Chanakya's Chant Page 10

  ‘When you speak, keep your hand movements slow and graceful. And when you are about to sit, stand at right angles to the front of the chair, twist your upper half, lower yourself down and tuck one leg behind the other. It must be done slowly and with no accompanying sound,’ explained Miss Feversham to the girl.

  ‘When it comes to physical contact, the English are still deeply reserved. The preferred English handshake has no hint of lingering. “How do you do?” signals the end of the greeting and there should not be any deviation from this. Women who know each other well may kiss each other on one or both cheeks. When women do, the “miss kiss” is to be used, the kisser making a kissing gesture with the appropriate sound in the air in the general region of the recipient's ears. Men may kiss women in greeting, but only on one cheek, not both,’ explained Miss Feversham to the bewildered girl.

  The English were crazy.

  Oxfordshire was one of England's most picturesque cities. Chandini was awed by the architectural grandeur and historical import of the university, established eight hundred years ago. The glorious buildings of the Bodleian Library, the Radcliffe Camera, the Sheldonian Theatre and the Ashmolean Museum blended together seamlessly to create a heady mix of history, culture, liberated thought and intellectual freedom. Like all newbies, Chandini walked up to the top of Carfax Tower and then panted her way up the steps of the University Church located on High Street, both of which provided uninterrupted vistas of the breathtaking city.

  Among all the colleges that dotted the Oxford University campus, Christ Church College was the largest and most magnificent. In fact, the grand college church doubled as the Oxford Cathedral. Towards the eastern side of Oxford ran the most beautiful street in Europe—the alluring High Street, located close to two of Oxford's most idyllic parks—Headington Hill and South Park. It wasn't merely the buildings of Oxford that were impressive. God seemed to have bestowed all of nature's abundance and splendour on a single city. Acres of undulating meadows, grazing farm animals and sparkling streams of the Thames created a virtual Eden.

  Miss Feversham's finishing school had increased Chandini's confidence, but the awkwardness of a shy and introverted girl from a Kanpur slum suddenly transplanted into the rarefied atmosphere of Oxford would remain for some more time. Her trip from Paddington to St Hilda's—the all-women's college at Oxford—had been terrifying on account of her overwhelming fear that everyone that she encountered in Oxford would be intellectually, financially and socially superior. The friendly family atmosphere of St Hilda's Junior Common Room, however, put her at ease from the very first moment. She had been allotted a room in Garden Building, Wolfson, a part of St Hilda's grounds. As she lugged her suitcase up to her room, a tall lanky blonde stepped up to help her with her luggage. ‘Hello. My name's Josephine Richardson—I'm an art major. I think you're the Indian girl who has been allotted the room next to mine.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Chandini, plucking up her courage from Miss Feversham's feverish drills, ‘and thanks for helping me with my luggage.’

  ‘No problem. Shall we head over to the Buttery when you're done settling in?’ asked Josephine.

  ‘The Butt—the what?’ asked Chandini.

  ‘The Buttery is St Hilda's tuck shop that sells toasties, chips, hot chocolate, and tea. You'll find most of us girls there. I'll wait for you. Ah! Here we are. The standard issue room comes with a single bed and blanket, a desk, two chairs, a sink, a wardrobe, and a chest-of-drawers—you'll need your own bed linen, though. If you want I can show you a nice place to buy some.’ Chandini's fears and depression began to wear off rather quickly in the presence of juiced-up Josephine.

  The world's most renowned debating society had been established in 1823. It was called the Oxford Union and stayed the focal point of contentious debates unparalleled in their content and influence. The famous 1933 motion, ‘This House will under no circumstances fight for King and Country’ had been passed by 275 votes to 153 in the Oxford Union and had ignited national indignation in the media. Winston Churchill had condemned the ‘ever shameful motion’ as an ‘abject, squalid, shameless avowal’. Many believed that the vote had played a significant role in reinforcing Hitler's decision to invade Europe. Members of the Oxford Union couldn't care less what Churchill and the media thought. Divergence and forthrightness remained central to the Union's founding philosophy.

