The Dinner

J.Rajesh Thomas 

One of the highest peaks in South India, the Karunkulam Peak - over 8300 feet above sea level - towered in the back ground overlooking the dusty plains of Theni. Nestled down at the base of this magnificent peak was a quaint Assistant Manager's Bungalow and way down the valley below was one of the prettiest tea gardens that you could imagine named Yellapatty in the High Ranges, Southern India. If you are wondering where this peak got its name, there was a small rocky pond near the summit, which made the lake look black in color, hence its name in Tamil: ‘Karupu’ – black and ‘Kulam’ - lake. This over the years had amalgamated into one word - Karunkulam.

Yellapatty. Pix by author

Into this paradise in the High Ranges I walked in as a fresh, wide eyed Sinna Durai (as all Assistant Managers in South India are addressed). As I was getting my footing into the serious business of planting, the days went by in a blur of musters, plucking rounds, union leaders, sporting meets, club days and house parties. Parties!

 Well I saw that I was lucky enough to have been invited to many bungalows for dinners and lunches as the Managers and Assistants of surrounding estates went out of the way to make a young creeper feel at home. I decided it was time for me to throw a return party. I drew up the invitations for a mixed crowd of Assistant Managers and some of the younger Managers.

Well the world cannot be a complete paradise, there has to be a fly in the ointment. For this estate, it turned out to be the distance from Munnar, the nearest town. Munnar was 30 Kms away (an hours’ drive) and through a notorious stretch infamous for elephants. The estate did not have the luxury of government bus service and the estate population had to rely on Jeep Taxis. These Jeep taxis were notoriously unreliable and had their own timings. They literally had no limit to the number of passengers they could ferry and their rash drivers made liberal use of the hill track. For shopping one had to go to Munnar town or rely on the Estate Bazaar, which operated out of a Company building. Known as the Bazaar man, he plied his trade by also doing his procurement from Munnar town. He also supplied the estate offices and the crèches basic needs. So I ordered the groceries for the dinner from the estate Bazaar Man.

The big day arrived and mid-morning saw Vincent my cook frantically looking for me in the fields to tell me that all the groceries excepting the chicken had come. I rode down to the estate bazaar to see what happened and the Bazaar Man calmly assured me that chickens were coming in the evening by the Jeep Taxi and should arrive by 6.00 PM. The day wore on and my house boy Sashi who went to collect the chickens in the evening came back empty handed with the news that the Bazaar Man had locked the shop and had disappeared. For some reason he could not collect the chickens and he chose wisely to slink away quietly instead of facing my wrath. It was too late to send someone into town to buy anything as Munnar, unlike now, was a quiet town then and all shops closed by seven in the evening.

Now I had a problem on my hands, twenty five people were turning up for dinner and I had no chicken. A vegetarian dinner would have been the talk of the planting district. Urgent Council of war was held between me, Vincent and Sashi. It was decided to send Sashi to the lines to see if he could persuade any of the workers to sell their precious poultry and in the meanwhile Vincent would continue with the rest of the cooking.

Meanwhile the first of my guests started arriving and they were my PD (Peria Dorai as all Managers were known in South India) Jose and his wife Bindoo. Jose was a young manager and had just got his billet. Bindoo forced Jose to come little early to oversee the cooking as she was apprehensive of Vincent’s culinary skills and it was my first big dinner. I appraised the situation to my shocked PD’s wife. There was nothing one could do but wait.

The guests slowly arrived and as the spirits flowed, the spirits also soared among the men folk. The ladies were immersed in their own conversation. Only Bindoo had a worried look throughout and kept giving me apprehensive looks.

Then the second disaster took place. The power failed and as this bungalow was too far from the Factory, it was not connected to the Factory generator. The bungalow plunged into darkness. Candles were lit, but it had no effect on the mood of the party. Arguments were flying thick and fast as the spirits flowed generously. The nervous wait got over by 10 o’clock. Sashi arrived back from the lines and said he was unable to get any chickens but he had managed to procure three ducks. Something was better than nothing. A shocked Vincent had no choice and was forced to add duck to his limited repertoire of dishes. Immediately the ducks were in the pressure cooker. I came back to the drawing room and quietly told Bindoo, who was even more shocked.

Pic from Pinterest

The ducks turned out to be of some unknown vintage and took ages to cook. Finally by 11.30 just as the ladies were wondering whether I was actually going to give them dinner, Vincent managed to serve the dinner in candle light.  Bindoo glanced nervously at me as she helped herself to the first serving of duck curry and she had a relieved look and nodded discreetly at me. Surprisingly no one in the dark could make out the duck curry. No one knew what it actually was and no one asked what it was. The duck curry was served generously on to the plates and to our relief it became obvious it was the best dish on the table. The men as usual took a lot longer to reach the table and they did not give a second thought as they tucked into the duck.

As the guests were leaving one of them shook my hands and declared that it was the best mutton curry that he had eaten in a long while and for the first time in the whole evening I saw Bindoo sport a smile. It turned out that Vincent, being apprehensive that the three ducks would not suffice for the guests, had cut it into very small pieces and no one could make out the meat. All is well that ends well. Later Jose, Bindoo and I had a mighty laugh over the dinner. Only a handful of us knew what the mutton was really till now.

That was the story of my first of many dinners.

 

Karunkulam peak from across the Kundlay dam. Pix taken by author on his last visit to Munnar

 

 Rajesh Thomas introduces himself:
"A second generation planter. Born and grew up in the planting districts of Southern India. Started my career in the High Ranges and Annamallais Planting Districts for twelve years. Had a stint in Africa for two years. Since 2009 been planting in the Nilgiris.

Read all of Rajesh's stories at this link: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/J.Rajesh%20Thomas

 

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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.
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