Memsaabs

By Mamlu Chatterjee

It was midweek and the entire garden was abuzz with the news about the Dhillons moving into Beech Bungalow. I wondered what it would be like to have a new family move in; apparently they were quite a couple, Roshni & Surinder.  He, a robust, larger than life man, with hazel eyes, twirling moustache, and a penchant for ghazals (that he quite irreverently often did the slow bhangra to) and she, chubby, charming, outrageous and flirtatious in her Patiala salwars.

Their reputation preceded them and as soon as their transfer had been finalised, hundreds of stories about them flew about, causing many a spat between even the staidest of couples! Quietly, unobtrusively, all the memsaabs began planning day long trips to Jorhat, which boasted the one and only beauty parlour, not that their husbands even noticed their newly colored hair or pearly nails! Suddenly, plans were being made for a week long welcome fest ~ the Bawarchi were summoned and coerced to outdo themselves with their puff pastry, trifles, moussaka, masala dosas et al! 

I was possibly the only person who hadn't met them yet and my head positively swam with all the information that was shared with me. I was intimidated, to say the least, and grew uncharacteristically jittery about the welcome dinner at my place that was still a fortnight away!

What a welcome fest it was!

As was customary, for the first couple of weeks, the newcomers didn't have a single dinner at home...despite the fact that the crowd was the same and the working hours still ridiculous, it was party time like never before, continuously, till everyone had had them over! 

I was delighted to meet Roshni, and even though she flirted unabashedly with my husband, I thoroughly enjoyed her company. She was intelligent, attractive and had a wicked sense of humor! We grew to be good friends and spent quite a lot of time together during the day over coffee, or on club days after tennis. Club teas after tennis were never enough and invariably led to poor old Joroo having to rustle up ‘anda bhurji’ and ‘parathas’, while we stayed long past our deadlines, chatting and singing and generally being boisterous.

 Often R & S would have one of their quicksilver quarrels that took us by surprise no matter how many times they happened; she would then flirt even more outrageously with anyone at all, hoping he would be jealous enough to pick a fight with the poor beleaguered chap at the receiving end of her affections, while he, equally contrary, would ignore it completely and turn his attention to the billiard cue at the pool table!

The wariness continued though, and most of the ladies got a little antsy when she hung around their husbands for longer than normal, and called out to her to join them by the window seats or their card game; she however, preferred being on the tennis courts as long as she could, and then she’d prop up the Bar along with the men! She could talk at length about the ‘mali bari’ or the new cows she had bought recently with equal gusto and endeared herself to the women as well, with her outrageous jokes and generous tips on fashion, beauty & cookery. Quite a remarkable business head she had too, and turned those newly transported jersey cows into a pretty lucrative business, supplying fresh milk to all the bungalows and to the sweet shops in town.

Before long she had turned into the general consultant for hairstyles and new clothes for all the younger lot and no shopping expedition was complete without her. Invariably, five or six of us would pile into the Gypsy, armed with sandwiches, coffee,  aloo tikkis and nimbu paani and make an amazing ‘day’ of it. I wondered if the other husbands were quite as pleased about these trips as mine was! Smart man, he knew a day out of this kind for a city bred girl like me would make sure I got home in a good mood. I wouldn’t pick on him or mope around the house as I was wont to do otherwise. 

One time, on one of these trips, we had all ventured out to help Roopa buy her curtains since as the newest ‘memsaab’; she was on a refurbishing spree. As always, we sang and munched through the two hour drive into town and proceeded to pull out every single roll of fabric at the solitary furnishings store in Tinsukia, and turned up our combined noses at most of them. 
 

Buying furnishings is hungry work so we then proceeded to look for a restaurant good enough for ‘memsaabs’ to have a meal. I still cannot remember what we ate and where, but I do remember we had a very, very, very long lunch! A few of us enjoyed our post lunch ciggies and felt most urbane and languid, like we had just stepped out of ‘The Great Gatsby’, and  as a result, instead of heading back home by three o’clock, we were still in Tinsukia town at five thirty.

Priti, being one of the more responsible wives among us, had tried to keep us on track but had thrown up her hands in despair when we behaved like schoolgirls out of boarding school! By the time we headed back, it was dark already and the long two hour drive didn’t seem nearly as exciting as it had in the morning. With no bright city lights on the way, the road looked long and endless. Trucks loaded with tea chests and other produce lumbered by and cyclists from nearby villages whizzed by as it grew darker and darker. Driving past endless tea gardens with fencing posts and shade trees gave us the feeling that we weren’t moving at all and were stuck in one place, and our singing gave way to restlessness and impatience with poor Tuni driver! Somehow, the five of us had put on weight during the day and were now squashed against each other.

