by Alan Lane
Jackie and I really miss the monsoon period in Assam.
Jackie still misses the noise of the bamboo rubbing against each stem in the wind, and the trees whipping around in the wind just before the rain came – also not forgetting the calls of the Koel (Your’e ill) and the Indian Pied Crested Cuckoo (Make more pekoe!).
The build-up of mould on your shoes and clothes! We used to put a small electric heater or light bulb in the wardrobe to keep it with a dry heat. Of course in those days the electric supply was 110V DC – sometimes from the factory, but mostly from a small diesel engine that was situated in an engine house separate from the bungalow, purely for the supply of power for lighting, and punkahs.
The one we had at Nagaghoolie bungalow was located in an engine house about 75 yards away, so if there was any problem at night we would have to go out and walk through the tea with a torch to rectify the fault – usually an airlock in the fuel supply. It was a bit disconcerting walking along in the night to the engine shed as there were still leopards around those gardens in the 1960s, plus the snakes, as always. Naturally, in the monsoons we had to use an umbrella against the rain.
Yet again at Nagaghoolie, not only were there plenty of jackals around giving their pheiow calls , but as you might expect, we had to divest ourselves of those little pests – the leeches.
One always thought that you had found them all, but somehow there was always one that managed to get through your Bata boots laces, and it was only when you felt the squelching in your boot that you realised that you had missed one!
The small engine room shed, as mentioned, was about seventy-yards away, and the Lister CS engine (single cylinder, twin flywheels) was supposed to operate on the ‘start-o-matic’ principle. This system had a rather ingenious method of starting the engine when the bungalow lights were switched on, and then when the last light was switched off, the engine would shut down, however, if punkahs were operating in the bungalow the engine would continue to supply power. Needless to say, that did not cover the eventuality of an airlock in the fuel (sometimes caused by a fractured fuel pipe, or running out of fuel in the overhead tank). The disappointment was always quite evident by the expletives shouted when the lights began to dim at these times. Sometimes, the engine, for no particular reason, would pick up and then the lights would start to get brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until we thought the light bulbs would go ‘pop’, but, that gallant little governor in the engine would really take over properly and control the speed again. Or, ‘over control’ and the engine would be in its last gasp. Not particularly good when a monsoon cyclone was in full blast.
“Oh dear (the decent expletive!) we have to go to the engine shed and fix the problem.” I remember once walking through the tea on a pitch black night, a deluge of rain, and wind bending all the shade trees, and bamboo clumps around when I felt something wet and cold jump on to my leg (as normal, men wore shorts). I can tell you that I had a real fright (actually s**t scared!) and wondered what it could be. On shining my torch down I found that I was looking squarely at a tree frog, with those sucker legs. “Thank God for that”, I said, and brushed the little fellow off onto a tea bush – I am very good at understating expletives!!”
There was event that I recall that happened in July 1964 at the Nagaghoolie bungalow.
This particular night, there was a typical monsoon storm (more like a cyclone with a deluge of rain) and we had all gone to bed.
It must have been the middle of the night when there was an almighty flash/bang, and the punkah suddenly threw sparks out and then caught fire, with bits of the windings from the motor dropping on to my bed. As the flash/bang had woken me up, and I'd noticed the embers from the fan, I quickly put out the burning bed sheet with a glass of water. Of course there was no electricity (110v DC) so had to operate with the aid of my torch (which I always kept beside my bed) and had a look outside on the verandah. There was no problem there, so, unpleasant as it was, I went back to sleep.
Later on waking up and going for a shave, I got a shock off the sink taps. On checking outside we could hear the main supports of the bungalow ‘buzzing’ so kept well clear of them.
It was evident that the bungalow had been struck by lightning, so we had to keep away from any part of the bungalow frame. The taps were still giving us mild shocks for two days after the strike.
Finally, one day I was going from Panitola to Hazelbank TE and took the short cut through Nudwa TE from the AT Road. Yet again there was a typical monsoon storm going on, and as I drove my jeep on the garden road, nearing a leaf weighment shed – about a hundred yards away, there was a flash/bang and the weighment shed collapsed, and a nearby shade tree split its trunk, and started smouldering. Hmm, I was glad that I had not been nearer.
Those monsoon storms were just something else. It was very eerie that just before the storms and rain struck, when the wind used to bend every bamboo clump, and shade tree, all the birds would fall silent.
If you looked across the Brahmaputra to the hills of Arunachal Pradesh, you would see the continuous lightning going from West to East, and the evening sky with heavy clouds constantly lit up.
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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.
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!
Meet the writer:
Jackie and I really miss the monsoon period in Assam.
Jackie still misses the noise of the bamboo rubbing against each stem in the wind, and the trees whipping around in the wind just before the rain came – also not forgetting the calls of the Koel (Your’e ill) and the Indian Pied Crested Cuckoo (Make more pekoe!).
The build-up of mould on your shoes and clothes! We used to put a small electric heater or light bulb in the wardrobe to keep it with a dry heat. Of course in those days the electric supply was 110V DC – sometimes from the factory, but mostly from a small diesel engine that was situated in an engine house separate from the bungalow, purely for the supply of power for lighting, and punkahs.
The one we had at Nagaghoolie bungalow was located in an engine house about 75 yards away, so if there was any problem at night we would have to go out and walk through the tea with a torch to rectify the fault – usually an airlock in the fuel supply. It was a bit disconcerting walking along in the night to the engine shed as there were still leopards around those gardens in the 1960s, plus the snakes, as always. Naturally, in the monsoons we had to use an umbrella against the rain.
