A man of the people | Yogi Vaid & Aman Nath's 'Bapji: The King Who Would Be Man'
A biography of the titular Maharaja of Jodhpur, enriched with rare, archival photographs and anecdotes
Arguably, the pivotal event in the life of Gaj Singh II (b. 1948)—the subject of this lavishly, and lovingly, produced book—occurred at the age of four, when his father Hanwant Singh, a passionate aviator, perished in a plane crash, thereby making the young boy, quite prematurely, the Maharaja of Jodhpur. If India had not abolished royal titles in 1971, he would possibly be the longest reigning monarch in the world today.
Arguably, the pivotal event in the life of Gaj Singh II (b. 1948)—the subject of this lavishly, and lovingly, produced book—occurred at the age of four, when his father Hanwant Singh, a passionate aviator, perished in a plane crash, thereby making the young boy, quite prematurely, the Maharaja of Jodhpur. If India had not abolished royal titles in 1971, he would possibly be the longest reigning monarch in the world today.
Rather than shy away from such a tragic, life-shattering event, Bapji: The King Who Would Be Man embraces it without a wince. Indeed, that’s how the book begins. Next, it plunges deep into the venerable ancestry of the Rathores, including the story of how Umaid Singh, Gaj Singh’s visionary grandfather, transformed sleepy Jodhpur into a regal capital and countered a devastating 1920s famine by launching a food-for-work programme that gave us the startling Art Deco pile of Umaid Bhawan, said to be the largest private residence in the world.
The book then returns to its primary subject. At age eight, Bapji, as he is reverentially called, was packed off to England away from palace intrigues, where he lived with an English family. He was schooled at Cothill House, then moved to Eton and eventually to Oxford, before returning home to Jodhpur to assume his royal duties.
By all accounts, Bapji has been a public-minded royal, devoted to his ‘subjects’ and his clan, who have loved him back in equal measure. In the middle of all this, he’s managed to carve out a small hospitality empire, represented India as a diplomat in the Caribbean, and earned a reputation as a gourmand and culinary revivalist. (I can vouch for this, having heard him speak hotly about the disappearing Mathania chillies.)
The authors know the Maharaja well, and have had untrammelled access to him, essential to see such a book through. When you’re not engrossed in the writing, you can just gawp at the obscene wealth of archival images. The contemporary photography is by ‘panoramist’ Amit Pasricha, whose felicitous perfectionism has elevated the book muchly.
A project that could have easily descended into hagiography, Bapji manages to retain balance, depth and charm. It has all the benefits of the coffee-table format,but none of its shortcomings.
