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Broadlands revisited
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Some years ago, a quaint Triplicane lodge created a storm for its alleged all-white policy. Have things changed? SHONALI MUTHALALY finds out
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SET IN the middle of Triplicane, with its absent-minded cattle, bawling children and choked roads, Broadlands looks like an elegant heritage hotel that's having a bad day. Sleepily serene, you wouldn't expect it to get much attention from anyone besides cash-strapped back packers. However, it's been blinded by the harsh glare of publicity time and again. Its claim to `fame'? An alleged all-white policy.
The fifty-year-old lodge, which deliberately keeps a low profile, has been a popular `firang hangout' since the Sixties. Then, in the Nineties, a newspaper report plucked it out of its blissful obscurity by pointing out that Indians were being refused admission. And before Broadlands could say `No Room', it found itself in the centre of an indignant storm of protest. Krishna Rao, owner and grandson of the founder, says, "We had to have police protection for about two months after that. There were letters pouring in from every political party you could think of..."
Today, besides the occasional group of curious camera-brandishing students from the Asian College of Journalism looking for an offbeat story (which the crusty old Broadlands Manager constantly turns away) the Lodge has shifted out of public memory once again.
A home... away from home
But it still has a reputation. And Lonely Planet, the guidebook that's on every traveller's `must pack' list, has dropped it from its main edition because "Broadlands does not allow anyone except foreign tourists in," according to a tourist.
"Only foreigners are allowed to stay there," agrees the shopkeeper of a small bread and milk establishment opposite Broadlands. The receptionist at the lodge next door re-states the claim. "We have had a number of people who have been turned away from there, come here to complain, and then stay on with us," one says. "We have more facilities too..." chimes in his colleague, "air conditioning, televisions and a bar for example." So why do people tread the well-beaten track to the rather worn out lodge at all? "It's cheap," they all say.
Inside Broadlands' beautiful leafy courtyard Krishna hotly denies all charges of discrimination. "We don't restrict people but we do choose our customers. We have created a backpacker's haven here and all I'm trying to do is protect it."
However, when you call the lodge to make a booking, the availability of a room depends on how anglicised (or Europeanised) your name sounds. Call yourself `Santhosh Menon' and you'll be asked to produce a passport, but if you're an `Ann Frank' you'll get a room immediately. (When `Santhosh' asked why he couldn't get a room, the very Indian receptionist said, "You don't ask me why and all. This is not for you to know. It is known worldwide.")
Till the Seventies the lodge was open to everyone, says Krishna. Then they apparently had a spate of problems - alcohol, drugs, thefts and brawls - and decided to be "selective" about their guests. With rooms available at just Rs. 200 a night, he's afraid he'll attract a crowd that will disturb Broadlands' tranquillity and undeniable charm. Krishna says since most low budget establishments tend to attract a rather unruly crowd, often the kind brandishing beer bottles, he's `reserving the right to admission' to keep his guests safe, and his lodge serene.
Paul, an Australian builder, who's been returning to Broadlands since his first trip to India in 1984, drawls, he comes back because "the place has atmosphere". "When I first came I met a lot of old hippies who came from Delhi. We slept on stretchers on the roof. In the evening everyone would gather in the courtyards... if you travel the tourist route in India you meet the same people time and again... It was a fascinating place to be." Wilfred and his wife Nanneka from Holland are also Broadlands addicts and have been returning to the lodge for two decades - first as individual travellers and now with their family.
The lodge's guests all seem to be aware of an unstated no-Indian policy. "I wasn't able to bring in my Indian friends," says one. However, even if Broadlands hasn't exactly thrown open its doors and arms and put a bright welcome mat on the doorstep, the bad press has evidently forced it to relax its earlier stance.
Krishna claims he has Indian guests now and the hotel register reveals they have Indians staying - occasionally. "Most middle class Indians wouldn't dream of staying at a 200-rupee lodge," he says to explain the dearth of Indian names on record. Krishna says 50 per cent of their guests have been returning to them for years.
It's easy to see why. With wooden spiral staircases winding past its charming striped deckchairs and sunshine speckled corridors, Broadlands is captivating. There's always an interesting mix of people that gathers in the evenings with guitars and harmonicas - writers and artists, businessmen and professionals, truth-seekers and India-struck backpackers.
"I could easily turn this into a heritage hotel but I don't want to do that," says Krishna. I want to keep the old Broadlands tradition alive. And if you're not blonde? "If you don't threaten us and you don't threaten our guests we let you in," he says.
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