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| The photograph attached shows the Nagaghoolie bungalow, with the daughter of the Crossley engineer who lived there in June/July 1964. This bungalow was demolished not long after, and transported to Rungagora TE, near Tinsukia. It was rebuilt there on the banks of the Dibru River, and Sandy and Dorothy Cowe moved there from Greenwood TE. A few years later, this bungalow was washed away by the Dibru River. Pic by author |
One always thought that you had found them all, but somehow there was always one that managed to get through your Bata boots laces, and it was only when you felt the squelching in your boot that you realised that you had missed one!
The small engine room shed, as mentioned, was about seventy-yards away, and the Lister CS engine (single cylinder, twin flywheels) was supposed to operate on the ‘start-o-matic’ principle. This system had a rather ingenious method of starting the engine when the bungalow lights were switched on, and then when the last light was switched off, the engine would shut down, however, if punkahs were operating in the bungalow the engine would continue to supply power. Needless to say, that did not cover the eventuality of an airlock in the fuel (sometimes caused by a fractured fuel pipe, or running out of fuel in the overhead tank). The disappointment was always quite evident by the expletives shouted when the lights began to dim at these times. Sometimes, the engine, for no particular reason, would pick up and then the lights would start to get brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until we thought the light bulbs would go ‘pop’, but, that gallant little governor in the engine would really take over properly and control the speed again. Or, ‘over control’ and the engine would be in its last gasp. Not particularly good when a monsoon cyclone was in full blast.
“Oh dear (the decent expletive!) we have to go to the engine shed and fix the problem.” I remember once walking through the tea on a pitch black night, a deluge of rain, and wind bending all the shade trees, and bamboo clumps around when I felt something wet and cold jump on to my leg (as normal, men wore shorts). I can tell you that I had a real fright (actually s**t scared!) and wondered what it could be. On shining my torch down I found that I was looking squarely at a tree frog, with those sucker legs. “Thank God for that”, I said, and brushed the little fellow off onto a tea bush – I am very good at understating expletives!!”
There was event that I recall that happened in July 1964 at the Nagaghoolie bungalow.
This particular night, there was a typical monsoon storm (more like a cyclone with a deluge of rain) and we had all gone to bed.
It must have been the middle of the night when there was an almighty flash/bang, and the punkah suddenly threw sparks out and then caught fire, with bits of the windings from the motor dropping on to my bed. As the flash/bang had woken me up, and I'd noticed the embers from the fan, I quickly put out the burning bed sheet with a glass of water. Of course there was no electricity (110v DC) so had to operate with the aid of my torch (which I always kept beside my bed) and had a look outside on the verandah. There was no problem there, so, unpleasant as it was, I went back to sleep.
Later on waking up and going for a shave, I got a shock off the sink taps. On checking outside we could hear the main supports of the bungalow ‘buzzing’ so kept well clear of them.
It was evident that the bungalow had been struck by lightning, so we had to keep away from any part of the bungalow frame. The taps were still giving us mild shocks for two days after the strike.
Finally, one day I was going from Panitola to Hazelbank TE and took the short cut through Nudwa TE from the AT Road. Yet again there was a typical monsoon storm going on, and as I drove my jeep on the garden road, nearing a leaf weighment shed – about a hundred yards away, there was a flash/bang and the weighment shed collapsed, and a nearby shade tree split its trunk, and started smouldering. Hmm, I was glad that I had not been nearer.
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| Somewhere near the Brahmaputra at Oaklands, Upper Assam. Pic by Gowri |
If you looked across the Brahmaputra to the hills of Arunachal Pradesh, you would see the continuous lightning going from West to East, and the evening sky with heavy clouds constantly lit up.
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!
Meet the writer:
'The taps were still giving us mild shocks for two days after the strike.' how was that? lightning discharge is instantaneous and metal frames, taps and pipes do not store charge. Unless there was some defect in the bungalow wiring and the earthing failed allowing the DC to find its way through the metalwork when the diesel set was running.
ReplyDeleteNight thrills - Nagrakata Factory visits at night were always thrilling. About a mile from the Chota Bangla on a dark night the bicycle run down a sloping garden track was thrill a minute. One night a family of leopards appeared in the dim light of my torch and I pedaled as fast as I could. I bet the leopards were as startled but I did not look back to find out and did not stop until I came to the factory panting and grasping for breath. On another occasion the bike wheel hit what I thought was a stout stick - but slowing down saw the very long snake slithering away in the darkness. Lucky me. Snakes have a habit of keeping half their length up in the air - waiting for what?
ReplyDeleteLovely story Alan. I must say that the monsoon is the monsoon, North or South, with the difference being the sounds of the wind and the different bird and animal calls. Leeches aplenty also in the South. . I recall that the year we got married, 1985, Samina and I got marooned on Lower Sheikalmudi Estate for over a week because there were landslides on both roads going out of the group. In one tremendous storm, 1200 trees fell on my estate alone and needless to say all the electric lines came down. Telephones didn’t work anyway. So we used to sit in firelight from the fire places and play chess. She didn’t know how, to begin with and was beating me by the end of it. So, something to enjoy in everything.
ReplyDeleteVery enjoyable reading. I had an electrician open by bungalow fuse box during a power outage in Covercolly Estate, North Coorg. When he opened the box, a dead Vobra and rat fell on him, knocking him off his perch on a stool.
ReplyDeleteBrings back so many, many memories. We had a similar generator in Singampatti (Oothu Estate), it was a Crossley and had a cyclical wheel. When the engine got hot the belt would expand and slip off - usually it was good for one hour after which we used the Aladdin lanterns provided by the Corporation.
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed greatly and took me back to my early tea days in Nagrakata and Ghatia T E when in the monsoons it just poured and poured. Thunder, lightening and heavy rains. Now I miss that awesome weather!
ReplyDelete