“We serve not only the Hindus in Milton Keynes, but also another 10,000 Hindus from Wellinborough and other areas in Buckinghamshire,” he pointed out, at their annual Diwali cultural programme held on 2nd November.
The Hindu Association hopes to build a community centre in Milton Keynes, but the first round of applications had been rejected. Dudakia was hopeful that the local authorities will look at his second application more favourably.
The Diwali programme organised by the Association offered a plethora of songs and dances by local children and residents. An opening prayer for Lord Rama, was followed by Kathak recitals, Bollywood dances, Meera bhajans, Pop songs, old filmi songs and patriotic songs.
The highlight of the event was a dance called Bollywood Dhamaka by performers from Honey Kalaria’s Dance Academy, who were starting a weekly dance school in Milton Keynes.
As soon as I informed her that I had lived in Mumbai before I immigrated to Brtain, she grinned from ear to ear like the famous Cheshire cat. Her Marketing Manager glared at me with a twinkle in his eye and complained, “Even we don’t get this kind of special treatment.”
Towards the end of the programme, Dudakia came up to me and said, “I hope you didn’t mind me announcing on stage that you were also a part-time priest.”
“Of course not,” I said, giving him a larger-than-life plastic smile.
As I gathered my bags to leave, I was promptly accosted by a charming lady in glittering clothes who wanted to know all about the nuptials for moving into a new house. I gave her another great big plastic smile, and tried not to worry about the long journey back from Milton Keynes to London.
She enquired about the ceremony with such enthusiasm that I relented, and discussed it with her at great length. After ten minutes, she was still looking earnestly at my face trying to catch every word, while I kept looking pointedly at the clock on the wall.
She chose to ignore my pointed looks, and after another longish discussion during which I had visions of delayed trains and harried passengers, I eventually managed to say faint farewells, and with a huge sigh of relief, and hurried on to begin the long journey back to London.
My vision of delayed trains had been spot on - the Silver Link train was delayed for two hours at Hemel Hempstead. Some passengers were even shouting and screaming at the station attendants. After I reached home well past midnight, I realised that I might just as well have changed my profession and become a perfectly reliable Roman soothsayer.