Jolly Jalopy

 Thank you, Nandita, for chronicling Rita’s reminiscences for all of us. Thanks to Rita for sharing this story…it will surely put a smile on your face, dear reader! - Gowri

by Nandita Tiwari

She was rudely awakened by the loud sound of what seemed to be a damaged silencer pipe of a vehicle. It was way past midnight and she could sense the vehicle going at top speed around their bungalow. She covered her ears and looked at her husband Kuldip, only to find him rejoicing gleefully. He exclaimed, “They have arrived! Come meet my buddies from Rydak – across the river.”

“Who? At this unearthly hour?”

“Nothing unusual about it, they always enter through the botol khana,” stated Kuldip.

It had been a little over a week when on a freezing night in the first week of February 1975, Rita, the new bride, had alighted at the Alipurduar platform. The two-hour long, dusty and bumpy drive to the No. 16 bungalow was soon tucked away in the folds of her memory and she began settling down to the “candle-lit” lifestyle, as the chhotta bungalows would get electricity only when the factory was running; a far contrast from the bright and vibrant Delhi life that she was accustomed to.

No. 16 bungalow - Sankos Tea Estate

That particular night, she awoke to the whirr of the engine. Rita heard a voice blasting in with a thunderous “Koi hai?”

She now stood in the gol kamra with a warm smile while her husband introduced the bachelors as his friends – Prem Singh and Rustomfram.

“Oh yes, haven’t we met at the Jainti Sankos club?” she asked.

“Of course Rita,” said Prem in his deep drawl, “and now you will see us more often.”

“That’s great,” replied Rita asking if they would like to have something. “A cup of tea perhaps?”

“Oh! We have already done justice to a brimful dekchi of milk from your fridge today,” they replied as laughter echoed in the drawing room of the Sankos bungalow.

“There’s plenty more to have,” said Rita mentally rummaging through the contents of the Electrolux kerosene fridge. “We’re good to go,” the friends replied and made themselves comfortable on the sofa. Rita’s eyes met two shy but well-behaved youngsters dressed in shorts and hunter boots. They stood up to greet her and Rustomfram introduced them as new recruits who had just been inducted at Rydak Tea Estate.

The jokes, banter and the inane but hilarious repartee carried on into the night. Then, as abruptly as they had arrived, Prem clapped his hands and said, “Okay boys, time to go.” Obediently, they stood up and made their way out. Prem and Rustomfram said their back-slapping goodbyes as the couple stood in the verandah to see them off.

Rita and Bawa Kuldip Singh

In front of the bungalow, an old retired Army jeep, which had not seen a coat of paint for decades, was parked. The jeep had no hood and only two seats in the front. So starry nights, torrential rains and winter chills had equal charm. Prem beckoned the chowkidaar and it seemed that it was another familiar drill as the chowkidaar came with the jerry cans. Using a half-broken bottle as a funnel, the jeep was made to drink up half a can of petrol.

Rita was bewildered as a ludicrous scene unfolded before her eyes. The boys stood behind the jeep jogging on the spot. Prem started the ignition as Rustomfram sat next to him. “Prem’s khatara has its own rules for starting up,” said Rustomfram in friendly banter.

On Prem’s cue, the new recruits began shuffling and pushing the jeep forward. Soon, it coughed and gurgled and with a jerk, it came to life. As it inched forward, the two new boys ran and jumped in the back, into the comfort of cotton quilts.

Rita looked at her husband, feeling somewhat sorry at the silent discomfort of the boys. But Kuldip stated as a matter-of-fact, “Inki training ho rahi hai.” (They are being trained.)

Soon, into the darkness, they sped away on the narrow desolate roads. The only sound that pierced the silence of the estates was that of the jalopy. They felt the cool breeze on their faces as well as the warmth of the spirits radiating from within them.

The jeep made its way on the dry shore amongst the boulders and crossed the fair-weather bamboo bridge spanning across the larger stream of Rydak river. They had barely covered a mile when the engine began to sputter and gradually died. It seemed that the landscape had acquired a hyper-realism lit by the moon and the twinkling stars. The fields stretched endlessly, broader and flatter than during the daylight hours. The sky looked inkier and the river glassier. The night was edging towards dawn, though still devoid of birdsongs. They heard a growl.

“The leopards are on the prowl,” warned the seniors.

The boys looked at each other, taking a moment to soak in the vastness of their surroundings a wee bit nervous and then repeated the routine of push, shove and jump as they drove on. Prem proudly beamed and stated, “in spite of many odds, this Jalopy has a ‘carry-home-instinct’ and we have lived many adventures, always managing to find our way back home.”