At a railway crossing we had to stop to let the train go by and Saadia smelt fresh bread and made the mistake of saying this aloud; before we knew what was happening, Roshni had jumped out and marched towards the bakers shack behind the level crossing, and returned armed with several loaves of warm freshly baked bread! At least we wouldn’t go hungry! To this day, I have not had bread as good as that, anywhere, here or abroad.

A little further along, as we turned along the road, the car came to an abrupt standstill. Peering out in the dark we saw the large shapes of elephants crossing the road to get to the forest on the other side ~ there must have been about 20 of them, including the little ones, with their trunks curled on to their mother’s tails. Quietly, and in the most disciplined manner ever, these huge creatures moved across the road – unhurried, unperturbed by the car. None of us had a camera and that was just as well, since the flash could have startled them and caused a stampede! 

Tuni Driver seemed nervous and stayed still even after the pachyderms had disappeared till Priti barked at him to move; one by one we fell silent after the initial attempts at levity; it was pitch dark and getting nippy. We wanted to go home, shower and get into bed. Even the dirty jokes seemed lame now and no one wanted to sing any longer. Peering at the signboards on the fencing posts we tried to figure out where we were and realised we were still at least a good two hours and fifteen minutes away from home. 

Roopa, the most recently wed, started sniffling and tried to mask it by blowing her nose into her hanky; Priti, the most practical, rattled off the names of the other gardens that we would cross next, in a vain attempt to think where we could stop overnight and perhaps call up the husband-men to say we were alive and well; I chanted vigorously, asking for divine intervention; Saadia yawned and fidgeted and drove us mad; and Roshni? Roshni hummed to herself and seemed completely unperturbed. “He’ll come looking for me”, she said, “don’t worry girls; he always comes looking for me”. None of us quite knew how to react to that. Should we be sceptical, hopeful or just plain jealous?

“He is perpetually afraid that I am going to run off with someone!” she continued, “And I like it that way; keeps him on his toes; besides, the making up is fantastic!”

Saadia was ready to faint out of shock at this declaration, while the rest of us giggled skittishly. Priti belted out orders in Assamese and poor old Tuni Driver accelerated the car in terror and in the process, ran bang smack into the speed breakers before the bridge, tossing us wildly inside the car, leading to shrieks that could have scared away any good hyenas within a five km distance!

Once we had righted ourselves and crossed the little bridge, maybe just out of sheer relief, (I’m being polite, it was plain hysterics) I started giggling and couldn’t stop, despite many thumps on my back, and many sips of lukewarm, leftover coffee. Remember, adventure stories make delicious reading, when you’re safely ensconced on a divan at home, but it’s quite something else living it, especially during those pre cell phone days, crossing leopard country in a Gypsy, in pitch dark!  I was essentially a city girl after all!

Swearing never to stay out so late ever again, but  giggling hysterically, chuckling, snorting and hiccupping, we were a fine lot of ‘memsaabs’ ~ unapologetic about our fun day and ready to retract any foolish promises we may have made a few moments earlier! Some of the hysteria must have rubbed off on Tuni Driver because he yelled out loud and suddenly threw his hands in the air, causing the Gypsy to swerve like a drunk on skates! Us screeching women must have unnerved him and he shot forward and braked to a halt muttering “Shaab shaab!”

What? Now we had snakes to contend with? Why had I ever come to this jungle!!!!!

Up ahead, we could see the headlights of a long row of vehicles – probably trucks carrying Tea; they didn’t seem to be in any hurry and we counted six vehicles;  oddly enough, with their headlights all at different levels; and as they drew close, we saw a tractor, a Jeep, a Gypsy, an Ambassador and two Marutis. Wait, so they weren’t trucks carrying tea? Oh my god, were they…? Could they be…?

Tuni Driver jumped out and gabbled incoherently waving his arms about; the vehicles stopped and a large flashlight shone into our Gypsy from the tractor. That was Surinder! In a trice, Roshni was out of the car and flinging herself at him, yelling, “I knew it, I knew you would come looking for me! I told the girls you would!”

Ashok’s loud guffawing followed, much to my chagrin, but all was forgotten when he came up to ruffle my hair. Anil & Priti had a quick discussion in Assamese and Roopa and Saadia sniffled sheepishly and apologized to Raghu and Prem.

Would we ever live this one down? I wondered. But it sure made a fun story to tell the kids!

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My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true (always), maybe a tall tale, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull.
 Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

 

Meet the writer:

This is Mamlu Chatterjee, and here's what she has to say : 'Mamlu is a Mum, an editor, an avid reader, loves dogs and baby elephants and lives in a red cottage on a hill, in the tea plantations of Malaysia. 
Discovering new things is a favorite pastime, whether it’s a favourite fruit (dragon fruit and mangosteen currently😉) or a new artist or a new gadget. She's been writing ever since I can remember! Currently going slowly bonkers trying to prepare for her son's wedding by remote control!'