Wafers, Sahibs, and Memsahibs-
All this talk about Inja, the Mughal Empire, the East Inja Co., and so on, has frankly got me a bit hungry. When I lived in London, I used to eat at restaurants with names like Moti Mahal, Light of Bengal, Namaste, Taste of Nawab, Bombay Spice, and so on. I even studied the sitar for a while, but it was too difficult; all those strings. I found yoga a lot easier. In any case, I have a vision, of returning to one of these places and ordering pappadams, keema nan, stuffed paratha, chicken tikka masala, chicken korma, tandoori chicken, lamb biryani, seekh kebabs, pilau rice, raita, mango chutney, mango lassi, jalebi, galub jamun, mulligatawny soup...ah! My pen drops! as Fanny Hill was wont to say.
And then there was Kipling, of course, who was born in Bombay:
"Din! Din! Din!/You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!/Tho’ I’ve belted you an’ flayed you/By the livin’ Gawd that made you/
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!"
What a rush: imperialism straight up.
Food for thought, eh wot?
-mb