  Josephine and Chandini were attending an event organised by the Union to welcome its latest batch of members. As they were introduced to the president, Chandini complimented him on the work done by the Union in maintaining a free society through open debate. The president smiled at her as he shook her hand and said, ‘A free society is one where it's safe to be unpopular, but then, freedom of speech also carries with it the freedom not to listen!’

  At that moment, Chandini decided that this was going to be her forte, as she along with the rest of the novices began the journey into the fascinating world of political argument.

  The chairman for the debate opened the Thursdaynight event with a few words on the debate and voting procedures. ‘Ladies and gentlemen. It's a pleasure for me to chair this debate, because there's no issue which has been as long running or as divisive across the world. The motion for today is, this House believes that women must be legally guaranteed equal pay.’ He then called on the first speaker, Geoffrey Hemingford, to begin the debate.

  It was the duty of the first speaker for the proposition to introduce the other speakers. ‘Mr Chairman, as the first speaker it is my honour to introduce your guests this evening. The first speaker for the opposition, Chandini Gupta is—possibly—Oxford's next prime ministerial candidate for India. In the past few years she has established an unblemished track record for winning arguments irrespective of whether she actually believes them—an important trait for any politician—and I daresay that her personal views might possibly be at variance with the official line that she takes tonight. I'm delighted to be sparring with her. Supporting me is the second speaker for the proposition, Elizabeth Lytton. Elizabeth's own job at Lytton, Tryon & Yarborough is already guaranteed and deservedly so, I might add. One of the brightest young minds of Oxford, Elizabeth will argue for the motion. The second speaker for the opposition, Victor Walsingham, shall follow. Victor has spent the last twelve months of his self-imposed sabbatical travelling America and shall bring us refreshing insights from his observations of our cousins across the pond. Mr Chairman, these are your guests and they are most welcome.’ Polite applause from the audience of around five hundred followed.

  ‘Mr Chairman,’ began Geoffrey, ‘the Representation of the People Act, 1918, granted women the right to vote in Great Britain. But funnily enough, only women who were over the age of thirty and owned houses were deemed intelligent enough to place a mark on ballot slips. Ten years later the law was amended and all women over twenty-one were given the right to vote. Should we have stood back and waited for natural forces to right the wrong?’

  Geoffrey noticed several women in the audience nodding their heads in agreement and pushed on. ‘For most women the blessings in the years that followed the end of the war were mixed indeed. Women who had held jobs of metalworkers and ironworkers in aircraft and munitions factories suddenly found that their man's job and man's pay had vanished. Rosie the Riveter reluctantly went back to waiting on tables as Rosie the Waitress. At lower than pre-war levels of pay! Equal pay, in effect, implied seventy-five per cent of the male rate. This fundamental discrimination has carried through into our generation. Should we allow this gross injustice to prevail?’ he demanded.

  ‘Mr Chairman, it is argued that if parliamentary intervention were needed, the majority of our honourable Members of Parliament would indeed have voted in favour of such a motion by now. The argument offered is that the majority has not. I would like to remind this audience that sometimes a majority only means that all the fools are on the same side. This is the present case,’ said Geoffrey. He smiled acknowledging the loud applause from
the women present and sat down.

  Chandini arose and surveyed her audience. Men made up more than half, so she knew she had to get them on her side. She began by introducing the first speaker for the proposition, Geoffrey Hemingford, who had just spoken. Geoffrey was extremely popular, having been instrumental in Oxford's victory over Cambridge in the boat race the previous year. On race day, a quarter of a million spectators had crowded the banks of the Thames from Putney to Mortlake to witness Geoffrey's team win the race. Chandini knew that she needed to get votes—there was no point in winning an argument and losing the case.

  ‘Mr Chairman, as the first speaker for the opposition it is my pleasant duty to introduce the first speaker for the proposition, Mr Geoffrey Hemingford, not that he needs any introduction. You all know the old tale about our friends from North Fens Polytechnic,’ she said, using the derogative term used by Oxonians for Cambridge, ‘and their decision to field a rowing team. Even though they'd practise for hours each day, they never managed to beat Oxford. Finally, the team decided to send a spy. Their spy hid in the bushes and carefully watched the Oxford team—led by Geoffrey—at their daily practice. After two weeks the spy returned and announced that he'd discovered their rivals’ secret. “What? Tell us!” his teammates said. “We should have just one guy yelling. The other eight should be rowing!” said the spy.’ There was loud applause and appreciation for Chandini's compliment to the Oxonian rowing hero. She moved on, having won the affection of most of the men in the audience.

