13. IN LONDON AT LAST
I did not feel at all
sea-sick. But as the days passed, I became fidgety. I felt shy even in
speaking to the steward. I was quite unaccustomed to talking English, and
except for Sjt. Mazmudar all the other passengers in the second saloon
were English. I could not speak to them. For I could rarely follow their
remarks when they came up to speak to me, and even when I understood I
could not reply. I had to frame every sentence in my mind, before I could
bring it out. I was innocent of the use of knives and forks, and had not
the boldness to inquire what dishes on the menu were free of meat. I therefore
never took meals at table but always had them in my cabin, and they consisted
principally of sweets and fruits which I had brought with me. Sjt. Mazmudar
had no difficulty, and he mixed with everybody. He would move about freely
on deck, while I hid myself in the cabin the whole day, only venturing
up on deck when there were but few people. Sjt. Mazmudar kept pleading
with me to associate with the passengers and to talk with them freely.
He told me that lawyers should have a long tongue, and related to me his
legal experiences. He advised me to take every possible opportunity of
talking English, and not to mind making mistakes which were obviously unavoidable
with a foreign tongue. But nothing could make me conquer my shyness.
An English passenger, taking
kindly to me, drew me into conversation. He was older than I. He asked
me what I ate, what I was, where I was going, why I was shy, and so on.
He also advised me to come to table. He laughed at my insistence on abjuring
meat, and said in a friendly way when we were in the Red Sea: 'It is all
very well so far, but you will have to revise your decision in the Bay
of Biscay. And it is so cold in England that one cannot possibly live there
'But I have heard that people
live there without eating meat,' I said.
'Rest assured it is a fib,'
said he. 'No one, to my knowledge, lives there without being a meat-eater.
Don't you see that I am not asking you to take liquor, though I do so?
But I do think you should eat meat, for you cannot live without it.'
'I thank you for your kind advice,
but I have solemnly promised to my mother not to touch meat, and therefore
I cannot think of taking it. If it be found impossible to get on without
it, I will far rather go back to India than eat meat in order to remain
We entered the Bay of Biscay,
but I did not begin to feel the need either of meat or liquor. I had been
advised to collect certificates of my having abstained from meat, and I
asked the English friend to give me one. He gladly gave it, and I treasured
it for some time. But when I saw later that one could get such a certificate
in spite of being a meat-eater, it lost all its charm for me. If my word
was not to be trusted, where was the use of possessing a certificate in
However, we reached Southampton,
as far as I remember, on a Saturday. On the boat I had worn a black suit,
the white flannel one which my friends had got me having been kept especially
for wearing when I landed. I had thought that white clothes would suit
me better when I stepped ashore, and therefore I did so in white flannels.
Those were the last days of September, and I found I was the only person
wearing such clothes. I left in charge of an agent of Grindlay and Co.
all my kit, including the keys, seeing that many others had done the same
and I must follow suit.
I had four notes of introduction:
to Dr. P. J. Mehta, to Sjt. Dalpatram Shukla, to Prince Ranjitsinhji, and
to Dadabhai Naoroji. Someone on board had advised us to put up at the Victoria
Hotel in London. Sjt. Mazmudar and I accordingly went there. The shame
of being the only person in white clothes was already too much for me.
And when at the hotel I was told that I should not get my things from Grindlay's
the next day, it being a Sunday, I was exasperated.
Dr. Mehta, to whom I had wired
from Southampton, called at about eight o'clock the same evening. He gave
me a hearty greeting. He smiled at my being in flannels. As we were talking,
I casually picked up his top-hat, and trying to see how smooth it was,
passed my hand over it the wrong way and disturbed the fur. Dr. Mehta looked
somewhat angrily at what I was doing and stopped me. But the mischief had
been done. The incident was a warning for the future. This was my first
lesson in European etiquette, into the details of which Dr. Mehta humourously
initiated me. 'Do not touch other people's things,' he said. 'Do not ask
questions as we usually do in India on first acquaintance; do not talk
loudly; never address people as 'sir' whilst speaking to them as we do
in India; only servants and subordinates address their masters that way.'
And so on and so forth. He also told me that it was very expensive to live
in a hotel and recommended that I should live with a private family. We
deferred consideration of the matter until Monday.
Sjt. Mazmudar and I found the
hotel to be a trying affair. It was also very expensive. There was, however,
a Sindhi fellow-passenger from Malta who had become friends with Sjt. Mazmudar,
and as he was not a stranger to London, he offered to find rooms for us.
We agreed, and on Monday, as soon as we got our baggage, we paid up our
bills and went to the rooms rented for us by the Sindhi friend. I remember
my hotel bill came to £3, an amount which shocked me. And I had practically
starved in spite of this heavy bill! For I could relish nothing. When I
did not like one thing, I asked for another, but had to pay for both just
the same. The fact is that all this while I had depended on the provisions
which I had brought with me from Bombay.
I was very uneasy even in the
new rooms. I would continually think of my home and country. My mother's
love always haunted me. At night the tears would stream down my cheeks,
and home memories of all sorts made sleep out of the question. It was impossible
to share my misery with anyone. And even if I could have done so, where
was the use? I knew of nothing that would soothe me. Everything was strange--the
people, their ways, and even their dwellings. I was a complete novice in
the matter of English etiquette, and continually had to be on my guard.
There was the additional inconvenience of the vegetarian vow. Even the
dishes that I could eat were tasteless and insipid. I thus found myself
between Scylla and Charybdis. England I could not bear, but to return to
India was not to be thought of. Now that I had come, I must finish the
three years, said the inner voice.