By: Ganesh Saili
Come to think of it, the 1970s were difficult times. With the end of privy purses, the de-recognition of royals loomed large. The ex-rulers of the princely states hurried to make up for the loss of income by selling off precious heirlooms to make ends meet. We were told this step would boost government revenues, and with privy purses gone, we would be on a level playing field.
Sure, we were poor, yet we were never impoverished. My parents ensured that there was always enough food to go around. The trouble was with pocket money. It was hard to come by. To make up for the deficit, I joined our wheeler-dealers club. They took me in without a second thought. Setting out in the morning, we would trawl the hillside, snapping up junk that was to be later sold in shops as rare antiques. Strangely enough, we looked scornfully down our noses at the genuine kabariwalas who dealt in old newspapers, empty bottles, and tin cans.
One day, the gungy Nettar Vallab told me that some dealers were planning to go to Narendranagar, where Maharaja Manvendra Shah, the ex-ruler of Tehri, was selling his chandeliers. (Little did we dream that years later, this was the place that would house Ananda, the famous health resort and spa.)
‘They call it Bohemian cut glass or something like that!’ He snorted.
To cut a long story short, we pooled money together and bought the whole lot. Carefully, we had them dismantled one at a time, packed gingerly into straw-filled cardboard boxes, and then loaded into a snub-nosed truck for the journey to Dehradun’s Dewan Brothers shop in Astley Hall.
A little ways away from the palace, there was a rough patch in the road as it was still being built. The truck, heavily laden with our precious cargo, failed to negotiate this stretch, turned turtle and rolled down into the khud. Fortunately, the driver and conductor got away with a few minor bruises. Lamentably, all the glass was shattered into fragments.
Nearer home in Mussoorie, Fatehsinghrao Gaekwad, the ex-ruler of Baroda, had two palaces: Dunseverick and Gutherie Lodge, located atop the highest point on the hill behind the old Mussoorie Library, around 7,200 feet above sea level.
At a meeting of the greyheads in Baroda, it was reasoned that if the buildings were demolished and the rubble sold, at least they could hold on to the land. When the dust finally settled, our narrow lanes were choked with the remains of the day: beams, cast iron stoves, carpets, crockery, door frames, furniture, metal fireplaces, sofas, timber, tin sheets, and all the accoutrements that go into the building of a house. They were later sold in a friendly auction.
Samir Karayi, a guest, at Ananda Spa, Narendranagar. Pic courtesy: Author’s Collection.
Abdul Salaam, who dealt in second-hand goods, picked up what he thought were just two side tables. They had a strange brownish mosaic terracotta top, which he brought to London House, where a board proudly proclaimed, ‘We Buy & Sell: Rear & Second-hand Books.’.
Out on his usual walk, geologist Robert Manning noticed the tables lying on the roadside, and he casually asked, ‘How much?’
‘Five thousand!’ replied our antique dealer. He did so very slowly, leaving ample place for haggling. In his heart, he was more than happy at the chance of doubling his investment.
‘Done!’ said Manning, taking out his wallet and paying him. He found a coolie to carry the tables home.
Later that night, doubts began to assail Abdul Salaam. They gnawed at him as he tossed around in bed. The next morning, he went to Falcon’s Nest, just above the lychgate of the Camel’s Back Cemetery. He tried to buy back at least one of the tables most valiantly.
‘Not a chance in hell!’ said the buyer, shooing him off with, ‘They are the largest pieces of Tiger Jasper I have ever seen. They are priceless!
Poor Abdul! He regretted the sale until his dying day. ‘I got diddled,’ moaned the King of Junk, before he passed away in his hometown of Mandawar in the Bijnor district of Uttar Pradesh.
But that’s how life goes. You cannot win them all.
Ganesh Saili, born and homegrown in the hills belongs to those few whose words are illustrated by their pictures. Author of two dozen books, some translated into twenty languages, his work has found recognition worldwide.
