Since we had nothing to do except wait for Hailey’s letter my father decided to call on other officials—bank managers, property owners and heads of Delhi’s leading families. ‘You never know when one of them may prove useful. One must keep up with everyone who matters,’ he said very wisely. We also saw the Red Fort and the Royal Mosque and went round Sikh gurdwaras. These last were poorly maintained as there were not many Sikhs in Delhi and none of them very rich. Even on Sunday evenings the congregation at Sees Ganj did not exceed a hundred men and women. Everyone we introduced ourselves to as newcomers asked us if we had seen the Qutub Minar. They said it was the highest tower in the world and from its top storey you could see the countryside with its ruins for miles around. ‘One day we will hire a tonga and go to the Qutub,’ my father said to me. By then I had started having dreams of my own. I replied, ‘I will go to the Qutub driving my own motor car.’ At the time no more than a dozen of the richest Indian families of Delhi owned cars. I could see my father was pleased with my ambition and self-assurance. Nevertheless, he laughed and snubbed me: ‘Bharooah! learn to earn before you talk of buying a motor car. You know how much one costs?’

He let me buy a bicycle—a beautiful, dark-green Raleigh made in England. It did not take me long to learn to ride it. The Raleigh cycle was to be my Rolls-Royce and my Daimler for the next fifteen years.

Give it to the English, when they say they will do something for you, you can be sure it will be done. A month after we had called on Hailey, we got a note asking us to report at his office.

There were a lot of English officers present. He simply introduced us to the Chief Engineer of the Central Public Works Department (CPWD). Without bothering to reply to our greetings, the Chief Engineer said: ‘You can start with roads and clerks’ quarters. I’ll see your work first and then we can think of other things. See the Superintending Engineer tomorrow morning.’

My father went straight to the CPWD office to find out who was who. From a clerk my father got the names and addresses of every one who worked there from the SE down to his chaprassies. On the way back we stopped at the telegraph office. I drafted a telegram to my younger brother who was looking after our property in the village to send a few reliable men who could organize labour and keep accounts.

The next morning before going to the office of the SE we called at his residence with the usual baskets of fruit ‘from our orchards’. We gave handsome tips to his chaprassies. The SE did not see us; his chief orderly told us that the sahib never received Indians in his home. To this day I do not know whether the fruit ever reached him or was eaten up by his chaprassies.