by Aloke Mookerjee
Aloke landed in the Dooars 58 years ago ,on May 7, 1963!
'I was awestruck by the beauty and tranquillity of my new habitat...the sights and sounds in this sublime, alien wilderness.'
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| Pix from 1963/64 by Venk Shenoi, another tea planter who has written for Indian Chai Stories! L to R – Aloke Mukerjee, Jeff & Narbada Tikari, Dilip Mukherjee (?) and Chand Kapur. |
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| Pic by R.A.Scholefield from https://abpic.co.uk/pictures/operator/Jamair |
By the early 1950s, a basic infrastructure for air travel was established; facilitated by a few defunct airstrips that were already dotting the N.E. region. These airstrips, hastily prepared by the U.S. Airforce during the 2nd World War for their legendary air-lift operations over the Eastern Himalayas to S.W. China - famously known as ‘Flying the Hump’ - were restored and made operational once again, along with some others on open fields within the tea estate premises. With the travel time now dramatically compressed to a mere three hours, flying became the most convenient and favoured means of commuting between Calcutta and N.E. India.
Along with the ‘joining allowance’, my new employers handed me an air ticket to fly me out of Dum Dum Aerodrome (as it was then called) on a Tuesday, one of the three days in the week when the flight operator ‘Jamair’ flew out to the Dooars into North Bengal at the unearthly hour of 4 AM. The name ‘Dooars’, I was to learn, was derived from the word ‘duar’ or door that so aptly described this magnificent expanse as the ‘Gateway to the Himalayas’.
With their soaring reputation and acclaim, Jamair’s air services to the North-East became much sought after by the tea community of Calcutta and the airline began to receive vital support with the patronage of the many companies that flourished in that booming post-war city.
On reaching Dum Dum Aerodrome, I was advised to drive along its outside perimeter road and enter the premises from the rear gate, to board the aircraft parked in a hangar. At the sight of my approaching taxi headlights, a Bihari chowkidar came loping out from the dark and with the customary ‘salaam’, swung open the wobbly low-slung gate. I entered grandly with air ticket in pocket as the only document in possession. Security checks were non-existent; hijacks and human-bombs unheard of. Life was simple.
I spotted Jamair’s brightly lit hangar in the distance and we drove towards it. A vintage Dakota was waiting inside. It was just after 3.30 a.m. A good deal of assorted cargo including bundles of the ‘dak-edition’ of The Statesman, mail bags, crates of machinery parts, cartons of cold stores and other miscellaneous items were being loaded into the cabin and strapped up with a thick rope net. They were to be my co-passengers! Thankfully, there were no bleating livestock which, I was told, travelled alongside occasionally! The aircraft bucket seats, I learnt, were either bolted on to the cabin floor or removed altogether and left in the hangar (as a temporary seat for waiting travellers) according to the passenger and cargo manifesto! There was only one other person waiting, rather listlessly, to board. A sense of adventure tingled within me in anticipation of my flight into an unknown land of tea in a hoary war seasoned aircraft.
The pilot arrived just before 4 a.m. looking a trifle flushed and buoyant – no doubt the outcome of an evening of merriment before the call of duty! It caused no waves as it might have done today. Together we entered the steeply inclined cabin of the legendary aircraft. A musty odour of some intensity greeted me, entrenched no doubt, by all those varied items of cargo which were flown during and after the war. The bare metal floor was almost entirely occupied by the strapped-up goods. As expected, there was no cabin crew. The pilot disappeared into the cockpit but not before chucking a couple of shoddy blankets towards us with advice to keep them handy. “Might need ‘em”, he remarked cheerily! Yet another alien odour invaded my senses as I held the woolly catch.
Barely had we settled into our seats, when the two propeller engines roared to life. The old Dakota rolled forward and taxied out quickly for take-off. A long reverberating climb later the shuddering aircraft calmed down. The roar of the two labouring engines dropped to a tolerable drone as we flew on into the indigo void, of a star filled sky, with the compass set north for our destination at the foothills of the eastern Himalayas.
Along with the ‘joining allowance’, my new employers handed me an air ticket to fly me out of Dum Dum Aerodrome (as it was then called) on a Tuesday, one of the three days in the week when the flight operator ‘Jamair’ flew out to the Dooars into North Bengal at the unearthly hour of 4 AM. The name ‘Dooars’, I was to learn, was derived from the word ‘duar’ or door that so aptly described this magnificent expanse as the ‘Gateway to the Himalayas’.
The tale of Jamair's adventurous American founders, amongst the earliest pioneers of private aviation in India, had by then spread and attained exalted status.
