The British Raj with its Pants down

I did not know the Bandmaster personally.  He was a Colonial officer in the Colonial police force.  As a ‘pucca’ Britisher, he had to follow the unwritten code laid down by Colonial tradition, that south of Suez; it was unacceptable to have any native friends. The natives were to know their place and keep it.  After all they were tainted with the insidious virus to run their own country and that was treasonable thinking. There was a cultural and historical mythology connected to this.  Part of it was that it was dangerous to connect with the natives and it was only by keeping one’s distance from them, that the colonized would generate respect for those who propped up the Colonial system. After all, familiarity would breathe contempt.  No insubordination and all that sort of rot!  was the expectation of this alien group.

The Bandmaster’s public life in the exotic clove-scented island of Zanzibar was no guarded secret.  He was connected to the police force and was in charge of the police band.  The band was made up of ‘natives’ who were specially trained to produce music drawn from the masters of marches and waltzes. The Bandmaster obviously did a brilliant job of this, for it was not uncommon for the police to conduct impressive parades where the curious locals lined up on either side of the road to be brutally reminded that there better be no political hanky-panky as long a the British masters were in charge.  The entire police force dressed in red fez caps was engaged in these parades and followed the band three-abreast holding unloaded first-world-war guns replete with shining bayonets.  Rumour had it that the police were never issued with real bullets unless there was a threat of civil insurrection.  Perhaps even the loyalty of the police force was suspect.

The Bandmaster also conducted the police band, made up of native policemen every Tuesday in front of the very exclusive English Club for the pleasure of its Club members.  This area of the island was forever known as the” Band Stand.” The Bandmaster came dressed meticulously in black evening dress trousers held up by a cumber band and a white shark-skin jacket with a starched shirt and a white bow tie and patent leather shoes.  He looked very much in charge of the band but a bit out of place I thought.  The locals were allowed to watch and listen to the music from a safe distance and to get a taste of British culture.  The music usually began with a march to warm things up and this was followed by a medley of music made famous by the Masters on the stage in the U.K. or U.S After each piece of music there was thunderous applause by the natives and this helped drown out the feeble appreciation that came from three storeys up in the English Club from patrons who enjoyed fine French wine and the cuisine put together by a Goan chef.  After the conclusion of each number, The Bandmaster walked twenty yards away from the band where a chair was placed against a garage door and a glass of Scotch and soda was placed faithfully under his chair to stimulate more enthusiasm in his conducting. The vigor of his conducting was directly related to the number of refills that were faithfully placed under his chair.   By the time the last piece of music was played the Bandmaster was so plastered that his conducting was a bit of an “over-kill” much to the entertainment of the crowd. When the final “God save the King” (the Queen was yet to reign) was to be played, the bandmaster received several “encores” and he willingly obliged.

But the bandmaster unfortunately had a seamy side to his character. Opposite his house, on the other side of the Goan Institute and next to the Victoria Gardens most of the young boys made use of an open space to play cricket.  The boys were anywhere between ten and thirteen.  I was among them.  One afternoon, our attention was drawn to a window where the Bandmaster stood stark naked but for a towel around his waist.  When we looked up at him, he pulled away his towel exposing his unimpressive parts to us.  We all burst out laughing and retaliated by pelting him with rocks.  He did not expect this, so he quickly disappeared from sight, and knowing that he was from the police, we all scrambled out of sight too.