Oh, Assam!

by Simran Sandhu

I will never forget my first sight of Assam. Driving through the night to my very first garden as a new bride, the journey seemed almost like an adventure...into the unknown. Miles and miles of green - a brilliant viridian to a sap green, a lovely olive to a dull bottle green, all the different hues mingling and fusing into a sense of timelessness in that never-ending sea of green. And then, it's night time and it is only in Assam that one can sit and look into the night - to see the colours of the night change from a dark grey to a smoky black to  charcoal black. It's almost like watching a painting being made...and that too in slow motion.

And very soon I came to identify the peculiar little sounds that are so much a part of Assam. The pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, the scuffling of rats, of the curiously grating buzz of an insect, the peculiar ‘kat-kať sound made by the lizards, the screeching of the monkeys as they frolicked in the front lawn of the bungalow and fought over the over ripe 'kathal', growing so profusely in the ‘Mali Barhi'.

In the clear light of the day, I saw creepers and bushes, and plants and vines so lush, so vibrantly alive, I could almost feel them breathe.

And soon I was busy opening boxes, setting up house in a charming, rather small bungalow at the foothills of Seconee Hills. And while I was so busy playing house, the ‘Pokhas' too were busy, at what they do best. My first reaction to this hard-shelled snail had been one of delight, at having seen something that had come straight out of the pages of Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales, but there was no fairy-tale ending when they ate up all the 'Puli' - seedlings - the maali had so painstakingly planted. And so, "Operation Eradication" began with the chowkidar collecting this never-ending tribe in a tin, to be dumped into a 'nallah' outside the bungalow.

Pix from the Sagmootea T.E.page on the Amalgamated Plantations website

This was one of the many firsts I experienced. Another first I can vividly recall is of a herd of elephants that crossed the fencing outside our gate in the early hours of the morning. It was a cold, misty December morning when I first saw this herd of massive, yet strangely graceful creatures. As I watched, I saw a little baby elephant stuck in the fencing being tenderly trunk lifted by its mother to the other side of the fence for their journey to the hills. It was a mesmerising sight!

The day goes by in a frenzy of activity, to make the most of Apollo, the Sun God, who has condescended to emerge after days of constant rain. The house buzzes with the activity of the 'maalis' frantically digging to make beds for the winter flowers, the 'bera' airing out the lumpy old mattresses, the bawarchi  airing out the 'dals' and ‘masalas' to get rid of the musty smell. And so the days go on... ambient and warm, and even when my new 'chokra' chowkidar comes panting to me, stuttering about having seen a “bara sarwala” (cobra) snake, I just smile and shush him off...after all, it is also a part of the 'meagre' bungalow inventory.

And my mother, on a visit here, marvels at this new me...someone who, two years back, would have hit the roof at the sight of a baby cockroach, smiling benignly at the news of a cobra. I tell her then, patiently, in a tone peculiarly like the one she used with me when I was a kid, “You see Mom, this is Assam”.
( Sagmootea Tea Estate -1991)

Part II - The Saga of the White Snake

 

This one is of me in the maali bari and the tall dahlias I have mentioned

So we had moved from Sagmmotea to Nahorani ... Misa club to Thakurbari club. This was a bigger "chang" bungalow with a much longer, winding drive. It was nestled among mature, very tall trees and had some amazing shrubs some very tall dahlias, cosmos and many other varieties of flowers and come winter, the inevitable "baraf", those multi-coloured little gems edging all the flower beds.

Mesembryanthemums

I had a penchant for lamps ( I still do), a penchant almost bordering on a mania, so I had hanging lamp shades made in all shapes and sizes from a local craftsman. They ranged from being round to a square, a hexagon, an oblong, a rectangle and anything in between. They were simply and perfectly woven in bamboo .

The next thing was to find a suitable corner to hang them from.. and of course what better place but my happy place- the " jaali kamra",a lovely square space with ageing floor boards and wooden beams and a (not very new) wire mesh to keep the various creepy-crawlies from creeping inside .

Very soon, a corner of my "jaali kamra "was adorned by the six hanging shades of varying shapes and lengths adding a rather mellow and magical ambiance in the evenings whilst we sat around the round table listening to Queen and Bryan Adams over GT's and Rum and Coke. My mother, on one of her rare visits to us, counted 45 lamp shades in our house..!

The Jaali kamra with my mom and dad and the bamboo shade in the background

Hindsight is a wonderful thing and now when my very eco-friendly daughter hears of the 'lampshade saga', she is appalled and gives me a very well deserved dressing down for having wasted so much electricity and being one of the millions of individuals who are instrumental in causing the environment harm. 

I cringe, but in my defence, hasten to explain that I needed all these lights to light up the dark nooks and crannies of the huge rambling bungalow with its creaking floor boards, temperamental water taps, stained bath tubs and sometimes leaking roofs. To add more substance to my defence, I also add that these bungalows were more often than not inhabited by bats and lizards and snakes and apparitions in white... more so than humans!

