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.
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Yellapatty. Pix by author
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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.
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Pic from Pinterest
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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.
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Karunkulam peak from across the Kundlay dam. Pix taken by author on his last visit to Munnar
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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
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!
Desperately seeking Vincent....!
ReplyDeletePlease share coordinates!
This is Roma Circar, by the way.... the one who is desperately seeking Vincent!
DeleteWhy am I showing up as Unknown, Gowri? Going through a severe identity crisis as a result!
Roma, I wouldn't know! Maybe you weren't signed in when you wrote and posted the first comment! Next time you could preview your comment before publishing it, to ensure that Blogger hasn't swallowed up your identity! Hope that works.
DeleteThank you. Planter from Southern India. Now in the Nilgiris for the last nine years.
DeleteHahahahaha thanks for spilling the beans after all these years Rajesh! Ducks or no ducks, that was a swell evening!
ReplyDeleteYou remember Kamran. You were also on the guest list on that fateful day.
DeleteThanks Kamran. You remember it now.
DeleteWhat a wonderful story Sir. Sadly the Vincents of the world are a vanishing breed who will live forever in the annals of plantation history thanks to accounts as enjoyable as yours. Your story also brings out the all conquering never say die attitude of the true planter. I look forward to many more stories from you.
ReplyDeleteThanks Sri
DeleteGarden duck/mutton/Vincent a la carte!What a lively tale with all the great flavours of a tea bungalow kitchen. Can picture that first dinner in every detail. Great going. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteThank you
DeleteThank you
DeleteGood one, Rajesh! Where are you these days? 🍻
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
DeleteThank you Sir. In the Nilgiris now Sir.
DeleteBeautiful Story. Nostalgia.
ReplyDeleteThank you Sir
Deletedelightful tale ... the Vincents of Tea were such resourceful guys ....
ReplyDeleteThank you. They were indeed.
DeleteThank you.
DeleteWonderful narration of the Sinnai Durai days. Congrats Rajesh.
ReplyDeleteTruly delightful tale and reminds one of the innovative ways of the simple tea garden work force.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteExcellent Post Rajesh. Brings back memories of Munnar - Kundale Club / and the Wednesday nights
ReplyDeleteThanks Rajdeep. You were also on the guest list on that evening.
DeleteThanks, this brought back memories of parties of mine in Sri Lanka a long, long time ago!
ReplyDeleteThanks
DeleteWell narrated Rajesh. Enjoyed reading it. Brought back many memories of my own.
ReplyDeleteBrought back nostalgic memories of similar situations and good old butlers who turned out to be our man Friday many a time when I was new to plantations
ReplyDeleteWonderful anecdote. I too have had many interesting memories of my short stint with Tata Tea in Munnar. ksr
ReplyDeleteThank you
DeleteLovely story Rajesh!
ReplyDeleteThank you Sir.
DeleteNice one Rajesh.Its these little happenings and experiences that made our lives in planting so wonderful.
ReplyDeleteThank you Timmy.
DeleteIs this Vincent , Roberts brother ? Taimur
ReplyDeleteCant recollect his name, his brother was the cook in the High Range Club.
DeleteExcellent write up on Estate life. It brings back nostalgia of my days on the Estate on the Nelliampathys.
ReplyDeleteThank you Uncle.
DeleteGreat pening mate .... those were euphoric days too ....
ReplyDeleteThanks Pat.
DeleteAh so much better than a wolf in sheep’s clothing ... the duck dressed up as mutton. What a wonderful tale indeed . What a brave Sinna Dorai to have everyone come calling ... delighted to have this chai story on the Chai for Cancer menu
ReplyDelete