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| Pic of James B Muff and Eddie Quinn from https://cnac.org/quin01.htm |
James B Muff and Eddie Quinn had been with The China National Airline Corporation (CNAC) during WW II and arrived in India soon after the war ended. Here they met up with the Jamsahib of Nawanagar and in partnership, formed ‘Jamair’ by acquiring a few Douglas C47 aircrafts that had survived the incredible perils of ‘flying the hump’. The legendary C47s, popularly known as the ‘Dakota’, had been adapted and renamed, for military use, from the hugely successful Douglas DC3 civilian aircraft. After the war, the redundant but airworthy C47s (along with the larger Douglas C54 ‘Skymasters’) were put up for sale at enticingly attractive prices.
With their soaring reputation and acclaim, Jamair’s air services to the North-East became much sought after by the tea community of Calcutta and the airline began to receive vital support with the patronage of the many companies that flourished in that booming post-war city.
On reaching Dum Dum Aerodrome, I was advised to drive along its outside perimeter road and enter the premises from the rear gate, to board the aircraft parked in a hangar. At the sight of my approaching taxi headlights, a Bihari chowkidar came loping out from the dark and with the customary ‘salaam’, swung open the wobbly low-slung gate. I entered grandly with air ticket in pocket as the only document in possession. Security checks were non-existent; hijacks and human-bombs unheard of. Life was simple.
I spotted Jamair’s brightly lit hangar in the distance and we drove towards it. A vintage Dakota was waiting inside. It was just after 3.30 a.m. A good deal of assorted cargo including bundles of the ‘dak-edition’ of The Statesman, mail bags, crates of machinery parts, cartons of cold stores and other miscellaneous items were being loaded into the cabin and strapped up with a thick rope net. They were to be my co-passengers! Thankfully, there were no bleating livestock which, I was told, travelled alongside occasionally! The aircraft bucket seats, I learnt, were either bolted on to the cabin floor or removed altogether and left in the hangar (as a temporary seat for waiting travellers) according to the passenger and cargo manifesto! There was only one other person waiting, rather listlessly, to board. A sense of adventure tingled within me in anticipation of my flight into an unknown land of tea in a hoary war seasoned aircraft.
The pilot arrived just before 4 a.m. looking a trifle flushed and buoyant – no doubt the outcome of an evening of merriment before the call of duty! It caused no waves as it might have done today. Together we entered the steeply inclined cabin of the legendary aircraft. A musty odour of some intensity greeted me, entrenched no doubt, by all those varied items of cargo which were flown during and after the war. The bare metal floor was almost entirely occupied by the strapped-up goods. As expected, there was no cabin crew. The pilot disappeared into the cockpit but not before chucking a couple of shoddy blankets towards us with advice to keep them handy. “Might need ‘em”, he remarked cheerily! Yet another alien odour invaded my senses as I held the woolly catch.
Barely had we settled into our seats, when the two propeller engines roared to life. The old Dakota rolled forward and taxied out quickly for take-off. A long reverberating climb later the shuddering aircraft calmed down. The roar of the two labouring engines dropped to a tolerable drone as we flew on into the indigo void, of a star filled sky, with the compass set north for our destination at the foothills of the eastern Himalayas.
Later into the flight, I was getting to feel distinctly cold, and looking around, found the cause of it. Thin shafts of piercing cold air were streaming freely into the non-pressurised cabin through narrow gaps at the joints of the riveted panels. The seasoned Dakota was clearly showing her vintage! I wrapped the bristly blanket around me, silently thanking the pilot for providing some protection. The monotonous drone continued, lulling me to a fitful sleep.
In about three hours, we were flying over the Dooars region of North Bengal and preparing to land at Grassmore, my destination airfield, as the early morning sun was lighting up the sky. Looking down through the haze of dawn light, I could see neat rows of the flat-topped tea bushes, shaded by tall trees, looming closer. A young boy was frantically prodding his herd of cattle away from the aircraft’s landing path. I realised, with some concern, that there was no tarmac in sight, and braced myself for a dubious landing! There was no need for anxiety though, for with the seasoned veteran at her helm, the old Dakota continued on her descent with confidence and practised ease. An admirably smooth touch down on the evenly mowed grass field followed. With fingers now uncrossed, I silently thanked the pilot for the second time in the course of our few hours together!
The roar of the engine died down as the old flying machine finally ground to a halt. Silence engulfed us. The flight, at the very best, would have matched the description ‘spartan’. It seemed to complement the sense of adventure that held me in its grip!
