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CHAPTER XVIII THE GLAD CRY WHAT are the pros and what the cons of Anglo-Indian life, and to which side does the balance incline? I think I can strike it at once in the words of the familiar song, Home, Sweet Home. But there are two good columns of debtor and creditor considerations on either side before we arrive at it, and to some of these I will address myself. The
Anglo-Indian
does not take his pleasures sadly, and, speaking generally, manages to
have a
good time of it during his period of exile. There is no place like
India for
gaiety and amusement, and no society which lays itself out more
thoroughly for
enjoyment. Within the short limits of the cooler evening hours, a vast
amount
of outdoor revelry is squeezed in. I do not speak of the cities, where
there
are large communities and amusement is conducted on a colossal scale,
but of
the petty out-stations which, weather permitting, become the
headquarters of
enjoyment, and in this respect contrast favourably with the dulness of
life in
English rural towns and villages. In fact,
they
compare rather with those places in England which are called pleasure
resorts.
The reason is not far to seek; there is little of the English stiffness
in
Anglo-Indian society; everybody knows everybody else; and the hours of
recreation are of necessity the same for all. Moreover, it often
happens that
there is only one meeting-place where the Europeans foregather with
regularity
and punctuality. These conditions bring people together, and having
grouped
themselves, they proceed to make the most of it. A similar system in
England, that
assembled acquaintances at a stated hour and for a stated time every
day, would
probably show the same results. Then
hospitality is
universal in India, and dinner parties, dances, balls, private
theatricals, and
evening entertainments are far commoner than in England. This, again,
is not to
be wondered at, for you have servants to do everything for you. The
commissariat is a simple affair relegated to your major-domo, and a
Cinderella
dance or garden-party comes within the means of many. Nor should I
forget to
mention that the racecourse, the polo ground, the cricket pitch, and
the tennis
courts cost practically nothing for their use, being Government lands
allotted
to every station for the benefit of the European community. In short,
amusement
is made easy in India, and the expense of a trifling subscription will
make you
free of everything. Nor is
India
without its pleasure resorts, where the fun is fast and furious. The
Hill
Stations in the hot weather are places where little else but gaiety and
amusement
is talked of or indulged in. Here are gathered together the fair sex,
who
cannot stand the heat of the baking plains, and hither flock men of all
sorts
and conditions “on leave” from their several duties. English novel
readers know
a good deal about Indian Hill Stations, which form the background of so
much
fiction; but apart from this not very wholesome atmosphere of
flirtation and
intrigue there is much that is harmless and happy. I do not know any
sense of
relief and delight greater than that of breathing in the mountain air
after a
long spell of the stifling heat below, or any scene more grateful to
the eyes
than the verdure of the hills and the panorama of distant snows after
the drab
monotony of the dusty plains. It is better than the sea to a Londoner,
the
Highlands to a Glasgow man. For it means something more than health; it
brings
a certain rejuvenisation of physical and mental energy. The cool wind
soughing
through the firs, the nights that require a blanket, the days that can
be
enjoyed out-of-doors instead of only survived under a punkah — these
are things
that make a run up to the hills the greatest treat of Anglo-Indian
life. Ladies find a compensation for their lonely Indian days in the gaiety of the evening hours. Although they are no longer all reckoned princesses, as was the case in the good old times, and may not always be able to fill their ball programmes, they have little cause to complain. For Anglo-India is very attentive to its womankind, and ladies are admitted to not a few of its clubs. And although the girt who goes out to find a husband may not be so uniformly successful as were her foremothers thirty years ago, I fancy there are few “spins” — if they are still “spins” — who look back to the life they spent in India without pleasurable feelings, even should the campaign have been a failure from a matrimonial point of view. To the man
