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we will all be gone and forgotten.”
     
    The Country Garden Tearoom, Calcutta, India
    “Shall I be mother?” Sir Martyn Sharpe picked up the teapot and carefully poured a cup for his guest. Working on the hallowed principle of milk in first, he’d already poured a little into his cup. His guest, on the other hand, preferred his tea without.
    “Thank you, Sir Martyn. Have you heard from London yet?” Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru sipped his tea delicately. “Ahh, an excellent cup. I do not know what we would do without this establishment.”
    “We have indeed. We received a blunt order from the Colonial and Dominions Office to obey the terms of the Armistice without question. Or else. The else is economic destruction. It is outrageous. Lord Linlithgow is still furious about it. I brought you a copy of the telex.”
    “Most kind of you. Could I trouble you for another cup of tea?” Nehru read the telex while Sir Martyn poured out the last of the pot and unobtrusively signalled for another pot of loose Assam. The Anglo-Indian waitress moved in almost immediately to see her guests had all their needs fulfilled. It wasn’t just the tea that was excellent here; the service was as well. Sir Martyn looked at the cake stand and carefully removed a fishpaste sandwich from the lowest tier. The bread was superbly fresh, the filling home made and exquisite.
    “As you say, an outrageous imposition. I can only imagine how badly you feel at having received such shabby and cavalier treatment at the hands of the authorities.” Nehru hesitated for a beautifully timed second. “Well, of course, I don’t have to imagine it. We have felt much the same way many times in the past. Not least with the current declaration of war against Germany. Thank you, Sir Martyn. Have you tried the egg finger-sandwich?”
    “Indeed; the touch of garlic is an inspired addition. May I recommend in return the fishpaste? Of course, the tenor of the reply from London puts you in an even more difficult position than it does us. We are merely cast adrift, you on the other hand, are adrift without a paddle. More tea?”
    “Allow me, Sir Martyn.” Nehru picked up the fresh pot and poured. “How does this place us in a difficult position? Britain is defeated and forced out of the war. We can now withdraw as well.”
    “Indeed you could. But there is a problem inherent with that. By doing so, you would be seen as following Britain’s lead in a most distasteful matter. Any claim you might make to independence would be seen in that light. A declaration would be treated as a matter of words, not backed up by any form of reality. Especially since Australia, South Africa and New Zealand are also ignoring the orders from London, for the moment at least, and remain in the war. India being the odd one out of the Dominions would be an unfortunate position for us.” Sir Martyn bit delicately at a cucumber sandwich, relishing the taste and texture of the chilled cucumber surrounded by the soft, crustless bread.
    Nehru took a fishpaste sandwich and ate it thoughtfully. That was one of the great advantages of discussing issues over High Tea. Consuming sandwiches and small cakes while sipping tea gave each participant an opportunity to think carefully before answering. “Australia, New Zealand and South Africa? Does London know this yet? And what about Canada?”
    “London has not been told, yet and Canada remains silent. But all three countries are treating this matter as a declaration of independence and a renunciation of dominion status. If we continue with the war, we will be placing ourselves in that camp. Independence, Pandit, now. In 1940; not in five or ten years.”
    “But we could declare independence now. That is what much of the Congress Party wants. We could declare independence and also bow out of the war. That would gain us the best of both worlds. Shall we order another plate of sandwiches?”
    “We could do as you suggest, Pandit. But if we declare