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INDIAN DIARY By HARRY POLLITT 1/-

It will be a long time before I forget what I saw in the working- class district of Bombay. Only once before had I seen such poverty and dreadful housing conditions and that was in the West Indies in 1938, but Bombay was worse. What a commentary on the greed and rapacity of British imperial- ism that after all the millions they have robbed from the workers of the West and East Indies, such conditions as these should exist! Had dinner and a long talk with Comrade Ghosh. Went to bed, dead-beat, but could not sleep because of thinking about what I had seen all day. December 13. THIS morning, under a grilling sun, I made another tour round Bombay, and to the seaside place called Juhu. I was literally fascinated by the multitude of sights that I saw. Performing monkeys, mongooses and snakes. I had seen pictures of snake-charmers at work, but I have never seen so many in real life before. I watched one girl dance on the hard sands who would make many Ajoy Ghosh and Harry Pollitt 4 of our English dancers green with envy, so beautiful were her hands, movements, postures and muscle control. What a small place the world is. While walking along the sands, looking at the people and trying to take everything in, I noticed a group of 25 young Bombay workers sunbathing and singing. One of them broke away and came running toward me. He stopped: "Comrade Pollitt, I recognised you. I was at the docks yesterday. Please come and speak to my comrades of the Young Workers' League." This evening I was on my way to the working-class district of Bombay to speak at my first demonstration in India. What a huge variety of colour was to be seen in the streets! The beautiful saris of the women, the white clothes of the men, and a variety of costumes and styles of dresses and headgear that certainly made it a memorable sight. But always you were brought up with a jerk, when some appalling aspect of human wretchedness and misery inevitably forced itself before your eyes. Arriving at an open space I found a vast crowd squatting on the green and thousands more standing as far as the eye could see. I was introduced by Comrade Ajoy Ghosh, and then the old Indian custom of placing garlands of flowers around the necks of those you love and respect was shown to me. I must have had over 50 such garlands placed around my neck by comrades representing every section of the working-class move- ment in Bombay. They had to be taken from me in relays. I was literally being smothered in beautiful flowers and bouquets. To me it was deeply touching, and I know that tears were stream- ing down my cheeks. December 14. FOR many more years than I care to remember, I used to address all letters to my Indian comrades to Raj Bhuvan, Sandhurst Road, Bombay. Now the Central Party Offices are in Delhi, but Raj Bhuvan, which means People's House, is still used by the Party as the headquarters of its publishing activities. Our full-time comrades in leading positions lead a very austere and frugal life. They not only work in Raj Bhuvan, but live there with their families. It really means they are on the job all the time. We went over the printing house, which prints all the publications of the Party, and with the limited facilities they have at their dis- posal they work wonders. For example, they have no linotype machines or modern flatbed machine or other equipment, but their work reaches a very high standard indeed. They have printed a very fine edition of Comrade R. Palme Dutt's book, The Crisis of Britain and the British Empire, which sells 5

Published by THE COMMUNIST PARTY 16 KING STREET LONDON W.C.2 Printed by FARLEIGH PRESS LTD. (T.U. all depts.) BEECHWOOD WORKS, WATFORD, HERTS CP/V/5/3/54 INDIAN DIARY By HARRY POLLITT December 12. I COULD not sleep last night through excitement at landing at Bombay this morning. I was on deck at 6 a.m., just as we began to enter the estuary at Bombay. It was a wonderful spectacle. The hills on the starboard side behind which the sun was rising made a splendid dash of colour. On the port side the first outline of Bombay began to appear. By 7 a.m. the Batory had tied up at the quayside. It was 8 a.m. before the Indian officials came on board for all the usual formalities. By 9 a.m. I heard a tremendous shouting, but the only words I could make out were "Harry Pollitt." Soon hundreds of workers appeared on the quay; they were waving red flags and calling for me. Everybody on board came running on deck to see what the excite- ment was about, and the looks on the faces of my fellow passengers, and especially the Old India Hands, when they found it was myself who was being greeted, was something I will never forget. I finally got through the Customs, everybody being very kind and helpful, particularly the luggage porters, who were all coming up to shake my hand. But when I got into the street, what a sight met my astonished gaze. I was greeted by Comrades Mirajkar, Chary and Prasante. Mirajkar, of course, is one of the veterans of the Communist Party of India and one of the Meerut prisoners, along with Ben Bradley and Lester Hutchinson. I had to walk through a solid wall of enthusiastic workers. At every few yards I was garlanded and given bouquets, until by the time I reached the car I was weighed down with flowers. Arrived at my hotel, and was soon greeted by Comrade Ajoy Ghosh, the general secretary of the Indian Party, and Comrade Dange, well known to British workers. Afterwards had a rest, because the morning's excitement had been very exhausting. In the afternoon did a four-hour tour of Bombay. It's a great city, but also one where the contrast between rich and poor is sharper than I have ever seen before. Visited the splendid park on the Malabar Hills, and looking across the bay saw the Batory steaming away on the last lap of its journey to Karachi. I had spent some of the happiest hours of my life on the Batory. 3

