Chapter 30
“I admire your spirit. But we will not do anything too scandalous next. In the evening, however…” A damn tease, Leo doesn’t finish the sentence.
“I get my question now. This mysterious, rakish, illegal event, is it something athletic?” I don’t know where else to go with the questions, if it’s not a restaurant, dinner party, or a play. I don’t think it would be another ball, but that’s an option.
“No. I suppose some do complain it is hard on their body after extended periods of this activity. But it is not meant to be athletic, in the sense that it is done for the purpose of exercise or there are competitions for it. At least no official competitions, although many do tend to brag about their ability to participate in this type of activity for extended periods.”
“Hmm. Evasive, strange answer to a simple yes or no question. Is it sex? Are you taking me to a nice place where we’re going to have sex?”
Leo, bless his Victorian heart, blushes. “No. And that is two questions,” he mumbles. He leads us to his carriage, telling the driver where we’re going in a whisper I can’t hear.
“All right.” I throw my hands up. “You know, Victorian pornography develops a bit of a reputation in my time.”
“You don’t have…pornography in your time?” He stumbles over the word, because of all that Victorian training of repression with the “fairer” sex. Absurd.
“Oh no, we definitely do. In a way that is more accessible than you could ever imagine. We have devices where you can carry all the porn in the world in your pocket and watch it whenever you want. And we’ve got books, pictures, paintings, and video, so you can choose your own adventure in the medium. ”
Leo looks shocked and I giggle, but also hope this doesn’t break any more time travel rules. Not that the universe has punished me yet for breaking the rules, which I’m sure I have at this point.
“It’s not just a pornography machine,” I clarify when he still hasn’t spoken. “It has all the information in the world. Or at least a lot of it. And a lot of lies too.” Anything someone has posted to the internet. “And it just happens to include pornography.”
“You live in a truly wondrous time. Advanced technology. Educated, assertive women. And a freedom of sexuality.”
“I thought you’d like that. I mean, it’s still complicated and there are some who are less progressive.
Victorian morality is kind of making a comeback in some ways.
But in general, there’s more freedom for people to decide what they want their relationship with sex to be.
” I don’t feel the need to tell him that I’ve been more assertive here than I ever was back home.
But the parts about education and pornography are still the truth, and he’s probably more concerned with those anyway.
“I can understand why you want to go home so urgently.”
“There are good things here too,” I say shyly, refusing to look at him. “Things that I will miss when I leave.” People I will miss. Leo-type people.
“But you still want to leave?” He asks the question softly, like he’s as afraid of my answer as I am of giving it.
“I have to.” I don’t want to get into the debate again for something I’m so conflicted over.
Because in reality, I want it all. I want my home and I want my Leo.
And I don’t see how I can have both of those things, or even one of those things, at this point.
I try to change the subject. “Where are we going now?”
“This next activity needs a small caveat,” Leo says carefully.
“What? How bad is it that you need to caveat it? Why are we going if it’s bad?”
“I am not taking you here because I approve of anything that happens in this building—”
“Then why do I want to go?”
“Allow me to finish. I think the scholar in you will appreciate what you are about to see. But it is going to make you, the person, angry. So please get your book out, and please do not hit me with it.”
I get the book out. “I make no promises. But I will keep your warning in mind.”
“That is all I can ask.”
We chat for a while, Leo loosening up, until finally the carriage stops and he goes back to looking nervous.
“Where are we? We were traveling for a while.”
“Earl’s Court.”
Earl’s Court. 1895. “Shut up. Are you taking me to the Empire of India Exhibition?” I stare at him for a few seconds while he stares back at me. So still, like he’s a bunny and I’m a hawk and he doesn’t want to risk moving and catching my attention.
He’s a hundred percent right. I will hate it personally and be very interested in writing about it.
Organized by Imre Kiralfy, the burlesque and spectacle producer, the exhibition is meant to show scenes of Indian past and present, from landscapes, history, food, animals, art and industry. With an emphasis on how Britain was responsible for any good that comes out of India.
