Delighted to be of service, old fruity.

That was superb. Good show. By Jove. And all that.

I also like the spelling of ‘Hindoostanee’

I really like it too although I think it could benefit from a few more vowels.

Must be all the sex with white chicks…hmmm…there’s a lesson to learn

In which case, Razib will probably live to be 300

You know, I was discussing this very same topic with my punkahwallah earlier today while I was sipping my usual Gin & Tonic on the verandah.

“Bahadur Singh”, I said, taking a bite out of my cucumber sandwich, “Don’t you miss the good old days, when an English gent could happily wear his tartan pagri and matching sherwani, whilst smoking his hookah, and marry a local lass or three without the Colonial Office deciding he’s done a Marlon Brando and deciding to send an ambitious young East India Company officer to do a Martin Sheen on his arse ?”

Such wonderful memories. Our intercourse with the locals was more along the lines of equals, you see, even though we were sneakily grabbing every opportunity to expand our influence in the name of our blessed Monarch (aha, another excuse for a toast – “Bahadur Singh, fill up my glass, my good man”) and thereby earn a few more bob to pay for that mansion back in dear old Blighty. The regrettable events of 1857 changed things dramatically, unfortunately, and the increase in enterprising English Roses deciding to join us on the subcontinent and trying to find a suitable husband via shenanigans at Scandal Point in lovely Simla meant we couldn’t mingle — and by mingle, I mean canoodle — with the doe-eyed dusky local beauties as much as we used to. Such a shame — this racial nonsense.

By the way, Red Snapper, my dear old boy — I suspect that “shampoo baths” still occur in Brighton, although the term might mean something else these days. You know the rumours about all those boarding school fellows.

Anyway, I will contribute again to this wonderful discussion later on after some of you other chaps have voiced some further thoughts over brandy and cigars. But I am afraid I must dash now — the Memsahib is wearing her jodhpurs again and it’s drawing the native men to her like flies to a jalebi.

Toodle-pips.

he apparently plagiarized a number of descriptive passages from British travel writers

“18th century Kaavya! First Indian author published in English was a plagiarist!”

Sweet!