mila hai. Mohabbat ka rasta bhi yeh hai ki hum ek doosron ko khule dil se likh sakein. Donon Ali bhai yahaan do din rahein. Hindu-Muslim sawaal ke mutallak hamne bahut baatein ki hain. Mein is baare mein kuch likhne ki koshish karoonga. Main chaahta hoon ki hum jaldi se milein. Aapka mezaj accha hoga. Aapko Id Mubarak ho. Aapka khadim, Gandhi.” (“Maulana Sahib, I have received your affectionate letter. The path of love and affection requires us to write frankly to each other. The two Ali brothers stayed here for two days. We discussed the Hindu-Muslim question at length. I will try and write to you about this. I would like to meet you soon. I hope you are keeping well. Id Mubarak. Your servant, Gandhi”). It’s marked: Andheri, Sunday 4th May, and sent to Maulana Abdul Bari Saheb, Ferungi Mahal, Lucknow. Other papers in the collection from which this is taken are variously dated at 18.8.46 and 3.2.42.

Sotheby’s auctioned that postcard in London recently as part of a larger collection of Gandhi papers. There’s even a khadi napkin signed by ‘Mohandas Gandhi’ and ‘Meera’ in Hindi, and ‘Sarojini Naidu’ and ‘Pyarelal’ in English. Did they sign it on a whim after eating dinner together? Noon bought the Gandhi papers in the Sotheby’s auction, in collaboration with Nat Puri. As they did once before, they will present the collection to the Indian nation.

Guilt-Edged Cup

Doesn’t anybody live in one place any more? No, they don’t. My dilemma—of living in London and managing ailing parents in Delhi—is shared by millions of Indian families scattered across the globe from New York to New Delhi, from Mumbai to Melbourne. They must feel the full weight of the distance, as I do, especially when boarding a flight in panic, not knowing if a parent will still be alive upon arrival. How do you cope? Remote control by telephone? Depend upon relatives? Hope the servants are honest enough? Only a generation or two ago people lived in the same city (or at least in the same country) and life was less stressful. Now one juggles so many balls in the air—career, finance, husband, children, health, friends, parents’ needs—that he/she inevitably misses one or two, making ours a very guilt-ridden age.

Life’s Give And Take

London is becoming quite a hub of 21st century spirituality. Practice of Past Life Therapies has proliferated hugely, and they are an excellent tool for healing (a shamanic healer once told me life is a great opportunity to heal oneself). Recently, I went to hear a talk on ‘Finding Freedom & Fulfilment’ by Swami Satsangi, a visiting sanyasin from the Bihar School of Yoga. Hundreds came to attend the day-long event. As a regular visitor to the Pondicherry ashram, I am conscious of the inner journey each one must make, in tandem with the material outer journey. Presently, we are expected to combine the two, not to escape into a mountain cave. One of my favourite quotes is: You make a living by what you get, but you make a life by what you give.

No Worries For A Week Or Two

August is known as the silly season in London when parliament is in recess, schools are shut, families go away on holiday, and newspapers struggle to find hard news. I read an interesting item about battery-powered taxis without drivers. Professor Martin Lowson has developed a four-seater capsule with a ‘start’ button for passengers to make it go. Next year, these cabs will be operational at London’s Terminal 5. If those cabs came to India, what will happen to all the wonderful Sikh taxi drivers?