It’s going to be educational to see the way this British exhibition tries to shape an Indian identity, for Indians in England and those in India. And what they say about themselves as they try to shape other identities.
It’s also going to be infuriating. Because these are actual humans they’re fetishizing and condescending in there.
Some maharajas even acted as patrons, which seems even more messed up after the Crown took their authority but let them keep a meaningless title with a pension that the government decreased whenever they felt like it.
Leo relaxes now that I’m not raging. I look up at his too-handsome face, wondering how he got to know me so well in such a short time.
By paying a lot of attention, I guess. My heart aches inside my chest, wanting so badly to tell him how I feel, but knowing there’s no use. In fact, it will make everything worse.
“You’re right. And it’s a good choice. Not a good thing, but something I need to see,” I say instead of what I want to say.
Which is, I love you. I don’t know how, since it’s a terrible idea.
I’ve spent more time reminding myself of all the reasons I can’t love you, but nothing is convincing. I’m so in love with you.
But that wouldn’t help anyone.
Now Leo’s smiling. “Thank god.” He opens the door. “Shall we?”
I nod, not speaking because the only thing I want to do is to yell over how much I love him. Since I can’t do that, silence is the better option.
He leads me to the exhibition space, a Mughal-inspired building erected specifically for this exhibit. Which means a lot of domes and multifoil arches. Inside is booth after booth of what England thinks India is, including food vendors and Indian craftsmen that fit their narrative.
We wander the stalls, and, as expected, England is taking credit for anything positive that happened in India, which is not great.
If anything, it should really be called the British Exhibition, because it says more about them than India: their priorities, their interests, and their rewriting of both past and present to fit the colonial narrative.
Leo takes me on the Great Wheel, a giant Ferris wheel that looks down on the exhibition space. They’re still a new invention, so it takes a lot of trust to get on this one, and I clutch Leo’s hand the entire time, our connection hidden by my cloak.
It’s not enough contact, but it’s all I can have.
After the ride, we go back in the exhibition building for some Indian food.
I can’t complain about its authenticity, because it’s cooked by legitimate Indian chefs and the spices they brought with them.
I eat a lot, because it’s closer to home than the dishes Victoria’s chefs make, and I’m missing my mom’s cooking. Just like I’m missing my mom.
After I eat my body weight in Indian food, Leo extends his arm and I take it without any reservation. He walks us to the Empress Hall, the theater space built specifically for this show, “India: A Grand Historic Spectacle.”
“There isn’t much written about exactly what is in this show besides ‘elaborate costumes and songs and dances,’ so this is interesting for me. From an academic perspective.” The racism will not be interesting, personally.
“Just remember how much I’ve evolved since I met you.”
“Noted.”
The curtains start to rise, cutting off further conversation.
And then the spectacle begins. Even with the wonder of television, movies, and even Broadway, it is quite the spectacle from a purely entertainment/technological standpoint.
The backdrops and costumes are vibrant and elaborate.
And there are lots of song, dance and even mime numbers.
But everyone is played by an Englishman, including all the Indians. And the play focuses on England being the heroes, saving people in need of their “civilization” efforts. Ew.
At the end of the show, they get a B for presentation, F- for content. As a professor, I have many comments on how they could improve the historical accuracy without sacrificing entertainment, but I left my red pen in 2025. Lucky them.
After the historic spectacle, which is light on history and heavy on spectacle, is over Leo leads me back to the carriage.
“Indians actually had a lot more leeway in defining themselves before the British Raj. There was nothing like this then, back in the 1600s,” I say.
“What changed?” Leo asks.
“Empire. Once the East India Company shifted from trading to taking over and then the British government started taking over as colonizers, they had to paint Indians as less than, of needing their rule. To justify stealing people’s land and their homes and their rights.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
“The exhibition is more than entertainment. It’s a piece of propaganda and is making two national identities: for England and for India.”