August 18, 2003
Tea, part 2
The next day came, and we awaited the commander's arrival with a certain amount of trepidation.
Although there was probably no reason to worry, there was also nothing much else to do. We became acutely aware that no-one outside the hotel knew we were there. Of course, the same had been true pretty much everywhere we'd been, but for the first time it seemed like a cause for concern. Guy made a couple of attempts to call through to his friend in Delhi (I wish I could remember his name) but, either because of the curfew or just the generally poor state of Indian telecommunications at the time, it was impossible to get a connection. And we could hardly nip out to the GPO to send a letter or a telegram.
And so we fretted, and the afternoon wore on.
Eventually, the time came. The manager brought us into a well-appointed lounge and made the introductions. He served tea and -- of course -- cheese pakoras. He made himself scarce.
Our visitors were two: the commander, a courteous, well-groomed, well-fed, middle-aged Brahmin with a neatly-trimmed beard; and his older, bald, clean-shaven, scarred, snaggle-toothed and wild-eyed sidekick, who said little. Both were, naturally, in uniform, and armed.
Polite conversation was made. Tea was sipped and pakoras nibbled. The commander lamented the situation -- these were unfortunate times. He wished we could have seen his city under better circumstances. He hoped that we were managing to enjoy our visit despite the inconvenience. We tried to pretend that we were.
He asked us about our journey and we explained where we had been and where we were going. We tried, probably not very convincingly, to imply, without seeming to make any particular point of it, that our arrival in Delhi was expected, that Guy's friend was something important at the Consulate, that it was imperative we be allowed to leave.
He asked us about life in England, which he understood was not only much wealthier than India, and of course much colder, but also much more permissive. We acknowledged that this was so. Young men in England, he understood, might have all manner of close relationships with their young female and male friends, relationships that might seem shocking to staid old Hindus. His manner was conspiratorial. We feigned ignorance. Yes, we had close friends, girls and boys, didn't everyone? We pretended not to see what he was getting at, pretended that the questions he was asking were so subtle in their implications that they could simply pass us by, innocent, old-fashioned boys that we were.
He asked how we liked our hotel. Wasn't it luxurious? Once owned by the Maharajah, you know? Its glamour was known far and wide. The rooms were said to be very elegant. With marble baths, and tapestries, and hunting trophies on the walls. Did we like our room? We assured him that we did. Was it as richly-furnished as they say? It was.
Could he see it?
Well. That is. I mean, yes. Yes, of course he could see it. It wasn't as if we had anything to hide. Did we? I mean, how could we refuse?
He and his second sat on the bed. They admired the furnishings. It was indeed a very fine room. It was indeed.
He returned to the subject of sex, and why wouldn't he? It is an endlessly fascinating subject even to those not fenced in by social repression. He was circumspect, but titillated. There was no way he could bring himself to ask outright if we were fucking each other in that bed -- and he surely knew we would have lied -- but he was desperate to know. He talked of girlfriends and boyfriends. Guy finessed the questions. We continued to play innocent. His disappointment was palpable, but in the end he was too well-bred to press the point too far.
So eventually he left, sidekick in tow. He didn't know if he would be able to lift the curfew the next day -- it would all depend on how things went that night -- but it was certainly a possibility. He thanked us for our hospitality. He wished us well in our travels, and hoped we would think highly of his city and his country. Yes, indeed we would.
Afterwards, Guy and I came away with slightly different impressions of the meeting. He thought the commander had simply been taking the opportunity for some titillating talk about sex with foreigners who hopefully wouldn't be too offended, a chance to indulge his prurience away from the restrictions of his society. I thought he was angling for a blow job.
Either way, there was something terribly sad about it.
The next day the curfew was lifted from 8am to 10am. We were up, packed, checked out and gone by 8.01.
