The English Obsession: Tales Of Ties, Tailors, And Traditions

By Vikas Thakur

“Oh, Papa! Where were you?” exclaimed my 6th-grade son. I saw that he and my better half had been struggling with his school tie. I had gone for my morning walk, and it seemed they were at sea trying to make a knot for the new school tie.

Thank God I didn't have to suffer this utterly useless piece of garment in my school, I thought.

Countless millions of Indian kids have suffered this noose around their delicate necks in the tropical heat, just to follow in the footsteps of the Brits.

Likewise, our legal eagles have endured the black coat that is mandatory in Indian courts, despite temperatures hitting up to 50 degrees Celsius.

Our unconditional love for all things Western is truly baffling. In spite of our chronic shortage of water, and an even greater shortage of toilet etiquette, we have replaced the humble 'Indian Toilet' in public conveniences with the 'Western Commode'.

Our higher echelons are filled with the 'Brown Sahibs'. Especially in the Army I joined, they were everywhere. We took our baby steps in tune with the bagpipers playing Scottish tunes in the heat of Meerut. We wore Mess dresses that would not have been out of place in medieval England. There were tailors like Mehtab (God bless his noble soul) who raised an army of children on the earnings brought by a lifetime of stitching this special line of garments for us Griffins.

Old-timers in the Army still lived as if they were serving His Majesty. They offered beer and gin during lunch and whiskey in the evenings, as if the Sun had never set for the English.

We tried to latch on, though in our hearts we knew a lassi at noon and a thandai in the evening would be better for our 'native' heart and soul. However, 'It Was Not Done,' and we could 'Not be a Sissy.'

So, we followed the conventions. We 'Called On' the seniors faithfully when we joined new stations. It was an alien concept for us. To understand it better, I borrowed a book on Mess Etiquette by one Colonel Roach from the unit library.

It muddled my mind further, as it suggested I had to go and drop a 'card,' starting with the senior-most government official, including the Governor or the President (Viceroy), and then work my way down the pecking order.

Good sense prevailed, and I junked it as outdated. I stuck to my Battalion only. Thank God 'Ball Dancing' had become rare, and though I heard of a couple of Generals who could waltz, neither I nor my wife ever encountered one.

To this day, I have not been able to fathom what the couples engaged in 'Ball Dance' experienced in their minds and hearts, looking into each other's eyes while maintaining close physical intimacy. I am sure few Indians could indulge in such activity with their own spouse!

Before joining the Army, I had gawked at the exclusive 'club' in great awe. Once a member, I thought I would indulge in clubbing seriously, rubbing shoulders with the who's who of the Cantonment and city. However, once admitted, I found its era had already ended.

Gone were the days, along with the disappeared whites and their plethora of servants who ensured the Goras had all the time in the evenings to kill. An average British bungalow in the Cantt used to have some sixty-odd servants for an officer during the Raj: bhishti, khansama, khidmatgar, dhobi, darzi, pankhawala, sweeper, cook, barber, syce, ayah, mali, abdar, tonga driver, hookahwala, and harkara.

However, I continued funding the 1868-vintage club with my monthly subscription for the sake of heritage and in search of utopia.

During my career, I came across a lot of bombastic slogans boldly displayed in various Army units. I myself painted many in my subunits. Fantastic quotes from Napoleon, Churchill, Slim, Montgomery, and Eisenhower adorned the walls in my areas of influence. Till one day, I realized they made no sense to my troops.

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