Once, when I received a cheque for three pounds for an article I had written for Hier Spricht London, the magazine of the German service of the BBC, I invited a Venezuelan lady to dine with me at Schmidt’s Restaurant at 33-37 Charlotte Street, where each table was attended by a surly, elderly waiter wearing a white apron and they had a proper silver service. The photographs on the walls depicted scenes from some German town as it existed in the 1930s.That was the time, my mother used to tell me years later, when there were only three cities of lights and proper cabarets in Europe — Paris, Berlin and Warsaw. At the LSE, I edited the Clare Market Review, journal of the students’ union for a year. And on weekends, I would be on the Serpentine, rowing against the delicate current, feeling the slight tremor in the dark muscle of the lake, until I felt the rain drop on my cheek and a boiling sky discharged a wilderness of electricity. At times, I visited the National Gallery of Art in Trafalgar Square, where, on one occasion, I met the Hollywood actress Ava Gardner who asked me if I knew where “The Toilet of Venus” by Diego Velazquez was located.
Student life in London was an experience I would not have missed for anything. The images were absolutely riveting. Hikers rambling over pub lunches in Chelsea, discussing the quickest way to get to Cornwall where the land shelves off to furious rain mist and the Atlantic rushes in. Landladies in Bayswater bending over gulags of greasy water in kitchen sinks, toweling their heads, depressed at the sight of gray hairs mealing up the brown, while outside nettles guarded vacancies. Tourists eating salted beef sandwiches at the Nosh Bar in Picadilly near the Windmill Theatre and my soccer games with working class schoolchildren in Surrey Docks. Drinking hot chocolate in The Coffee House in Northumberland Avenue, where Trotskyites, lemon-tea Bolsheviks and Existentialists flirted with freshly scrubbed au pair girls, student teachers and nurses who moved about with a rustle of bombazine and a stick of a smile. In summer, like butterflies, small circuses wandered through the lanes settling on village green and raising their tents like a hawk’s wings. And on Sunday afternoons at Hyde Park Corner, soap box orators demonstrated the power of British democracy.
Published in The Express Tribune, November 11th, 2012.
COMMENTS (16)
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@Sultan
You only experienced what money can buy! Didn't you have even a glimpse of things that money can't buy? And that too, in a liberal art school in New England?
I guess, you did. May be you didn't mention for the sake of brevity.
@Anwer Mooraj: Sir, I took the liberty to do a play on the word 'toilet' from your reference to Valezquez painting 'The Toilet of Venus' and linked it with Minoo Bhandara's story. The common factor being Ava Gardner. I thought it funny and a bit of a coencidence. In Mr.Bhandara's story if I recollect correctly, the encounter was in the cinema house owned by his family.
Nothing compares to the educational experience at a liberal arts school in New England-- the best money can buy!
having student life in london was like studing particle physics in CERN, but now its its historical and acadmic value has been ruined off due to over crowdedness even though you are among those lucky people who had enjoyed its original value.
I strongly disagree with the "strong Britiah democracy" thingy that the author is trying to remember. There is nothing like a democracy in Britain. The level of corruption is as high as the living standard when compared to pakistan. Afterall, they have been our masters and taught our elite thee dirty things they do. This system of injustice is clear to only those who have lived here through recession, unlike the author. Yet, i do agree, that just like karachi, london is the life in speed lane and worth livong for the rich history of it and the experiences it offers.
London has lost a lot of its original charm, the kind you describe. And the immigrants are responsible for it. For them its just place to make a living. They have very little or no idea of its history, no respect for the culture or history. Their are physically there, their mind is where they come from. Exceptions are few and far between.
While you write pretty prose, nostalgia is hardly the preview of London alone. I remember a Karachi of my parents that will never be again. I see black and white pictures of my parents wearing evening attire and party hats, drinking champagne in Karachi circa 1963. I've pictures of my father at the beach and I'd be hard pressed to identify the country where the beach is located.
@Parvez: I don't think I mentioned toilets in reference to Ava Gardner in my article. I hardly think this popular Hollywood actress would have come all the way to the National Gallery just to take a leak. I can't speak for Minoo Bhandara who, regrettably died a few tears ago after being involved in a nasty accident in China.But in spite of the fact that in Pakistan women are supposed to exercise a supreme effort of abstinence and control I am a little surprised that Ms Gardner would want to know where there was a toilet when she was staying at Falettis.Hotel. Anwer Mooraj
You can go to YMCA Indian Student's Hostel in Fitzroy Square. A single room with attached bathroom costs about 65 GBP inclusive of breakfast and dinner. Oh yes, the meat is halaal in case any one is worrying about that. It's in Central London, within the 'square mile' and ideal for sight seeing. And don't worry Pakistanis are allowed to stay there too, as long as they don't try to blow it up.
You are talikng London of 19th century.. Tell us how Charlotte Bronte looked like?
Shorn of all these jingoistic hoopla of 'identity' and 'nationalism' I wish, we were still be ruled by the British. With UN, International court of justice, all the humanitarian statutes and covenants in place and the enlightenment of last 65 years things could only be better. One can question the merit of the law of the day, but there was 'law' and there was 'order'. All are welcome to abuse me.
Yup, it's all gone. But then so too have most other things. As LP Hartley said 'The past is a foreign country.'
'bombazine'..........had to look that one up. What was this thing with Ava Gardner and toilets ? In Minoo Bhandaras book he also mentions meeting her in Lahore (Bhowani Junction) and her asking him where she could find a toilet - coincidence ?
I am sorry but I think this was supposed to be a personal journal entry.
What you detail here is much more than just "surviving". A pauper you were not, 50 pounds in the 50s was alot of money.