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WANT TO LIVE LIKE A RAJAH?
Rajahs are among the world's most hospi table people. If you don’t believe it, just pay a visit to India or Pakistan the way I did and see for youself. * Despite certain anti-American attitudes of the Indian government, the numerous royalty in both India and Pakistan seem to think highly of us. All you have to do to get an invitation to visit one of them is to write a letter or make a phone call. Say something like. “I am in this country making a study of business conditions (or native fashions, insect life, etc.) and would like to talk to Your High ness about it. May I come to see you?” The reply is almost sure to be a request to come on out and talk things over. Rajahs have been known to invite people half-way around the world to be their guests. One prince, pleased by the service in a New York department store, invited several clerks to fly to India on his private plane. Another ruler took a fancy to a certain “letter to the editor” in an American news magazine, and invited the letter-writer to come to Pakistan with all expenses paid. But suppose you get your invitation. How will your visit work out? Here is the sort of experience I usually had: The rajah dispatched a courier to meet me at the border of his princely state. The courier knocked on the door of my railway compartment and murmured, with a salaam, “His Highness has sent me to offer you break fast. What is your pleasure?” If I specified something simple, like fruit or hot porridge, he produced it at once and I ate as we rumbled on toward the princely capital. If I asked for bacon and eggs, he cooked it with a charcoal Next time you're in India or Pakistan, just write the nearest rajah. Believe it or not, he'll probably invite you for a visit, lend you a palace, limousine and fabulous entertainment. This writer really did it by Keith Monroe Drawing by John Huge burner on the station platform while the train waited. At the station in the capital city, there was always a Cadillac or Rolls Royce awaiting me. UfanaHriaf Palace I was whisked off over miles of dirt roads, through wild country, to a broad green park, with clipped lawns and exotic flower beds. I heard the plash of a fountain and the caroling of birds. Far ahead lay a shimmering palace, worthy of M-G-M. This turned out to be my destination. But it still wasn’t where the rajah lived. It was merely one of his guest palaces. There are about four of these in the average princely state, all separated by 30 miles or more from the rajah’s own pleasure dome. I found a delegation awaiting me on the guest-palace steps: several native servants, a guard of honor in resplendent uniforms, a male secretary or two from His Highness’s entourage and the major-domo of the palace. The major-domo had a boutonniere for my