at 8s. 6d., which, by Indian standards, is a very high price, and yet they have already sold over 2,000 copies. I discovered that when I mentioned Dutt's name it found no response, but when I then mentioned R.P.D. a light came into their eyes, and you would have thought I had named some god. Oh, Shades of the Notes of the Month in the Labour Monthly! I spent all afternoon preparing my speech for the important public reception which is being given to me this evening in the Sunderbai Hall by the Bombay Committee of the Communist Party. It is the second largest hall in Bombay and seats 1,500. Long before the meeting started every seat was occupied. Every gangway was crammed with people sitting on their haunches. The back of the hall and the platform also were crammed, and my speech had to be relayed outside to hundreds who could not get into the hall. I was begged to make a long speech. Well, I did, because the comrades said it "was a special kind of audience and everybody understood English." I must say you could have heard a pin drop throughout the entire proceedings. At the end of my speech, which I am afraid lasted 1¾ hours, no one stirred. The chairman announced the meeting was at an end. No one stirred, only cries of "Please speak a bit longer." I was dead beat, however, speaking so long in such heat, even if I had been doing it in my shirt. The International was sung in Hindi. Still the audience did not move. So I emulated what Tom Mann used to do, and called for "Three cheers for a lasting peace that would be heard in Washington." That did it, and I am sure they could be heard in Washington. So ended one of the most impressive experiences in my memory. And so to bed, to get ready for my journey to Delhi tomorrow. December 16. I T'S been another of those times when you say "It's been quite a day." Left Bombay Airport at 8.30 a.m. after a journey from the air terminal office lasting about 45 minutes, which took us right round the Marine Drive and through many interesting parts of Bombay and its environs. I wonder just how many people sleep out in the streets all night in Bombay, and I also wonder if there is another place in the world where so many well-to-do citizens take their morning constitutional along the Promenade at 7 a.m.? The journey to Delhi seemed to me to be across one of the most barren stretches of land. Here and there you saw a few green patches which had been tilled, and now and again a cluster of villages. Arrived at Delhi Airport at 12.15 p.m., and as the plane was taxi-ing to the Reception Hall one of the passengers said: "I see we 6 are being greeted by Red Flags, who is going to take the lead?" Dead silence. I looked out then and saw a crowd and Red Flags. The plane came to a stop. Every passenger seemed to be bearing himself with a demeanour which said, "Well, it's not me." I finally emerged, and as soon as my feet were on the ground found myself once again surrounded by comrades, with flags, gar- lands, and bouquets. I thought to myself, "Fancy this happening at London Airport!" I was garlanded 25 times. I could hardly walk off the tarmac, which did not prevent me singing (to myself, of course) a favourite old ballad of my father's: "She wore a wreath of roses, the first time that we met." A short speech of thanks from me, and then off in a car to Delhi. I suppose it is about ten miles to the town, so I got a good chance to see this and that. Among which was the "Lodge," where the British Viceroy of India used to live. I wish you could all see it. What a palace! What grounds! And then, being what I am, I thought of all the people I had seen with nowhere to lay their heads, except on the pavement. A wash and brush up, and then went to see the Parliament House. A splendid building. I was able to obtain a seat in the Distinguished Visitors' Gallery, and listened for a short time to an interesting debate on the Special Marriages Bill. There had recently been an important by-election in South-East Calcutta, which everyone had expected the Congress candidate to win. To their consternation the Communist candidate, Comrade Gupta, won it hands down. Comrade Gupta is blind, but this dreadful affliction has not stopped him from giving a lifetime of service to the working class of Calcutta. I was proud to be introduced to him. Just before I got into bed a comrade came to see me. He showed me a newspaper in which it was stated the Ceylon authorities had distributed 10,000 copies of my photograph so that every police officer at ports and railway stations would recognise me if I attempted to enter Ceylon. I regret that no reward was issued for apprehending the body. But I had to laugh also. I remembered saying facetiously to the pressmen at Southampton that I would get into Ceylon by emulating the gentleman in the Bible who once parted the seas and walked through them. I suppose the Government of Ceylon took it seriously. December 17. I HAD begun to think that life had no more surprises for me, but I was mistaken. Left Delhi at 8.30 a.m. for Amritsar, and arrived at the airport at 10.30 a.m. While coming in to land I could see scores of red flags and a great crowd of people. 7