This bungalow was not in the best condition, it was only the first and the last bungalow where I had kept a little "goru" - a cow -  so I had a small "goru ghar" i.e cow shed made of bamboo in one corner of the "mali bari".

I was expecting my first born ... petrified of the dark nights and of being on my own when my husband was in the factory

One of the three chowkidars (whom we inherited) was a surly, middle aged chap, one of the very rare workers who supported a sizable belly. He was obviously very well fed and did not get much exercise. He was a man of very few words but over the months since we moved in he began articulating a bit more. I am not sure if was the locally sourced alcohol or the charms of my rather attractive, very slim, always pristine, clad in white mini (maid) who had travelled with us from the previous garden.

I was expecting my first born and prone to cravings and also quite moody (as is expected). In addition to the rather abnormal cravings for the very spicy "Haldiram Bhujia" that the young mali Neelambar got packets of from the nearby town of Rangapara (in hordes without the knowledge of my husband), I was also a bit petrified of the dark nights and of being on my own - especially when my husband was in the factory.

Ranjiv with his sister and brother in law

The portly chowkidar had been instructed to stay upstairs in the "lampshade infested" jali kamra as I watched endless videos of the James Bond 007 series over endless cups of "ketli chai" that was constantly replenished, with Marie biscuits and spicy Haldiram bhujia almost soaking in the spicy Maggi hot and sweet sauce ( something that I gorge on in times of stress even now twenty four years after ).

One night - and it was a rather stormy one at that - with the eerie sound of the wind amongst the tall trees, the occasional hoot of the owl, the shadows of the bats as they set about on their nocturnal flights, the rustling of the little rats that I knew had a permanent home in the confines of the "faltu karma" and the maybe even the kitchen amongst the grimy aluminium pots (on which no amount of scrubbing had ever worked) the chowkidar knocked on the door, gasping for breath. He stuttered that he had just sighted a "boga saamp" i..e. white cobra near the "goru ghar".

He was pale and agitated and profusely sweaty. He said the " boga saamp" was the undisputed lord of the garden and that it was bad luck to disturb / kill it. He had seen it slithering and moving and he was convinced it could easily slither across the garden into the house!!

I became agitated and tense and in incoherently "walkie talkied" my husband about this. Within ten minutes, I heard the sound of his car and his deep authoritative voice questioning the chowkidar.

Out came the big torch and armed with lathis ,the three chowkidars and my husband marched towards the corner of the garden near the lotus pond to get rid of this white snake !

After a while they all came back with nothing to report except some very muddy boots and drenched clothing as it has started to rain. Assam and the blighty do have the one thing in common- the big W- Weather and its vagaries. The portly chowkidar, to his chagrin, got a firing for leading everyone up the garden path ( pun intended ) in the middle of the night!

Of course, by now it was the beginning of dawn and it being a Sunday, my husband without a second thought rounded up his Wilson 2000 and off he went for a round of golf leaving me, the “golf widow” to my own devices .. yet some more tea and biscuits ...sigh!

That evening, just as we were about to set off for the club, this chowkidar ambled up to me and without quite meeting my eye, said, and I quote,

"Memsahib, hum maaloom kiya hai .. woh boga saamp nahin thah .. Wo toh aapka mini thah, woh boga saree mein maali bari mien doosra chowkidar ke saath mohabbat banata hei" 🤣

Simply translated, "I have found out that it was your maid in her 'white saree' in the throes of an intimate act with the other chowkidar."

Of course our good man, this chowkidar, in his inebriated state mistook the writhing in the white saree to be no less but that of the white snake !

Suffice it to say the bungalow was soon bereft of both ..the mini and her paramour !!

As for the " boga saamp" I am certain it still resides somewhere amongst the shrubs in the far corner of the bari !!

1.Chang bungalow-- A house on stilts.
2.Barf Phool - Mesembryanthmemum
3.Jaali Kamra - Deep verandah with mesh windows
 4.Goru- Cow
5.Goru Ghar -Cow shed
6.Mali Bari- Vegetable garden
7.Ketli chai -Tea in a tea pot
8.Faltu Kamra -Guest room
9.Boga saamp- White snake
10.Walkie Talkie - Wireless
11.Chowkidar- Guard
12.Mini -Maid

Meet the writer: 

A Word from Simran:
Hello chai people
I left tea many years ago and life has been a real roller coaster; one that I have learnt from and loved every minute of , but the lush green of the tea bushes and the time spent in the “Jaali Kamra”,my happy place, is as vivid today as it was all those years ago. (Wish I could build one here but not sure if I will get the planning permission from the old fogies of the local county council 😊) 

I now live in the “blighty” with my two children and I work for the local government. I paint watercolours occasionally (time permitting ), love reading, antique fairs and long drives in the rolling Peak district. I often surprise all of my British friends when I bake cupcakes and scones , vol-au-vents and stuffed chicken, not to mention serving them in a tea trolley replete with perfectly starched napkins and bone china … a throwback to the "chai" days that I still hold very dear to my heart as I do all the lovely friends and memories made all those years ago. 

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/