who
loves hunting, riding, and shooting, India is an ideal land. What are
luxuries
confined to the rich in England become every one’s property in the
East. For
myself, I always associate sport with my pleasantest recollections of
exile. No
holidays since those of one’s schooldays can compare to the Christmas
week, or
fortnight, spent in camp, shooting and riding. I can call to mind many
such,
when with four or five genial companions we cut ourselves adrift from
railways
and roads, and lived the gipsy life. Dear are the memories of the snug
tents
pitched under the shady mango topes;
the morning gallop and the midday sport; the evening stroll with a
shotgun; the
dinner partaken under a green canopy, with the camp-fire roaring and
brightening up the scene, and the chairs drawn around it presently for
sing-songs or discussions of the varied adventures of the day. Another
advantage
of Anglo-Indian life is that money goes further and provides more in
certain
directions. People naturally go to India to improve their
circumstances, and
you may say, in a general way, every one is better off than he would
have been
in England. Even the man on small means can get a vast amount of
pleasure and
comfort out of his income, and there is but little of that struggle
which we
associate with genteel poverty. Taken all round, the Anglo-Indian is a
well-to-do individual, and if his ship is not sailing smoothly, it is
mostly
his own fault. The scale of salaries is arranged on a far more liberal
basis
than in England, and “dreadfully poor” folk are only so in comparison
with the
dreadfully rich ones. And, to
most
people, the object attainable is satisfactory. The civilian has
opportunities
of great distinction open to him, and more rewards and decorations than
in any
other civil service under the Crown. The soldier sees plenty of
camp-life, and
the fortunate one a full share of fighting, and is not the poor man,
financially speaking, he remains in other outposts of the Empire. The
merchant
has a prospect of a quick fortune, and professional men — doctors,
barristers,
dentists, and experts generally — make a larger income than they would
in
England. Mechanics enjoy handsome wages, and “poor whites” are rare,
and
chiefly confined to the loafing class, whose misfortunes you may trace
to
intemperance. The missionary lives a far from arduous life, and the
chaplain is
the best paid clergyman in the church, with a pension of a pound a day
after a
comparatively short term of service. For his cloth, indeed, there is
nobody
better off than the Anglo-Indian “padre.” And you may say of the
Anglo-Indian
generally, he is a prosperous man, and judge it by the way he grumbles
when he
returns to England, and misses all the luxuries of Indian life. The
climate is, of
course, the great drawback, and yet sometimes when I get climate-cursed
in
England I think not unkindly of the hottest days I ever spent in India.
The
skies were blue, at least, and when it did rain it rained to some
purpose.
Englishmen grumble under any circumstances, and do so with undeviating
regularity against the heat of the East; and yet, I think, not so much
as at
the perverse variability and cosmopolitan detestability of English
meteorological conditions. For when the weather is a fixed equation you
can
circumvent it, and do in a measure, in India; but when it shifts and
changes,
as it does in England, you can in practice do nothing but swear at it.
And put
east wind and London fog against hot winds and monsoon vapour, and I
honestly
prefer the latter. As regards
the
quality and strenuousness of work, the Englishman cannot, does not, and
is not
called upon to do as much in India as at home. In commercial life, the
office
hours are from ten to five; but there are many more holidays than in
England.
In a country where there are three creeds, each with its festivals to
be
observed, there are three sets of holidays, and the Doorga Poojahs
supply a week straight off the reel. In Government employ, Sundays and
festivals account for almost a third of the year. Then, again, you
seldom see
the Anglo-Indian bustling. If you go into a shop or office in the
larger
cities, there is a distinctly placid air, which argues no high amount
of pressure.