  ‘Mr Chairman, it has been said that married men live significantly longer than single men. This in itself should be an argument in favour of women in the workplace. Their mere presence would increase the longevity of their male colleagues. But I'm also given to understand that while married men live significantly longer than single men, they're apparently a lot more willing to die.’

  There was laughter from the audience. ‘And that's one of the reasons that when a man steals your wife, there's no better revenge than to let him keep her,’ she said. There were even more laughs. She knew that she had the male audience—which constituted the majority—firmly by their balls.

  ‘As a woman from India, I can tell you that a woman's intrinsic value depends entirely on what she's compared with—men. The solution to greater equality does not lie in artificial legislation to prop up women's salaries. It lies in changing the very basis of the comparison. There are some jobs to which men are better suited than women—let's pay the men more there. And conversely, there are several jobs to which women are better suited than men—let's pay these women more. But who should decide how much either gets paid? Not a bunch of paperpushing bureaucrats in Westminster! That would be the equivalent of telling my honourable opponent to have a team of ten rowers instead of eight!’ she said as she sat down to thunderous applause and left Geoffrey wondering whether he had been used or abused.

  She smiled at him demurely. He seemed smitten.

  ‘They've announced the elections,’ said Gangasagar triumphantly, ‘they had no bloody option. The ruling party is split right down the middle. The Uttar Pradesh home minister and Rajjo Bhaiya's dispute has achieved what we could never have achieved ourselves!’

  ‘Our victory is certain,’ said Agrawalji, stuffing another spoonful of the delectable malai-makkhan—saffronflavoured cream lovingly whipped from hung butter—into his eagerly awaiting mouth. The light and fluffy soufflé vanished as it hit his tongue, teasing his taste buds.

  ‘The only certainty in life is death,’ said Gangasagar slipping back into one of his philosophical moods, ‘and I plan to be the death of this present regime.’

  ‘But you wanted Ikram out of the way,’ began Agrawalji leaning back contentedly as the confection settled in his belly.

  ‘There's no one in this world who cannot be defeated or cheated,’ said Gangasagar taking another gulp. They were seated on the steps of Thaggu Ke Laddoo—an eatery of Kanpur—famous for its desserts. The owner's grand-father, Thaggu, had acquired his name by using sugar—an item to be boycotted as per Mahatma Gandhi's directive—to produce his world-famous sweets. He had been branded a thug, hence the name Thaggu. Aisa koi sagaa nahin, jisko humne thaga nahi—there's no one, not even a family member, who hasn't been cheated by us—was the motto of the eatery, a line that epitomised the swagger of Kanpur and its politics.

  Gangasagar was merely a reflection of it.

  ‘They've announced the elections,’ said Chandini triumphantly, ‘they had no bloody option. The rift between Elizabeth and Victor left no room for compromise in the presidential race.’

  ‘You are supposed to sit still for a portrait,’ complained Josephine. Her art teacher had asked her to do an oilon-canvas as her next assignment. Josephine put down her paintbrush, a welcome relief from the struggle to complete a portrait of someone who could never sit still. ‘Both candidates claimed foul play, right? The grapevine's been abuzz with charges of electoral misconduct.’

  Chandini nodded. ‘Victor Walsingham, our twentythree-year-old sociology student at Merton College, formally won the election in November for the summer term of the Oxford Union. He defeated Elizabeth Lytton, a twenty-one-year-old politics and law major at Balliol College, by 961 votes to 656,’ explained Chandini excitedly. ‘Victor, who had served as the Union's treasurer, was disqualified and forbidden from contesting again by a university tribunal after Elizabeth complained that he'd organised an eve-of-poll get-together for thirty-five people in a specially reserved room, in violation of Union regulations that banned campaigning.’

