Uncle Nigel Wronski

Our great, great Uncle Nigel used to regale the assembled Wronski family whenever he could with his wistful reminiscences of his time in the sub-continent during the Raj.

Breezy monsoon nights, the scent of jasmine wafting in the gentle swaying night air, chilled Gin Gimlets on the veranda, the occasional Bengal tiger strolling through the garden, impulsive high speed midnight forays into the countryside in the Rolls Shooting Brake, shocking the staff with the whole crowd of them stripping naked and cannonballing into the pool, hits off hastily made mango bongs, peeled grapes, reckless liaisons with the governor's wife, awakened at the first of dawning and watching the day's rangoli being lovingly applied at the front gate with hand ground semi-precious gem powders whilst relaxing with a hot cup of spiced chai and a fresh hand rolled bidi, the morning bath scented with rose water and exotic perfumes.

Those were the days.

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