The tiffin hour is an oasis that occupies a big slice in the day, and I
have
known business men nap in their chairs, under the drowsy influence of
the
punkah. Another point to be remembered is that nearly all the
uninteresting
clerical work in India is done by native clerks. It is true the
civilian is
rather surfeited with writing reports, and I have heard dignitaries of
the
administration, with inky fingers, swearing at the bureaucratic head
centre for
its appetite for unnecessary details. But over his more practical
duties the
same high functionary may often be observed with a cheroot or cigarette
in his
mouth. In fact, nearly all Europeans smoke in their offices, and this
habit
faithfully reflects what I may call the sauntering ease of Eastern
life. Military
men are notoriously unemployed during the hot weather months, and the
enforced
idleness of barrack bounds is the greatest curse of Tommy Atkins’s
Indian
career. The artisan classes are by no means driven, except on the
railway, and
there is a decided “consideration” shown to everybody which allows the
Anglo-Indian a great deal of latitude, not to say lassitude, in the
execution
of his duties. Moreover, there is the ever-present native to serve him
and be
at his beck and call. Sepia surroundings are often a nuisance, but on
occasions
mightily convenient. Sometimes, when I look at the kitchen-midden heap
that
constitutes my writing-table in this land of civilisation, I sigh for
my duftri, who used to
tidy my desk twice
daily in India, wipe my pens, fill my inkpots, set me out a new sheet
of
blotting-paper every day, array my writing-paper and envelopes, copy my
letters
in the press, fold and enclose them in their covers, and finally weigh
and
stamp each! Not to mention altering the date-rack, killing flies,
abusing. the punkah-Wallah
when he failed to create a strong draught, preparing a “peg,” advising
me of
the time, acting as a notebook to remind me of things to be done, and,
so far
as my personal comfort went, thinking for me when I was too lazy to
think for
myself! Occupation
for
occupation I would sooner be a European working in India than in
England, and
to sum the matter up generally I should call Indian life, in its
working
aspect, a “jolly easy one,” with many compensations to make up for
local
drawbacks of climate. Having
thus
sketched in broadest outline the advantages of the Indian life, a few
words
must be devoted to its disadvantages, without necessity to refer again
to the
climate except to point out the lassitude to which it gives rise, and
the
disinclination for work which it engenders. I know few things more
trying than
the obligation to carry out duties when all energy is gone, and the
task that
under ordinary circumstances would yield satisfaction, if not pleasure,
in its
accomplishment, becomes an effort of compulsion very like slavery.
Lassitude is
not necessarily laziness; it is a running down of the system, a
condition of
mind and body for which the man who suffers from it cannot be blamed.
It
incapacitates, and makes work a “grind.” As a rule, I think Anglo-India
grinds
a great deal at its work. There are weeks and months when the
Anglo-Indian does
not enjoy the happiness of a mens
sana in
corpore sano, which is so essential to the proper conduct of
the
affairs of life. A man suffering from a chronic headache or permanent
lumbago
is not the individual to solve acrostics or dig the garden; the
disabilities of
lassitude are, in their way, just as great, and it requires the
exercise of no
common amount of will-power to “buckle-to,” when all the starch has
been melted
out of the system, and mind and body are in a limp, negative state. Partly
arising from
climate, partly from circumstances, comes the question of health.
Ill-health is
one of the drawbacks of life in the East. The liver is a permanent
misery, and
many other ills to which man’s flesh is heir follow close on its heels.
A great
number of Anglo-Indians suffer from chronic complaints who would
assuredly have
escaped their afflictions in England. It is a trite observation to say
that
good health is the greatest of all blessings, and yet it is not until
you begin
to have experience of sickness that this elementary truth is realised.
