Sitting in the midst of chaos, with all the stuff he had collected over the last couple of years scattered around him, Elk was in the throes of packing. Not having the slightest idea how he was going to manage without money for his rent or, for that matter, his passage back to India, he had been utterly taken aback by the arrival of a letter in the morning. Reading it now for the third time just to be sure he had understood its contents correctly, Elk was transfixed. It was from H.M. Tennent, one of the largest and most well-reputed impresario agencies in London that had been around for more than a century, managing the careers of top-notch actors on the professional stage. Now, unbelievable as it sounded, H.M. Tennent were offering to put him on their roster of actors and represent him as his agent if he agreed. They mentioned that they had been impressed with his histrionic abilities in several of the final-year productions he had appeared in at RADA, including the title role in Richard III.
Speechless, he finally put down the letter! My God, this was what his fellow students dreamed about—being taken on by a reputable agent who was virtually capable of making their careers. What did this mean? He should be overjoyed! Should he stay back in England and become a professional actor? He had never thought of his future in any place apart from India, but suddenly this seemed like a distinct possibility—especially in the light of returning to a country that could not offer him a real job in the profession for which he had actually equipped himself.
The offer threw him into a complete quandary. His artist friends, Raza, Souza and Akbar, seemed to be genuinely toying with the idea of staying abroad, for the very reason that the modern art they practised had no monetary value in their own country. All of them wanted to subsist on their art, which they agreed was going to be extremely difficult in India. Maybe he should be like them, pragmatic and hard-boiled . . . and stay back.
Hoping to clear his mind, Alkazi put on his overcoat, scarf, gloves and cap and, slamming the door behind him, decided to take a walk. It was snowing lightly. In order to still his racing thoughts, he tried to paraphrase for himself what the entire experience in England had actually taught him, and secondly, to what end?
Alkazi had experienced life in a country that was rebuilding itself from scratch after being crippled by two world wars. The pride, commitment, sheer hard work and often the ploughing in of personal resources towards rebuilding their nation and civil society greatly inspired Alkazi. He had been witness to a new institution, the ICA, established on exciting ideas that sought to educate the public in the arts and set an example for larger national bodies to emulate. Likewise, in the field of theatre, stalwarts like Laurence Olivier and John Gielgud had imported fresh ideas for training and performance. At Dartington Hall, the Elmhirsts, in a spirit of great generosity, converted their massive family estate into a space where international artists from multiple streams could live, work and experiment together in laboratory-like situations. Interactions of this nature became the basis for an extraordinary multi-arts educational programme, where exciting aesthetic encounters between world cultures became possible, paving the way for some remarkable international fusions.
After her liberation in 1947, India too was poised for change. This was the moment that held energy, promise and potential. It was this possibility that propelled Alkazi to return. There was a land waiting to be rebuilt and there was a country that believed in high ideals—a Nehruvian India that was already talking about an ‘Indian modernity’. It was the challenge of creating an ‘Indian modernity’ that beckoned Alkazi—his chance to make a difference, his chance to be modern, his chance to be on par with other citizens of the world…
Returning to his basement flat, he penned a short letter to Lord Elmhirst.
6 October 1950
Dear Mr Elmhirst,
After having enjoyed your hospitality during the summer, it may seem ungracious of me to approach you again for assistance. But I am afraid I have no one else to turn to.
I hoped through the sale of a few pictures at my exhibition to be able to pay my passage back to India. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to sell even one. I have half my fare by boat; I need the other half that amounts to 24 pounds.
Could you please assist me?
With best wishes to Mrs Elmhirst,
I remain,
Yours sincerely,
E. Alkazi
A few days later, Leonard Elmhirst responded:
9 October 1950
Dear Mr Alkazi,
I am sorry you were unable to sell your pictures. I was very interested to see them.
I enclose the sum you need towards your return journey.
Both my wife and I wish you the best of luck on your return to Bombay.
Yours sincerely,
Leonard K. Elmhirst
20 October 1950
Dear Mr and Mrs Elmhirst,
I wish to thank you for your kind assistance.
I hope I prove worthy of it.
With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,
E.Alkazi
This excerpt from Ebrahim Alkazi: Holding Time Captive by Amal Allana has been published with permission from Penguin Random House India.