The cabin door opened with a loud clang and I stepped out into a morning bathed in bright and clear sunshine. Ahead, a black and white windsock was fluttering gently in the cool early morning breeze. In a corner of the airfield, I could see a large tin shed that served as Jamair’s godown. A couple of tea garden ‘lorries’ were parked alongside, presumably, to collect their cargo brought in by the aircraft. A sporty ‘Standard Herald’ car was parked close to them with what appeared to be a planter in shorts and an open necked shirt leaning against it. He turned out to be the other Assistant Manager of Nagrakata Tea Estate - waiting for me.
A pre-monsoon shower, the day before, had scrubbed the skies clean and settled the dust. The vegetation all around appeared rich, the colours intensely vivid. In the pure and serene country air, the hysterical call of a ‘brain-fever’ bird and the distant sound of a trundling tractor drifted in with astounding clarity. Nearby, the animated chatter of the Adivasi cargo handlers in their unique ‘tea-garden Hindi’ (which I would soon enough learn) was coming through loudly. The sights and sounds seemed to create a strange and colourful aura in this sublime, alien wilderness.
I was awestruck by the beauty and tranquillity of my new habitat, far removed from the din and dirt of the big city that was a part of me just a few hours ago. This became my reality with the city fading into a hazy dream.
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| A rainy day on the road to the Dooars from Bagdogra aiport, where commercial flights now land. Darjeeling hills in the background. I took this pic in 2011 -Gowri |
Author's footnotes:
Jamsahib of Nawanagar: (also known as the Nawab of Jamnagar, a princely state in Western India
Dum Dum Aerodrome: now an international airport in Calcutta (now Kolkata) and known as Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport
Dak Edition: postal edition of daily newspapers for remote regions
The Statesman: the most popular English language daily morning newspaper of Eastern India those days
Godown: word for a closed storage shed in India. Origin unknown!
Lorry: a particularly English word for truck we always used in tea
Adivasi: the original tribal inhabitants of India
Jamsahib of Nawanagar: (also known as the Nawab of Jamnagar, a princely state in Western India
Dum Dum Aerodrome: now an international airport in Calcutta (now Kolkata) and known as Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport
Dak Edition: postal edition of daily newspapers for remote regions
The Statesman: the most popular English language daily morning newspaper of Eastern India those days
Godown: word for a closed storage shed in India. Origin unknown!
Lorry: a particularly English word for truck we always used in tea
Adivasi: the original tribal inhabitants of India
Meet the writer: Aloke Mookerjee
Here's what Aloke has to say about himself :
I am a planter long retired from the Dooars as well as Assam and Papua New Guinea where I was in tea and coffee for several years. I
have been writing about my life in tea. These are really ...the early impressions
received by a young 'greenhorn '
of those times upon his arrival at the plantations.
Other interests? Always loved jazz music - still do - and have
written about this incredible genre. Love vintage airplanes (thus my
love for Dakotas!) and cars, and intend to make this my next focus.' Here is the link to all posts by Aloke - Stories by Aloke Mookerjee
Aloke's book, The Jazz Bug, is available on Amazon. Read about it here: https://notionpress.com/read/the-jazz-bug?fbclid=IwAR2HjxSU2rY6sq5cX_lzBxJY5oat1i_Z22qKdRRP1Tm77Dqp48B2CAlnGvY
Aloke's book, The Jazz Bug, is available on Amazon. Read about it here: https://notionpress.com/read/the-jazz-bug?fbclid=IwAR2HjxSU2rY6sq5cX_lzBxJY5oat1i_Z22qKdRRP1Tm77Dqp48B2CAlnGvY
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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/Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!
ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES :
Amazing story dad ..we must
ReplyDeleterelive the legendary Dakota flight to the doars ...hope to see some more stories real soon
Thanks Aditya. Sadly, it would be hard to relive the Dakota flights as they have been all consigned to museums as 'had beens'. I dare say, I and my ilk would soon be joining that category!
DeleteA riveting read. Let us know if Junior does indeed do an action replay of your original flight path.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to more, so sharpen the quill and refill the inkpot.
Hahahahaha....thank you Roma. It feels good to read of your appreciation.
ReplyDeleteAn excellent write up.. request you Mr Mookerjee to please keep the pen moving else we the readers will be deprived of such exquisite nostalgia. It helps us to relive the precious time our generation savoured - uniquely simple and different.
ReplyDeleteHi Aloke - loved the story which brought back many memories of my flights to Mohanbari and to Khumbirgram (Silchar ,via Agartala)- although they were all on Indian Airlines. My initial flight to Mohanbari was in a Dakota but it only had canvas bucket seats. It was of course, the bus stop route that the 'plane went on. Gauhati, Tezpur, Jorhat then Mohanbari. The Dak then flew on to Silonibari, on the North Bank before doing the same calls on its return flight to Calcutta. The Agartala (Tripura), Silchar flight carried on to Imphal, and again did the return route. In 1965, when the troubles were on with Pakistan, the Indian Airlines flight from Calcutta to Mohanbari was done in a DC4 flying up over West Bengal, and then take a turn to starboard over Siliguri, and on to Gauhati, Jorhat, Tezpur and Mohanbari. I travelled on one of those flights, and the views of the Himalayas was wonderful.