Immediately the plane had stopped before the reception hall the great crowd had surged on to the tarmac, and on emerging from the plane I was met by representatives of the Communist Party, trade unions, peasant organisations, peace movement and various cultural organisations. I immediately recognised the Communist Member of Parliament for the area where the airport was situated. He had acted as an Arrival at Amritsar interpreter for me at a conference in Moscow in 1934. I was also glad to greet my old friend Mulk Raj Anand, the famous Indian author, who was on a visit to his native town of Amritsar. Outside the aerodrome I made a short speech in which I expressed the hope that before my visit was at an end the people of Amritsar would know there were other kinds of British citizens than General Dwyer, the butcher of Amritsar. Off we went to the town, and it was quite a triumphal procession. I was very moved when I heard that scores of the people who had greeted me at the airport were peasants who had come from 20 miles and more. Our first stop was at the Memorial Gardens, which marked the spot where, on April 13, 1919, the massacre of principal Amritsar citizens took place on the instructions of General Dwyer. 8 At the Martyrs' Well, Amritsar 9

I laid a wreath in the centre of the memorial, and observed a solemn two minutes' silence, which was what I thought all that is best among the British people would expect me to do. From there we went to the Golden Temple, the most famous and sacred shrine of the Sikh population of the Punjab. I was wel- comed by the vice-chairman of the organisation, and then taken round the temple by a Sikh gentleman. I was presented with a scarf and two religious symbols, and I must be one of the few foreigners who have been taken into the innermost parts of the temple and shown the jewels, gold and pearls whose value no one can compute. My greatest and never-to-be-forgotten thrill was when I was intro- duced to the veteran Indian comrade Baba Sohan Singh. He is 83 years of age, 35 of which have been spent in Indian prisons. Bent almost double through the effects of imprisonment and hunger strikes, as I looked at him I thought how little in Britain we know of sacrifice for the cause. Amritsar gave the impression in parts of having been subject to heavy bombing. On making inquiries I found what I had seen was the result of the Communal Riots caused by the partition of India and Pakistan in 1947. I was told that it was estimated that nearly a million people of all religions lost their lives in this regrettable dispute, and because Amritsar is only 16 miles from the Pakistan border, and there was a flow of refugees both ways, its loss of life and property had been very heavy indeed. From there to a great demonstration in Amritsar. There were many thousands present, and what a sight it was! All squatting on the ground as far as the eye could see. The tall, handsome bearded men, with their multi-coloured turbans, the women in their beautiful dresses. A sword was presented to me—the highest honour of all to any- one visiting the Punjab. I hope my speech made the comrades feel their respect worth while. I listened to a play about life in the countryside and the struggle against landlords and money-lenders, which was splendidly performed Had dinner very late and then to the hotel, dead beat but very happy. Punjab the Valley of the Five Rivers—partition means that the Indian part has only two of these rivers now. But what lovely country it is, and how proud its citizens are they belong to it, and how sorry they are it has been divided. December 18. UP TP with the lark, after a very, very cold night, but as fresh as a daisy. Addressed a meeting of all the leading members of the Communist Party in the district on the situation in Britain and the work of our Party. 10 About 200 present. Then paid a visit to the offices of the Party paper, again garlanded, and then a visit to the Party offices. The comrades begged me to cancel my other engagements so as to visit Kashmir. Oh, what inducements they held out to me! The finest garden in all the world! What a welcome I would get! I nearly fell for all this seduction, but, being a strong-willed per- son, kept humming to myself: Pale hands I loved, Beside the Shalimar; Where are you now, Where are you now? This brought noon, and we were off to Amritsar once again. Got there rather late. Left Amritsar at 5 p.m. and arrived at Delhi Airport at 6.30 p.m. Met by the comrades. An excellent dinner in the Volga Restaurant, and then what do you think happened? I got into a jeep (I noticed it gloried in the new name of Land Rover) and we did some roving, I can assure you. We left Delhi at 8 p.m. for the 125-mile drive to Agra, where the Taj Mahal is situated. What a drive and what dust! I mustn't repeat here a rather vulgar saying about dust, but I assure you that when the Land Rover pulled up outside the Taj Mahal at 11.50 p.m. precisely, you could not see either the driver, my two interpreters or myself for dust. Anyhow, here we were, and another dream of my boyhood days now about to be realised. We were about to see the Taj Mahal in the light of an almost full moon, and the guide books had told me this was when it ought to be seen in all "its irresistible beauty." We entered the portals of the outer building, and there before my eyes was the Taj Mahal! I have not the command of language or the poetical expression to describe this scene. All I can say is that it just took my breath away to gaze on such a scene of extraordinary loveliness. Never, never, as long as I live, will I ever forget it. Slowly we walked down the majestic marble path to the Taj Mahal. We went all round it. Our guides explained its history. But I seemed to have lost the power of listening. I could only gaze spellbound at all this exquisite loveliness. At last we tore ourselves away. Went back to Agra, found a hotel, and at 2 o'clock decided it was time for bed—but not without the resolve that having seen the Taj Mahal by moonlight, we would see it in sunlight also the next morning. December 19. Ο NCE more emulating the lark, we were up and about early, and on our way to the Taj Mahal again, but instead of being greeted by larks, we found a man playing his pipes outside the hotel, and persuading a great cobra to go through its dancing performance. 11