L - R - Bawa Kuldip Singh, Sarosh Rustomfram,| Prem Singh, Vijay Singh Mann, Bawa Kuldip Singh, B Narayan 

Glossary:

Botol khana: Pantry

Chhotta bungalow: Assistant manager's bungalow 

Gol kamra: Drawing room

Dekchi: Metal pot used for heating

Chowkidaar: Night sentinel

Khatara: Jalopy (an old car in a dilapidated condition)

Meet the writer: Nandita Tiwari

Nandita joined the tea fraternity in 1991 when she arrived in Danguajhar in the Dooars. She and her husband Akhil were in various gardens in the Dooars for over 30 years, and also in Amgoorie (Assam) for a brief period of time. They are now settled in Siliguri.

In 2019, Nandita decided to start penning down some of the unique experiences that came her way.

 You can read her stories on her own blog, here: https://nanditat6.wixsite.com/rosee-t

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

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, maybe long, short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 

This is the link to all the stories on this blog: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/ 
Be sure to add it to your list of favourites! Happy reading!! Cheers to the spirit of Indian tea!

Was It A Dream?

 by Nandita Tiwari

Hello again, friends! Here's another story by Nandita Tiwari for you to enjoy. Thanks for the laughs, Nandita. This is a story from her husband Akhil's bachelor days, and the writer narrates it in his voice.   Got your cup of tea ? Read on!

Two colossal pinkish-grey pillars were hit by my Yezdi at midnight at the slopes of Aibheel. A deafening sound followed, piercing the silence of the night. Was it a dream?!

Pix by Akhil Tiwari

A stag party was being hosted by Shashi Menon at his bachelor bungalow in Satkayah division of Aibheel T.G. where the food was rolling and the liquor was flowing. Needless to say, the stags turned wild in due course of the merriment. Mahesh Moktan, Kevin David and Suresh Kartha were among the few party animals. As the party was nearing its end, I thanked my host slurring a bit and that’s when my host offered, “Why don’t you stay the night, Akhil?” But I decided to carry on. So I mounted my bike fully clad and prepared for the chilly December night. 

With the woollen cap covering my ears, bike gloves snug into my palms, my fleece jacket buttoned up to the collar and my practical winter boots, I vroomed my bike, feeling no less than a hero in my tipsy state. The next day happened to be a kaamjaari day, which would begin sharp at six a.m. As I sped on my bike from the warmth of the bonfire party of the bungalow into the cold night air, my breath became visible in foggy wisps. The ice-cold wind went through my jacket like a hot knife cutting through butter.

The blackness of the night made for an eerie uncertainty. I sped along the rugged pathway, meandering, mounting and dismounting through the valleys and the peaks of the hillock. I felt no lesser than an invincible F1 racer. The speeding shadows of the trees and the rustling of the leaves was alluring which added to the surrealism of the night. Suddenly I froze. It was hard to shove aside the worries that something creepy lurked around the corner. Was it my muddled state of mind or the squally weather? I was sozzled after all. Nevertheless, I carried on.

However, the uncanniness of the night magnified when a little away from me, right in the middle of the road there emerged two huge pinkish-grey pillars. I jammed my brakes hard but because of the wet sloping road the mo-bike skid and crashed right into one of the pillars. Screeching, the bike came to a halt and a deafening sound followed, piercing the silence of the night. Was it a dream?! I pinched myself and knew that I was in the middle of the road on a dark night. Bleary-eyed I reversed back wiping the cold sweat dribbling down my chin. I decided to retreat to the safety of one of the nearest bungalows.

I reached the factory bungalow occupied by Mahesh Moktan and called out seeking shelter for the night in his bungalow - narrating the incident of the collision to him. He gaped at me with disbelief! Saying that the cocktail of fire, the windy cold night and lots of booze had fazed me out, he was kind enough to lead me to his guest room and I plonked on the bed, thankful for the warmth of the blanket!

The next morning, a knock at the door woke me up. I drank in my surroundings along with a hot cup of tea, a tad surprised due to my heavy head. I was ready to take the day head on! Yet again I saddled my Yezdi with a different mindset and rode on. Now the same curvy pathways which looked rugged and savage at night were lush and verdant in the lights of the dawn. 

The sky was glowing even though the sun was still below the horizon, getting ready to peak out. The colours of the tea bushes returned to golden green which had been dark and velvety at night. The morning breeze was fresh on my face. Birds twittered on the treetops. As I rode down the path I could hear the rapids of the stream flick against the boulders. The gurgling of water flowing was like music to my ears. Aware of my surroundings, I vroomed on the camel-hump like roads of Aibheel which lead to the highway.

Suddenly my eyes met elephant droppings at three places. So I got off my bike to inspect them- as the incident of my mo-bike colliding into pinkish-grey pillars at midnight seemed rather unnatural. Now as  I looked around lighting a cigarette, everything was fresh and pristine. I also noticed the muddy tyre marks of a bike. But I had to reach my destination so I rode on. Just at the intersection of the crossroads of Aibheel and Indong Tea Estate, a few of the elephant squad Chowkidars huddled, immersed in serious discussion. Yet again I had to stop to enquire what the discussion was all about.

