Autobiographical

I was going to start on my story, but then realised that there is still a way to go with my dad. On honeymoon my dad discovered that my mum had some health issues that her parents had opted not to disclose. However, this did not make him love her any less or seek a way out of his commitment to her. He wasn’t that kind of person. He cared for her throughout his life. 

Don’t get me wrong here. My mum also played a vital, positive role in his life. She was similarly committed to him and was a remarkable support to him when he was paralysed after two strokes in rapid succession. I believe that they were truly very happy together. To be honest, I think my mum sacrificed a budding career by opting to dedicate herself to look after the kids. She worked for a long time as secretary on an archaeological journal and then for a long time as an editor dealing with complaints for the John Lewis magazine (John Lewis & Partners).

Shortly after their return from Sri Lanka, my dad was appointed in 1948 as a lecturer in the history of modern India in London at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), a research university in the capital. It is in London that my parents had their first three children and after a subsequent miscarriage, that appeared to be it. The family moved to Oxford in 1963-65 where he was a reader in Indian History at St Antony’s College. 

He loved the atmosphere there, but became embroiled in a dispute over management plans to allocate the space used by the oriental institute for a computer centre. My dad campaigned vociferously with others in the vote on this move. However, the university’s management bused in loads of people to vote on their side. Shortly afterwards SOAS advertised the post of Chair of the History of South Asia. My dad applied and was accepted. He remained in that post from October 1965 until his retirement in 1988. I personally believe that was a mistake, as he could have carried on and might thereby have lived a longer life, but he wanted to make way for the next generation.

My dad gained some renown on two occasions. One case concerned a favourable review in The Times of his book Race, Sex and Class under the Raj, with the unforgettable headline of “Queen Victoria in the Brothel.” You will have to read the work in question to know why!

On another instance, a hagiographic portrayal in a BBC documentary of Mahatma Gandhi as a saint was called into question by one of the few comments by my dad to be kept in the programme. My dad noted that Gandhi’s habit of proving his purity by sleeping with 13-year old virgins (and allegedly not deflowering them) didn’t prove anything at all, given that the girls were highly unlikely to speak out. 

However, back to Oxford. My mum asked my brother Adrian if he would prefer a younger brother or a dog. Naturally he opted for the latter. Luckily for me, it was too late to change the circumstances and I saw the light of day in 1964. Adrian said he preferred me to a dog. I find it hard, but have to believe him.