ReplyDeleteKalinga Airlines (believed to be owned by the same people as Jamair) did the freight and 'cold' provisions runs from Calcutta to Assam - calling at Gauhati, Tezpur, Jorhat, Doomur Dullung (Moran), Mohanbari,Sookerating (Doom Dooma)and also Silonibari.
When my father joined tea in 1938, he travelled from Sealdah railway station in Calcutta to Goalcunda (now in Bangladesh)and then boarded a RSN paddle steamer at the ghat there. Then sailed up the Brahmaputra to Dibrugarh ghat taking a few weeks in transit. On arrival at Dibrugarh, there was nobody to meet him, so he asked a passing gura-gharri driver if he knew how to get to Greenwood TE. Dad sat at the back of the gharri passing Ethelwold, Mothola, and when reaching Maijan, Donaldson, the Manager of Greenwood was passing by in his car. Donaldson asked my father, "Are you Lane?" - of course my father told him that he was Lane, and Donaldson shouted, "Where the hell have you been? We were expecting you a week ago." Dad explained that the paddle steamer got delayed due to the many shifting sandbanks on the way. Thus was my father's initiation to a life of tea! Which lasted nearly thirty years.
Bohut salaams to all our readers! Alan
Thank you Shalini and Charwallah (Alan Lane, right?). It does give me pleasure to know you have enjoyed reading this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it and reliving those times. Kalinga Airways, Alan, belonged to Biju Patnaik - one time Chief Minister of Orissa and an ex-spitfire pilot of the Royal Indian Air Force during WW II. His son is the current Chief Minister of Orissa. On the behest of the then Indian PM, Nehru, Biju Patnaik is known to have flown into Indonesia and rescue Soekarno from the clutches of the Dutch rulers during the strife ridden days before the country's independence. The story of your father is fascinating. Those were incredible days. Rangpur, was another place in (now) Bangladesh where the train from Sealdah was ferried across the Padma river to continue on its onward journey to Cachar and Assam!
ReplyDeleteAlan, I remember one flight when the cheeky Jamair pilots those days used to regularly take a 'short-cut' near the 'chicken's neck' area of North Bengal to fly their Dakota clandestinely over the then East Pakistan territory. In that particular flight I had the most magnificent view of Mount Everest right there in front of me. Of-course, it is anybody's guess of the consequences if the Pakistani radar had ever spotted us!
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing this memory. I remember Jamair and and the other airline, Fauker Friendship well. I have flown on the rattling old Dakota from Jorhat to Calcutta several times as a child. They gave us cotton to plug our ears and vomit bags. Both were used! We were accompanied by a cargo of evil smelling pineapple. The seats were not bolted properly and slid backwards and threatened to slam into pineapple during the bone rattling vertical take off. Yes, I remember the icy sharp air coming through the cracks!! It was quite an experience.
ReplyDeleteWelcome Shona Patel! These hair raising flights by Jamair and Kalinga became the 'lifeline' to the North East. There was another flight operator, Air Carrying Corporation, flying the Douglas C-54s to Bagdogra and Saugaon in the Dooars. The C-54s were like the Dakotas but larger. Many of their airplanes had bench seats along the cabin walls instead of bucket seats. These would have been aircrafts used for dropping airborne paratroopers in enemy territory during the war! The IA flights in Fokker Frienships brought it more comfort but less adventure!!!
ReplyDeleteHi Aloke. I have actually flown with some livestock from Grassmore!
ReplyDeleteGodown is from the Indian word Goodam storage shed.
ReplyDelete
ReplyDelete“A pre-monsoon shower, the day before, had scrubbed the skies clean and settled the dust. The vegetation all around appeared rich, the colours intensely vivid. In the pure and serene country air, the hysterical call of a ‘brain-fever’ bird and the distant sound of a trundling tractor drifted in with astounding clarity. Nearby, the animated chatter of the Adivasi cargo handlers in their unique ‘tea-garden Hindi’ (which I would soon enough learn) was coming through loudly. The sights and sounds seemed to create a strange and colourful aura in this sublime, alien wilderness.”
What a vivid description this is Aloke ! Brought the whole vista into life . So grateful to have this and other such amazing stories on the Chai for Cancer platform .