They told me in their words, “Gazab ho gaya saab kal raat ko”- (the unbelievable happened last night). From the valley where the squad stood, through their mashalls and flashlights they had seen a single headlight of a noisy motorcycle which had probably hit an elephant. They guessed as much because suddenly there was a loud trumpeting in the silent night. They went on to add that the noisy mo-bike and the collision had made the Ganesh Maharajas anxious. They said that there were eleven Ganesh Maharaj (elephants) out of which eight had gone towards Mattelli (another tea estate in the vicinity) and three towards Aibheel. After the incident, these three Ganeshjis ran towards Indong and trampled their paddy fields.

That’s when it hit me that the pinkish-grey pillars which I had hit at the stroke of midnight were indeed colossal legs of an elephant! The deafening trumpeting which I had heard last night confirmed that they were indeed Grand Maharajas. It wasn’t a dream after all. I thanked my stars that I was safe and alive.

Then I quipped, “Do you know It was me on that motorcycle at midnight”, and the elephant squad retorted “Kyu dillagi kar rahe ho saab?” (Why are you joking around with us saab). Without another word and a wry smile, I continued to ride on gliding along the beautiful Chulsa tea estate!

Pix by Ashish Sanghwan

Pix by Akhil Tiwari

Meet the writer: Nandita Tiwari

Nandita joined the tea fraternity in 1991 when she arrived in Danguajhar in the Dooars. She and her husband Akhil were in various gardens in the Dooars for over 30 years, and also in Amgoorie (Assam) for a brief period of time. They are now settled in Siliguri.

In 2019, Nandita decided to start penning down some of the unique experiences that came her way.

 You can read her stories on her own blog, here: https://nanditat6.wixsite.com/rosee-t

 

 

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! 
Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please:  indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

 

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; maybe long, short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 
 
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!
ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : 

https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/

The Modern Ghost

by Nandita Tiwari

This incident dates back to the year 2013, the month of February, when we got transferred from Dooars to Assam. Transfers are all well known in the tea community; what was new was that it was our first transfer to one of the Assam gardens.

North view of the Amgoorie bungalow. All pix by author 

And we drove into the majestic bungalow of Amgoorie, taking in the Assam weather, drinking in the nectar of fresh air, the lush green lawn, the colourful flowers and a strange feeling of everything new in and around us.

Akhil (my husband) dropped me to the bungalow and went for a round of his new garden. I sat on the lawn taking in the new place. As the sun began to set, the beautiful rays of light were vanishing and lush green lawn started to appear greenish grey to me. I started feeling lonely. So I moved inside the bungalow and the staff helped me unpack.

Ghost stories and tales of haunted bungalows etc. are often heard of in tea bungalows, and the bearer started narrating some of them, although assuring me that our bungalow was safe. I asked them to concentrate on unpacking. As we retired for the night after an early dinner, the first night in the new environment -- new bed, new staff, new room, all put together gave me an eerie feeling. So I recalled the time-tested technique of backward counting… 100…99…98… and soon dozed off.

The foggy compound

In the middle of the night, I woke up as I wanted to use the washroom. So I groped in the darkness and switched on the light of the bathroom and was relieved. The night was still; an owl screeched somewhere. However, my relief was short-lived. I heard a high pitched, loud noise of someone laughing - perhaps a woman or a child. “He-he-hee-hee-haa…” and I froze. 

The laughter sent shivers down my spine. It sounded exactly like what I imagined a witch’s cackle would have been. I cannot even begin to describe my fear. My hands and legs would not listen to me, they refused to move. My vocal cords refused to produce any sound. I mustered all the courage I could, taking God’s name and returned to bed.

I nudged Akhil a little but he was fast asleep, exhausted from the day’s activities. So I tried my best to go back to sleep. The next day passed by quickly with lots of unpacking, the incident of the previous night forgotten until… the evening chowkidaars were switching on the security lights of the bungalow and compound as I sat in the verandah sipping a cup of hot tea.

To my utter astonishment, I heard the cackle from last night again. Judging from the direction of the sound, it seemed to be coming from near the chowkidaar. There was silence again. 

To investigate further, I called the chowkidaar inside and found the cackle emerging from his pocket. “He-he-hee-hee-haa…”

The mystery was solved. The night ghost was caught. After reprimanding him and asking him to change his phone ringtone to a more conservative one, we went about the chores of the evening. 

Soon, we started settling down in Amgoorie. Last February, we completed six years and have loved every second spent here, night ghost and all. 

