OF CABBAGES AND KINGS | About Some Close Encounters With The Royals… But Not With Epstein! | Farrukh Dhondy

“We’re about to land

We hear the undercarriage

Descend without claws!

Up Mount Everest

In vain search of solitude

Alas! There’s a crowd…

The Eiffel Tower

Affords a view of Paris!

Another city?”

From More High Queues, by Bachchoo

I profess or confess to never in my short and happy life meeting Jeffrey Epstein or for that matter the fellow who was Prince Andrew. I was introduced to Peter Mandelson at some Indian oligarch’s party in Regent’s Park – God knows why I was there! He ignored me, obviously deducing that I wasn’t either rich or a pervert.

The royals that I encountered were Prince Charles when, years ago, I wrote the screenplay for a film called Mangal Pande, or The Rising. It was in pre-production when the British high commission called to say Prince Charles was visiting India and could he visit the set of a film about the anti-Brit uprising?

Good publicity. For us too.

Bobby Bedi, our producer, hired a hall at the Taj in Mumbai and a fake scene with Aamir Khan, our star, cameras and clapperboard were prepared on stage.

The reptiles -- reporters and camera crew -- crowded in on schedule and were confined to a corner behind a cordon by the Mumbai police.

Charles came in with two equerries and clapped a clapperboard for our cameras on stage and then was brought down to meet the queue of creatives.

Charles, followed closely by two equerries, was introduced to Rehman, etc, and then came to me.

Bobby introduced me saying that I was a British citizen. Charles asked me where I lived, and I said southeast London. He wanted to know how long the writing took,

“Three weeks for the first draft, and eight months for the second”, I replied.

“Oh, why was that?” he asked.

“Because producers, directors and stars always, mostly unreasonably, want to fiddle with my work”, I said. He laughed.

“So, Farrukh, you must be Muslim?”

I said: “No, I am a Zoroastrian.”

“Ah”, he said, “tell me, why are there so few of you?”

“Something to do with our sexual habits”, I replied -- at which point both equerries grabbed Charles by the shoulder and moved him to the next in queue.

And in the 1990s, I’d met Prince Edward: I worked at Channel 4 TV and one day Peter Ansorge, a colleague from the drama department, asked if I’d seen Annie’s Bar, a comedy set in the Houses of Parliament. I said I’d seen an episode.

“It’s not doing well, and the writer has been ditched,” he said.

“Oh dear”, I said, to which he replied: “So, we’ll need a new writer.”

“Isn’t it made by Prince Edward’s TV company?” I asked.

“Yes”, Peter said, and looking anxious, asked if I would step in and write the further three episodes of the series. Stunned, surprised…

“Me? I’m not allowed to write for the channel”, I said.

“I’ve cleared that. You’ll be on furlough for the few days as we need three episodes this week.

Absurd! “Three in a week?”

“Only you can do it,” he said. We had history. We’d worked together as writer/producer on three series in past years. He handed me the existing episodes on tape. “After you’ve checked them out, we drive to Edward’s offices. You’ll be paid for the writing, of course.”

While watching the episodes, I began trying to formulate the subsequent plots.

That afternoon we drove to Ardent production’s offices, where Prince Edward sat with his producers.

I was introduced, and Edward was profuse in his thanks for my stepping in.

“Tell me, Mr Dhondy, what would immediately boost the viewing figures of the series?” he asked.

“Well, if you got your sisters-in-law to put in guest appearances, I could certainly contrive plots in which they would appear, and that would absolutely do the trick“, I said.

“Oooooph!” he said, smiling and shaking his head. “Fergie is away abroad and Diana – no -- she’s a loose cannon!”

That was the essence of what he said. I got down to writing all three episodes that week, submitting each to Peter, who sent it on to Ardent.

Then panic! Not with them, with me! Realisation -- the deadline for this very column to be sent on to the then editor of Asian Age had passed. I begged on the phone for a couple of hours and banged out that week’s Of Cabbages and Kings … with nothing else to write about except my encounter with Edward.

Done, dusted, sent.

When the third script of Annie’s Bar was delivered, Peter drove us with our luggage to the three days scheduled for a Channel away-day conference. We’d already missed one.

As we approached the country venue, Chris, our press officer, flagged us down.

“What the fuck have you done, Farrukh. Don’t speak to them, go straight in.”

I must have looked quizzical!

“You wrote some stupid article about Edward saying Di was a loose cannon?

“Your Indian editor has sold the story to every Brit paper and they are waiting for you.”

They were at the gate shouting my name and shooting questions. As Peter stopped the car, I darted in. My colleagues were all at lunch and as I walked in they stood and mockingly clapped.

Asian Age editors? Keen eye for the main chance?

(Before my time --Ed)