"In the late 50s, when I was in India, I was one of the very few Indians who had a nodding acquaintance with French. The reason being that the French after Indian independence had established an Alliance Francaise centre in Delhi - equivalent of the British Council - and I used to go there. At that time I was not only a university lecturer but was also quite an established writer. The French government was offering a scholarship for a journalism course and I was told to apply. So I went to France. The course was run at the University of Lille in conjunction with the Sorbonne. When I finished there I was supposed to join the Times of India. However, before returning to India, I crossed over on the ferry to visit Britain. I liked the country, met my future wife and got married within a week of meeting her! I was then nearly 30.
What I did not know was that in Britain there was a 'closed shop' situation. You could not get a job in journalism unless you were a member of the NUJ and you couldn't get membership of the NUJ until you did at least six weeks of paid work on a newspaper. I didn't have an NUJ ticket, also I was the wrong colour. At the time there were no non-white faces in British journalism. So it was extremely difficult to break into journalism.
But a local newspaper in north London had an editor who was a former Indian army officer. He said, "I know your problem. You're over-qualified. Sorry about this, but you'll have to work with boys just out of grammar school, apprentice journalists. In this country we don't take any notice of any qualifications you may have or how well you speak English or cast a story." At that point I thought seriously about going back to India. I felt that this was not the country for me.
The only reason I didn't go back was that I don't like defeat, I'm not a quitter. I said to myself: "I'm going to grit my teeth and I'm going to stay." It took me six years to get my NUJ ticket and I thought: "Bloody hell, I've got a double doctorate here!"
What sort of things have you written about?
Jamila and I have collaborated on three books. One was a novel, The Immigrants, based on a lot of field research among first generation Asians in Britain. It was a popular story and not meant to be a literary novel. The other books were The Music of India, for which Ravi Shankar provided a foreword, and The Dances of India. These are regarded as standard works. I have also written other books on my own: among them are All India, a cultural travel book; India's Kathak Dance; Lament of a Lost Hero, a collection of poetry; and AZAADI! (meaning Independence!),a collection of short stories which came out in 2005.
I wrote and produced Bangladesh I Love You, a film starring the boxing phenomenon Muhammad Ali. A couple of years ago BBC TV Wales interviewed me on the life and work of Dylan Thomas. For almost 40 years I have been a Dancing Times critic. It is the oldest dance magazine in the world.
My next book is India: Definitions and Clarifications which is a radical reinterpretation of Indian history, religions and culture from earliest times to the beginning of the 20th century. It will be coming out this year. I'm now working on a sequel titled India: The 20th century and the Future.
Do you feel cut off here in Mid Wales?
We're on the internet. I can phone or email Delhi, New York or wherever and contact anyone I need to. It is easier to write here because in London there are too many distractions and too many Indians coming in the Summer to visit you! I feel at home wherever I am because the world is now a global village. I have no time for people who trumpet their so-called sense of alienation. That's wallowing in self-pity. My simple message to people of foreign origin who live in Britain is this: If you are unhappy here, then please leave and let the rest of us get on with our lives.
Let me tell you why I love it here in Mid Wales. An old farmer used to own the fields in front of our house which is situated on the outskirts Llanidloes. He used to see me often but never spoke to me. Then discreetly he made enquiries in town and obviously formed a favourable impression.
Then after a month or so, he drove in here and rang the bell. I came down and said, "Hello, how do you do? Do come in, sir". He replied, "No, I won't come in." I thought, "Christ, what have I done wrong?" He declared, "My name is Raymond Morgan Evans and you are Mr Massey."
And then he put out his hand, shook mine firmly and said, "Welcome to Wales!"