In a
planting life in the jungles, it is especially trying. In the district
wherein
I lived, I remember over a dozen Europeans dying without medical aid,
and in
not a few cases from preventable causes. Three succumbed to cholera,
and were
dead before the doctor, who lived over twenty miles away, could gallop
in. It
is dreadful to think of life so needlessly squandered, and when the
bitterness
is brought home to you by seeing your own friends passing away, and
yourself
unable to help them, it is hard to bear. Moreover, the funeral has to
follow
death so immediately in the East that it hardly seems decent. You may
be called
on to bury a man with whom you were lunching the day before, and
experiences
like these score a deep mark in the recollection. But the saddest
memory of all
is the Indian cemetery, with its crowded, uncouth, masonry monuments,
and its general
air of desolation and abandonment. In India, the dead are not treated
well, and
it is one of the disgraces of British administration. In the humblest
English
village churchyards you will see more respect and attention paid to the
resting-places of the departed than is paid to the tombs of many of the
heroes
who helped to win India for Great Britain. Indian cemeteries are
hideous with
neglect, and in some of the out-of-the-way, up-country stations are
even given
over to the jungle and wild beasts. However,
this has
little to do with life in India. We are talking of its drawbacks, and
chief
amongst these must be placed the perennial partings between husbands
and wives,
parents and children. In England, man and wife hardly know what it is
to dwell
apart; in India, it is a common condition of matrimonial life for four
months
in the year, when wives have to be sent up to the Hill Stations. But
this,
again, is a far less unhappy state of affairs than that other
alternative of
sending wife and family home to England. The sorrow of separation from
all he
holds most dear hangs over the Anglo-Indian, and makes his life one
clouded
with constant and prolonged partings. And I think it is from this phase
of it
that India has been called the Land of Regrets. But there
is
another species of separation I must mention, and that is the exclusion
from
civilisation which a life in the jungles entails. In the selection of
his
career, the Anglo-Indian cuts himself off from much that goes to
elevate life
in the West. He is out of touch with art and literature, and seldom
keeps up
with the tide in politics and graver thought. It is only when he
returns and
tries to pick up the threads of English life again that he realises how
far he
has fallen behind the times. I am not speaking of those whose good
fortune it
is to be able to run home for a trip every two or three years, and so
polish
themselves up, but of the less happily situated, who do their six and
seven,
and even more, years in the country without a change. I did nine years
once on
a stretch, and confess to an utterly “lost” feeling when I first
returned to
England. For one gets, in the phrase of the East, “jungly,” and that is
far
worse than ordinary provincialism. And then, again, after these
prolonged
absences there are so many changes in others as well as in yourself.
Not till
you return “home” and visit your old haunts and old friends do you
realise how
many faces are missing, and that those partings on the outward-bound
steamer,
when you were so full of excitement and anticipation of your new life,
in the
Golden East, had in them the finality of death-bed partings. Nor is it
only
faces that change; friends change, old familiar landmarks change, and
feelings
change. There is often a grievous disappointment in store for the
returned
Anglo-Indian, and I have frequently heard him sigh, “Home is not home!” And that
is a sad
note to strike, for, as I began by saying, the Anglo-Indian’s dearest
word is
“Home.” To our cousins in the Colonies, the land they live in is home,
and England
only “the old country”; but to the Anglo-Indian, India is never
anything but a
place of exile, and when he returns to the scenes so fondly remembered,
only to
find that he has been forgotten, and to feel himself — as so many have
done — a
stranger in a strange land: well, you may score that down as a big
debit item
in the pros and cons columns we are
considering! And I
think I may say that home-sickness is the commonest complaint in India,
cheerfully borne in the general, but always twinging. In the monotony
of life,
and its loneliness and lassitude, the thoughts fly back to England with
a
feeling Mr. Kipling has finely described in one of his earlier poems: “Give me
back one
day in England, for it’s Spring in England now!” I do not
doubt that
there come many seasons when the Anglo-Indian would willingly barter a
month of
his life for a single day in England. There is an overpowering sadness
which
steals over a man at times, and the exile casts his eyes over his
surroundings,
and ponders upon the vicissitudes of life and health and the spirit of
the Land
of Regrets enters into his soul! And I think it is here you must strike your balance between the pros and cons of Anglo-Indian life. You will find no difficulty in arriving at a conclusion. Ask the Anglo-Indian at any period of his career what he would most like, and he will answer you, “To be going home.” That is the glad cry of the East — going home! And its gladness is the best commentary on Anglo-Indian life! |