Vanished Worlds – SUNANDA K. DATTA-RAY

The Absolute Anglo-Indian By K.C. Sen, New Millennium, £9.95

This book’s interest lies in the era and society it evokes. K.C. Sen, Bhaiya or Kacy to intimates, was Brahmananda Keshub Chunder Sen’s great grandson on one side and the great-great-grandson of General Sir Edward Barnes, governor of Ceylon and India’s commander-in-chief, on the other. But he is out of joint in concluding that today’s “Absolute Anglo-Indian” will become tomorrow’s “Obsolete Anglo-Indian”. Tomorrow was yesterday, not just for Anglo-Indians but for the fast, fun-loving Anglo-Bengali world of which he writes.

Sen was not Anglo-Indian in the sense of being “of European descent in the male line”, which is the legal definition. As he says, with his extended family spread out in India, Britain, Australia, France, Canada, Myanmar, Switzerland and Pakistan, he could truly have been called a man of the world. But it’s clear that two distinct identities overlapped in his consciousness. His roots were in the archaic Ingabanga society of 19th-century Bengal. Anybody who was anybody in the Calcutta of the Thirties, Forties and Fifties was a relative. Overlaid on that was the Anglo-Indian culture of the Rangers Club, the Grail Club and the club of which he says that “if ever there was a place that separated the men from the boys, and no angels feared to tread, it was the good old Golden Slipper.” Sen managed it for a while, but the links went deeper. Older members of that milieu still remember his unorthodox wedding invitation, “Bridgette and I are going to be married at the Golden Slipper Club.”

His world straddled Calcutta, Darjeeling and London — or rather, small gilded niches in all three, venturing regularly to Colombo and Simla. Rakish Cooch Behar royals, male and female, also descendants of Keshub Sen, loomed large in this fin de siècle society to which World War II and the 300 Club lent zest.

Sen played many parts. He was oarsman, poet, war reporter behind the Burma front, songwriter, composer, guitarist, public relations officer, box-wallah, radio broadcaster and, above all, impressario. His Cavaliers was a popular band. He was frequently MC at the open-air Scherezade nightclub at the Oberoi Grand. It is no surprise that showbiz characters pop in and out of these pages — Duke Ellington, Ross Parker, Alfred Hitchcock and, perhaps in the same genre, Lord Mountbatten. It “was over a cup of tea on the verandah” of his flat that he provided Satyajit Ray with Devika Halder a.k.a. Vicky Redwood for Mahanagar. She was part of Bandwagon, Sen’s group. He says that the voice off-screen in Mahanagar was that of Devika, but the song was a ballad, Time Gave Me No Chance, that he had composed in his rowing days. Major Sharat Kumar Roy of the US army was an unusual wartime buddy and surely the only NRI to be commemorated by a mountain in Greenland: he discovered Mount Sharat.

The book is a treasure trove of such nuggets, though, sadly, many of the illustrations are almost illegible. But though Sen provides enjoyable glimpses, laced with humour, into a vanished world, it would be idle to pretend he does full justice either to his august lineage or to the opportunities that were his. Indeed, one might apply to him Max Beerbohm’s immortal epitaph on George IV’s ill-used and ill-fated queen, “Fate wrote her a most tremendous tragedy, and she played it in tights.”

Paradoxically, Sen is least enjoyable when he pontificates. The constant jumping back and forth from Barnes and Keshub Sen to the contemporary scene is disconcerting. But for all its contrary title, The Absolute Anglo-Indian opens a window of nostalgia into the vanished phenomenon of Anglicized Bengali society.

Help Needed

Hi,

Of late the number of visits to this blog have increased and I thank all for the support and getting the word around. Also, I would like any help I could get in the form of articles/news reports/personal recollections which I could then post on this blog to reach a wider AI audience. Please feel free to email me at sean.auckland@gmail.com. If you have any articles or wish to write one on famous Anglo Indians, I would be glad to post the same.

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The Mixed Bloods of Goa written by Sylvester da Cunha

They were fair-skinned and light-eyed, fluent in both Portuguese and Konkani. Were they European? “No”. Goan? “No.” they would vehemently assert. “We are of Portuguese origin.” They were the mistiços – part Goan, part Iberian. Much like the Anglo-Indians, Anglo-Burmese and burghers of Ceylon, they considered themselves separate and superior to the locals, while the latter held them in contempt. “The mistiços liked to be called “descendente” or “descending from the Portuguese”. The Goans remained unimpressed, though a few were genuinely so, like the ‘domiciled’ English of India.
Origin of the species
Says scholar Mariano Dias: “A paucity of ladies to service the gentry of Old Goa prompted 16th century Portuguese kings to ship out parentless girls, dubbed ‘Orfãs de Rei’ (King´s orphans). That’s how the early mixed-bloods came about. But, they were hardly enough girl-orphans to meet the demand of the teeming Portuguese. A lot of miscegenation occurred between Portuguese troops and European adventureres with Indian women of easy virtue (nautch girls of yore). Even in those times, mistiços were discriminated against by the official structures. The early Church is believed to have refused then admission into priesthood.”
Mistiços may have had their origins on the wrong side of the bed, but later they solemnized wedlock among themselves, taking on distinctive surnames like Pegado, Possolo and Vidigal.
Never more than a few thousand, they were largely employed in the colonial administration-police, customs, public works, navigation etc. Jobs assured, most of them didn’t take education seriously and lived merrily for the day.
Mixed bag
But it would be unfair to label the entire community as being “spoilt and irresponsible”. Many were well-educated and cultured. Dr. Germano Correia was the celebrated professor of the Goa Medical College, an intellectual giant with an impressive literary output. Vasco Ferreira Martins was the all-powerful Director of the Goa Fazenda (Revenue Department) whose administrative efficiency is remembered even today. Dr. Adolfo Costa was a leading medical doctor. And there were very many others.
Nasty
At the end of the spectrum was the notorious Casmiro Monteiro, boss of Police headquarters in the 50’s. Those were the years when a repressive Salazar sensed the breeze of independence blowing over Goa. An iron fist would descend at the merest whiff of Indian nationalism. Monteiro planted his spies in almost every town and village. They eavesdropped on conversations in buses, ferries, shops and bazaars. Innocent mentions of ‘Gandhi’, ‘Nehru’ or ‘India’ would instantly de reported and the speaker detained for questioning. Even a ‘namaste’ in jest could land the folded hands into scalding water.
Ilidio Costa (now President of the Clube de Tennis, Gaspar Dias), together with Ernesto Costa Frias, were arrested by Monteiro’s thugs in connection with bombings in several parts of Goa in 1956. Mr Costa was a member of the pro-independence Azad Gomantak Party. Monteiro fabricated a case on the grounds of young Mr. Costa’s family managing mines that used explosives. He was tortured for 4 months in the Panjim Quartel. “It was hell”, recalls Mr. Costa wryly. Beatings, 24-hours forced standing and other horrors. I’d rather not talk about it now.
“We were transferred and tried in the military Aguada Fort. The Portuguese judge hearing our case didn’t share Salazar’s colonial attitudes. But during the proceedings, he received a parcel bomb which blew off some of his fingers. He was flown to Portugal for repair and recuperation. meanwhile the trial was kept pending. On his return 2 years later he acquitted the accused for lack of eveidence.
One up for the Portuguese judge. Two down for Monteiro.
At Goa’s independence, almost all the descendentes followed the departing Portuguese to colonial jobs in Africa and the Asia. Today, some return as tourists, curious to visit their roots. They are welcomed.
The above article was contributed by Mark Pinto