  ‘So who won eventually?’ asked Josephine, wiping her brushes.

  ‘Neither. Victor's group accused Elizabeth, the Union's librarian, of breaking with tradition by requesting a London barrister—from her own father's firm, Lytton, Tryon & Yarborough—to represent her. She was expecting that she would be declared president by default, but the Union ordered a new election instead,’ said Chandini.

  ‘Why don't you contest instead?’ asked Josephine.

  ‘I can't do that. Both Elizabeth and Victor are my friends,’ said Chandini.

  ‘That's the problem with friends in politics,’ said Josephine.

  ‘What's that?’

  ‘Friends come and go. Enemies accumulate.’

  ‘I've figured it out,’ declared Gangasagar.

  ‘What?’ asked Agrawalji.

  ‘Section eight, subsection three of the Representation of the People Act.’

  ‘What?’ asked Agrawalji again, even more confused.

  ‘It says that a person convicted of any criminal offence shall be disqualified from the date of such conviction and shall continue to be disqualified for a further period of six years.’

  ‘But Ikram has no convictions. Everyone—including you—knows that he's a don but he's managed to steer clear of convictions. His friend, the police commissioner, ensures that.’

  ‘Ah! But what if the home minister of Uttar Pradesh were to be enlightened on the devious scheme by which the police commissioner ignited the fire of discord between him and Rajjo Bhaiya?’ asked Gangasagar mischievously.

  ‘It would be man overboard,’ said Agrawalji, ‘but such a situation wouldn't help the ABNS either, Ganga. The party would lose its main candidate—Ikram.’

  ‘You're right. That's why Ikram must understand that he can continue to exercise power through a nominee who is not barred from contesting elections under the law.’

  ‘And who would that be?’

  ‘Who better than a daughter?’ asked the naughty Gangasagar.

  Agrawalji laughed.

  ‘Adi Shakti, Namo Namah; Sarab Shakti, Namo Namah; Prithum Bhagvati, Namo Namah; Kundalini Mata Shakti; Mata Shakti, Namo Namah,’ said Gangasagar.

  ‘He's decided not to contest,’ said Chandini deliriously to Josephine, ‘Victor's decided to throw his weight behind me instead.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Josephine, happy for her friend.

  ‘He thinks I'm a frail and nervous little girl from a poo
r third-world country. He'll be able to control me and run the Union through me.’

  ‘Poor sucker,’ chuckled Josephine, ‘he should ask Geoffrey.’

  They were sitting at a table in the Eagle & Child, Oxford's favourite watering hole where the likes of C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien had met to discuss literature, love and life. A memorial plaque on a prominent wall bore signed photographs and autographs of theirs with their inebriated affirmations that they had drunk to the landlord's health.

  The affair had blossomed instantly after her demure smile at the end of the debate. Geoffrey had hesitantly asked her out, not sure whether it was acceptable for an Indian woman to date. She had been hoping that he would ask her and agreed instantly.

  After several hours of uninterrupted conversation and a few bottles of wine, they both fell quiet. She thought to herself, a man on a date wonders if he'll get lucky but the woman already knows.

  Hurrying back to Geoffrey's bachelor pad, they had melted into each other's arms almost as though they had been created specifically for this one single moment. He kissed her and she kissed him back even harder. It was almost as though she wanted to consume him and, in turn, be consumed by him.

  The next morning when she awoke, he was in the kitchen, brewing tea and frying eggs. They ate breakfast in bed and then decided that some mistakes were simply too delicious to make just once.

  It was a Sunday morning and Chandini and Geoffrey were seated in the Holywell Music Room, the oldest purpose-built concert hall in Europe. Opened in 1748, the elegant hall had hosted some of the world's greatest musicians and composers, including Haydn and Handel. Sunday mornings saw Holywell playing host to the Oxford Coffee Concerts. The very best musicians and ensembles from around the world performed in the absolutely stunning setting.

  Chandini's taste in music had been influenced by the rhythms of Bollywood and she had initially found Geoffrey's appetite for Bach, Beethoven and Mozart rather insipid. But she soon fell in love with the simple and unadulterated sounds of the organ and violin.