There
are two good reasons to visit Amritsar. One is to see the
Golden Temple, the holiest shrine of the Sikhs; the other
is to stay at Mrs. Bhandari’s. This perfectly preserved
late-Raj family residence is situated off a leafy road in
Amritsar’s Cantonment area. It’s presiding spirit, Mrs.
Bhandari, is now aged 91. She has been living in the house
since 1930 and takes pride in the fact that “nothing has
changed” – apart from such newfangled additions as air-conditioning
in some of the guest rooms, and a fax machine in the office.
It is true: to go through the red brick gatehouse marked
No.10 is to enter a time warp. The main house is in colonial
style with Art-Deco touches, softened by climbing bougainvillea.
It is surrounded by an English garden with brick paths,
pergolas and arches, the whole screened off from the hubbub
of the outside world by mature trees. The guest wing is
a long single-story affair, with a verandah looking onto
lawns. The layout of the rooms is similar to “chummeries”
– the bachelor quarters allocated to junior Raj officials
and box wallahs. Furnishings are simple, almost Spartan,
with colonial-style furniture and faded prints. Dinner was
served in the parlor. With its Army&Navy Stores’ stoneware
water filter, its orderly piles of patterned crockery (including
Mabel Lucy Attwell children’s plates, circa 1945) and vast
soup tureens, this room would have made an impeccable set
for The Jewel in the Crown. And the menu was pure Anglo-Indian;
cream of vegetable soup, butter chicken and roast potatoes
with three veg, followed by crème caramel. Back in my room
there was a new bundle of wood to build up the fire. The
sheets were fresh from the dhobi and had the sun on them
that afternoon. Breakfast at Mrs. Bhandari’s tends to be
a leisurely process. We sat on a terrace beside the sunken
rose garden, watching a flock of electric-green parakeets
assemble on their favorite branch, while plates of papaya
with fresh lime, and toast with home-made jams, and perfectly
poached eggs followed each other in slow succession. Then
Mrs. Bhandari put in an appearance. She may be old enough
to have heard the shooting on April 13, 1919, the day of
the infamous Amritsar Massacre, but Mrs. Bhandari remains,
a very lively lady. I sat entranced as she spoke of the
“old days”, before the partition of India and Pakistan,
when she used to “pop over” to Lahore for shopping and a
the-dansant. “Oh, Lahore used to be such a beautiful city,”
she sighed, “but those days are gone. I haven’t been back
since 1947…It’s like a dream now.” Yet, in the enclosed
world that Mrs. Bhandari and her daughters have created,
something of that dream world lives on. |