 

Meet the writer: Nandita Tiwari

Nandita joined the tea fraternity in 1991 when she arrived in Danguajhar in the Dooars. She and her husband Akhil were in various gardens in the Dooars for over 30 years, and also in Amgoorie (Assam) for a brief period of time. They are now settled in Siliguri.

In 2019, Nandita decided to start penning down some of the unique experiences that came her way. You can read her stories on her own blog, here: https://nanditat6.wixsite.com/rosee-t

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com.

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!

Masala Chai

by Nandita Tiwari

Homemade goodies 

The car drove up to the tea bungalow located on a hillock. The driveway that led to the porch was flanked with palm trees on either side. As is customary of the plantations, half of the trunks of the palm trees was white-washed and they stood their stead in uniformity. As the car drove through the porch, one could view the beautiful jaali-kamra, with potted Areca palms in the corners. The bungalow had a colonial feel, complete with huge arches and a sloping roof. The guests got out of the car and were made comfortable on the cushioned wicker chairs of the jaali kamra. They were mesmerized by the view of the green mountains and the clear blue skies. The sun lingered on the horizon as if waiting for the closing clouds. They were full of appreciation for the well-kept bungalow and the neatly manicured lawns. That’s when my husband stepped in to entertain the buyer guests as well.

My husband started chatting with the buyers telling them about the nitty-gritty of the art of tea making, promising to take them for a round of the plantation after their cup of tea. I rang the bell and instructed the maid to start brewing the tea. The guests were enjoying the conversation as well as the homemade goodies which included freshly baked cake, cookies and sandwiches, served on white crocheted doilies. The quaint little bungalow and the gentle autumn breeze which was reminiscent of the smell of moist earth, spellbound one of the guests said “It is my first visit to the country,” and she added that she was overwhelmed by the varieties of Indian tea and the tea gardens. The other added that the aroma of the teas that they had been sampling pervaded their senses and they were sure of closing in a good deal here as well.

Meanwhile, since morning, I had been putting my best foot forward to welcome the guests in spite of all the chaos in the kitchen. One of the important bungalow staff had been hospitalized and a new maid had been inducted just two days ago! As all the tea mem-sahibs know, even when things in the kitchen go topsy-turvy, we wear a smile and greet the guests and pride ourselves for the guests not having an inkling about what goes on behind the scenes. To top it all, my hands were full as a dinner had to be organized later that evening with the other executives. However, that was a challenge to be dealt with later; as the present serving of tea demanded my attention.

Though all of us were having a delightful conversation, my thoughts were playing truant and kept running into the kitchen wondering why the maid was taking such a long time although I had demonstrated to her what was to be done, in the morning itself. I excused myself and as I stepped into the kitchen, I saw the maid standing in a nervous and confused demeanour. She asked me to peek in the teapot, in which she had poured boiling water almost ten to fifteen minutes back. As I bent forward and peeked into the pot, she told me the trouble. The brew even after the designated time refused to gain the desired golden colour. I set another pot of water on the stove for the water to boil, chiding the maid for over-boiling the tea or for doing something or the other wrong. I instructed the maid to wash the tea-pot and fill it with a new batch of tea leaf. However, the brew did not gain any colour, even after we had allowed ample time for it to steep.

A typical tea sample box

Considering myself somewhat of a tea connoisseur, after having spent many seasons in the tea gardens, this adamant pot of water had put even me on my wits’ end. So with a sigh, I decided to get help from the higher authority. I stole my husband from the company of the guests for a few minutes.

Grumbling as to what the fuss was all about that it needed his attention, he accompanied me to the kitchen. I opened the lid of the tea-pot and explained to him the predicament. Promptly, he ordered the maid to fetch the sample box of orange fanning tea which he had got that morning. The flustered maid rushed and handed over the box. At a glance, he announced- “How do you expect stupid black mustard seeds to do the job of tea leaf?” and flounced out. I kicked myself hard for missing out on this minute detail despite having seen to the arrangements many a time since morning. The maid giggled and I snubbed her for such a silly blunder which had lead to this episode- 'the episode of brewing tea'.

In retrospect I can say that many pots of tea have been brewed over the centuries, some malty, some brisk and some aromatic but tea life undoubtedly is spicy- like a cup of masala chai.

Meet the writer: Nandita Tiwari

Nandita joined the tea fraternity in 1991 when she arrived in Danguajhar, in the Dooars. She and her husband Akhil were in various gardens in the Dooars for over 30 years, and also in Amgoorie (Assam) for a brief period of time.They are now settled in Siliguri.

In 2019, Nandita decided to start penning down some of the unique experiences that came her way. You can read her stories on her own blog, here: https://nanditat6.wixsite.com/rosee-t

This is Nandita's first contribution to Indian Chai Stories. 

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com.

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!