Sunanda K Datta-Ray: If it's royal, it's art

Exhibitions at Indar Pasricha Fine Arts in London’s Connaught Street recall the society woman who was grateful to Frank Buchman, founder of the Moral Rearmament Movement, for introducing her to God and the Queen of Rumania. Perhaps the order should be reversed, giving her Majesty precedence over Him.

It’s no disrespect to Indar’s feel for art or sense of what sells — how can prophets survive without the profit motive? — to say that the people at his opening nights are as interesting as the exhibits. It’s more than a gallery; it’s a salon and Tony Blair should have felt culturally uplifted when he bought a mansion a stone’s throw away. One of Indar’s guests asked me last Wednesday how well I knew the Linlithgows who were her relatives. Before my time, I confessed. “You must have been friendly with the Wavells then” she announced and stared uncomprehendingly when I explained I didn’t move in viceregal circles. Her surprise may have been understandable: Indar had just pointed out a descendant of Curzon’s.

 

Over the years I have spotted Lalita Mallya, William Dalrymple and his artist wife, Olivia Fraser, Nicholas Coleridge, author of Paper Tigers, in what looked to my unfashionable eye like a velvet dressing gown but was the latest style in coats, Sharmila Tagore and Mansur Ali Khan. Indar would never forgive me for not saying “His Highness the Nawab of Pataudi and Bhopal”. More of that later.

We go back a long way for our mothers were at school together with the artist, Sheila Auden (nee Bonnerjee), and Sita Chaudhuri whose husband is remembered for devaluing the rupee. Indar and his wife, Aruna, who was principal of the Calcutta School of Music, moved to England in 1978. After exhibiting in Shepherd’s Market they started the gallery in 1990. The Pasrichas preside over it with polished ease, introducing princesses to bankers, cricketers to brokers, maharajkumaris to film stars, as gracious with famous writers as with newspaper hacks, always keeping a sharp eye open for critics and buyers.

Wednesday’s was one of those jolly evenings when the party doesn’t spill out on the pavement; the pavement is drawn into the party. In winter giant outdoor heaters ensure that guests don’t have to rely on the wine (always freely flowing) to keep warm. But even the slight June shower dared not disturb the occasion.

The card requested in copperplate the pleasure of my company to a reception to celebrate the opening of the exhibition “Of Goats and Kings and other Such Things”, described as recent works by “His Highness Ranjitsinh, Gaekwad of Baroda”. “Would you like to interview His Highness?” Indar fluted when I telephoned to accept, taking no notice of the abolition of princes. Neither did the Englishwoman who felt she should curtsy to the Gaekwad, who wore shirt and jacket without a tie.

Many years ago when I handled a newspaper’s letters to the editor, a correspondent referred to a tiger that “H H Barimba” had shot. Courteously, I added the prefix “Mr” in the published version. Back came a pained rejoinder saying in effect, “Not ‘Mr Barimba’ you ignorant peasant but “His Highness of Barimba”. Indar wouldn’t make my mistake.

History isn’t the soft-spoken Ranjitsinh’s forte. That my great grandfather was dewan of Baroda meant more to his charming consort from Gwalior. But he isn’t your playboy prince either, having studied art at Baroda university and the Royal Academy where he won a scholarship. He was twice an MP (“Mrs Gandhi asked me”). How did he choose the pictures on display? “Indar wanted goats and maharajas!”

Apart from drawings of the Surat goat, the eight fibreglass models are his offering to communal harmony, having been “inspired by the Indian Muslim feast of Eid el Bakri”. But is it correct to say Gandhi took a goat to the Round Table Conference as an “allegory of rural life and to underline its importance in the future of India”? I thought the faddist would drink no other milk.

Some thought the pictures (minimum price £2,500) cost too much. Others said they were too cheap and bought several. Everyone admired the Gaekwad’s artistry.

The London art world being as ridden with jealousy as India’s, it isn’t surprising that Indar isn’t universally loved. But those who don’t like him don’t shun his exhibitions. They can’t afford to. If the art trade dries up, he would make an excellent professional host, naturally of a very superior establishment. There’s always also his neglected credentials as a chartered accountant.

sunandadr@yahoo.co.in