In their obsession with form, the British forgot that their monarch's visit was aimed at promoting goodwill. The aftertaste of controversy will linger for a while.

By Sudeep Chakravarti with Ramesh Vinayak and Vaasanthi

Mike Morris is packing away the "stoof", as he calls it. Panels from a gala British Airways presentation attended by chairman Colin Marshall, in Delhi to unveil plans for his airline, timing it well with the royal hoopla. When he can, he also steals unabashed glances at top Indian models getting ready for a fashion show in the next hall. "Nice birds, innit?" Sure. So how's the Queen? "Oh, she's a nice old girl." So what's it all about, then, the BA show, the royals in town, British business, British treasures, the whole kit and caboodle? "Tis bizzniss, innit?"

'Tis. It was always Meant to be.

On that day, October 14, the Queen was away attending to business at Amritsar, going walkabout in the Golden Temple in a neat pair of white socks, taking one step in what British High Commissioner Sir David Gore-Booth explained was essentially a seven segment programme to enhance The Presence. Amritsar was under the heading of "Pilgrimage", along with the Akshardham Temple in Ahmedabad and the Ekambareswara Temple in Kanchipuram, visits to "some of the spiritual centres of British citizens of Indian origin". Translation: good political move, Wembley and Southall's love for the Labour Government isn't lost. Then there's "Support". This theme includes visits to British-aided charities. And the key segment is loosely titled "Excitement", the Indo-British Partnership trade exhibition, meeting British business delegations and attending business seminars. A good thing to do when Britain is trying to up its stake as a major investor and trading partner.

The rest was pure fluff, some expected, some exuberant. From the pearl-strung ladies-in-waiting to the well-toned claret at receptions to the Royal Marine Band whose members cut loose with some divine Dixie when the beer flowed at a local nightspot.

So, is Her Majesty pleased with the visit? "Yes, she is very pleased," says Sir Michael Fellows, the genial principal private secretary to Queen Elizabeth II. Even with Amritsar? It must have been a busy, tense day. "No. Quite relaxed, actually, we're all quite relaxed. It's all going rather well."

So why on earth did it seem that for every person pleased with the week-long visit, there were more who were peeved?

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe there were many. "When first speaking to The Queen or The Duke you should address them as 'Your Majesty' or 'Your Royal Highness' as appropriate. Thereafter, you should address them as 'Maam' (pronounced to rhyme with 'jam') and 'Sir' respectively." The protocol sheet added, helpfully: "Hats are not worn in the evenings (The Queen does not wear a hat after sunset)."

"Bunch of jokers," griped a chagrined managing director of a construction company who was slipped the handy to-do sheet along with his invitation to meet Queen Elizabeth II in Delhi. "Have the Brits lost their marbles?" Evidently not, but some of them were giving credulity a very hard time.

When the royal twosome, the Queen and Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, left for London over the weekend, Britain's goodwill had taken a bit of a beating, arguably its worst since the Independence of the nation the entourage had come to celebrate. At a reception by British Telecom, a senior Indian executive fetched glad laughter when he answered a question about whether he had seen Q.E. II with a "Which one? The Queen or the Ship?"

The Queen was circumspect. "Oh, this is the place", and "Oh, this is that well", at Jallianwala Bagh. But the DoE, as he is called, went about his business, questioning the number of those killed by the order of General Reginald Dyer, saying Dyer's son had some reservations about 2,000 killed. (The Duke had a day earlier gazed with a craned neck for minutes at the name tag of a TV journalist, with "TV" prominently displayed, and inquired solicitously, "Is this published from New Delhi?")

This can be written off as the expected. The royal aura is wearing thin outside the UK, and the DoE has even sportingly coined a term, "pedontology", to describe his self-confessed, chronic condition: putting his foot in his mouth. But Robin Cook, the accompanying minister, was playing a different game. The bearded and belligerent British foreign secretary, finally quieted about Kashmir mediation offers the day he arrived from Pakistan, but too late to stall a media headline in Blighty: "Cook Spoils The Curry". Sir David, who is fast acquiring a reputation and finesse of a lumbering rhinoceros, received the equivalent of a hiding from Minister of State for Civil Aviation Jayanthi Natarajan. At the President's banquet, she shushed him publicly when he went on -- as he had been, ad nauseum, for days -- about the Queen not requiring to apologise for Jallianwala Bagh. His attitude only matched the clumsiness of Prime Minister I.K. Gujral, increasingly regarded more for his doctrine than diplomatic ability, who started off the entire unsavoury episode some months ago with his the-Queen-should-apologise boo-boo.

But Sir Michael probably has a point about the visit going smoothly. Or more precisely, smoother than what many people thought it would become: an unmitigated disaster. "It's all very different from 1961 and 1983," says an official with the entourage, referring to the lavish reception the royal couple received on their previous visits. In 1961, it was almost like reliving the Raj, with banquets hosted by maharajahs, hunts, and all. In 1983, it was over the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting. "This is an important visit, no doubt, but the world has changed a bit hasn't it? Today, the priorities are different."

Even as BJP General Secretary Pramod Mahajan shrilled his line to thousands of eager, youthful cadre at a party convention about the impropriety of the Queen's visit to Pakistan before she came to India, Indian businessmen were soaking up her presence at the exhibition. Two even picked up honours, Crompton Greaves Managing Director Shekhar Dutta a citation, and tisco Managing Director Jamshed J. Irani an honorary knighthood -- both sporting arguably the longest congratulatory blush of their lives -- for promoting Indo-British ties.

Media was often treated with scorn. They were locked in a room while the Duke visited the Gandhi Ashram in Ahmedabad. They were kept away as the Queen chatted with actor Kamalahasan in Chennai on the sets of his Tamil film Marudanayakam, about an 18th century chieftain who turned against the British -- Chief Minister M. Karunanidhi gleefully handled the camera for one shot, for which tmc chief G.K. Moopanar acted as clapper boy. But there was no malice in recording events. In Hyderabad, the first flyover the Duke crossed was the one inaugurated by the Queen in 1983, and funded by British overseas development aid; municipal authorities are thinking of asking for money for another.

Staff at the Taj Coromandel in Chennai are miffed that British security destroyed their elaborate welcome ceremony for the Queen (a Bharatnatyam bit thrown in) but went out of their way to ensure that four presidential suites were readied far ahead of schedule, Dubonnet, Martini, and her favourite Earl Grey tea stocked in plenty. And though she did not address a second banquet speech, she tucked delightedly into a Grand Marnier Delice "Her Majesty" for dessert.

Security prevented crowds from getting close to her, but she tried to charm people in her disarming way. Personalised banter with a group gathered to greet her at the British Council. During a short stroll in Kochi to a visit to a war cemetery for Allied dead in Delhi. There, as Captain Ganju "Tank Killer" Lama, V.C., M.M., cemetery keeper Sukhdev Singh mumbled: "Maharani hain, darshan se khushi to hoti hai (It is alway a pleasure to a see a queen)."

That's usually the soft icing on such visits. This time, it soured early.

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