When you hear a good tea story, you always want to tell one of your own!! I read Indi Khanna's story and my mind flew back to 1986, when 'reception' referred to one thing only - television!
by Indi Khanna
Prefaced with an advance apology to Mac. Some literary licence having been taken, never any offence meant!
1984. Upper Assam. I was at that time the Mistry Sahib (Factory Assistant) on Rajah Ali Estate.
Other than the fact that the Burra Sahib would at regular intervals shake one up with some "earth shattering" issue or other (earth shattering as defined in 'his' book), those were blissfully peaceful days. Peaceful to the extent that the only 'idiot box' we'd ever encountered was the one constructed with good quality timber, firmly lodged between the ears of at least a couple of the venerated gentlemen who made up the planting community.
And then the powers that be went and shattered our serene existence and disrupted our club life (the very centre of our existence) by taking a giant leap towards development by plonking the first TV repeater tower across the Lohit river in Arunachal Pradesh. The upshot was that club evenings ended up with only a couple of die-hards perched on their bar stools having an animated conversation with the bar man, while the rest had all but disappeared from the scene, at home and glued to their respective idiot boxes.
On days when the avid TV watchers did venture out, the first question each one would ask the other as soon as they stepped into the club was 'how was your reception today?'
Not that there was much that those folk were watching which would excite anyone with even an ounce of grey matter, because the only response to this all important question was a 'wow' or words to that effect - and then on the odd day, 'today my reception was in colour'. Which simply translated into the fact that instead of staring at the usual black & white blizzard on the screen, the snowflakes on that particular day had been viewed in all the colours of the rainbow.
Major excitement which kept the whole of Upper Assam agog for the better part of a year!
A year later, returning from our annual leave, we were driving back to Assam from Delhi. Since we had the whole back seat of our trusted Ambassador free, and having been told of the major development in entertainment in Assam, my sister gifted us with a 21" Niki-Tasha colour TV set. We did actually require the whole of the back seat of the car for the 21" because the cabinet for the TV was about the size of a very large fridge. And so, duly hemmed into the Ambassador with this monster, we happily took the usual five day drive back to the estate from Delhi. On arrival in Rajah Ali, the new acquisition was duly placed in one corner of our bedroom.
To bring the system to life, the very next morning the factory head fitter, Naranjan Singh, a wonderful Sikh gentleman who managed to keep the factory running with sheer ingenuity and common sense was given the task of installing the TV antenna in the bungalow backyard. Ever tried to lift up a 20' length of lead piping with some weight at one end, from the horizontal to the vertical position? If you haven't, I can tell you from experience that it's not quite the most easy or pleasant of tasks. The installation took on the air of a rather complex military operation.
Accompanied by a barrage of screaming and shouting of instructions, a number of times the pipe with many pairs of strong hands working at it rose to about a 45 degree angle to only land back on the lawn with a thud. Three times, when coming back to terra firma during the operation, the antenna lost one prong or the other from its cluster. Since we had no gas welding equipment on the estate, each time it broke, N.Singh would hop on to his scooter and head off to Duliajan, the closest 'town' to Rajah Ali. Each trip resulted in the antenna coming back more and more misshapen and with extra bits and pieces of aluminium welded on to hold it together.
Regardless and with shouts of achievement we finally had our antenna, atop one full length of 1" piping, lording over the Rajah Ali Mistry sahib's bungalow.
The antenna having been duly plugged into our Niki Tasha, surrounded by the whole gang of artisans and workers who had been instrumental in getting it up, when the idiot box was switched on you could have knocked all of us down with a feather - because what we got on our screen was an almost crystal clear picture in full blown Technicolor. Not the signs of an impending blizzard which others in the district had been 'enjoying' all those months, but an honest to goodness actual TV picture. Much excitement all around followed by tea and samosas for the large gang of achievers!
In course of time word got around that the district had been blessed with a TV which actually 'worked'! Which - not that this required any prompting - led to an acceleration in what is the usual evening social practice in all planting communities, with many friends and colleagues dropping in to Rajah Ali to spend the evening with us, with the added excitement of watching 'Chitrahar' on our fully operational Niki Tasha.
About a fortnight into all this excitement Mac (Mr R.S.Makoll, the Executive Director of Warrens) whose bungalow was about 10Km away on Deohall Estate, decided to bless us with a factory visit. The hour long visit went along totally predictable lines – that nothing at all was up to the mark in the factory. Which berating all Mistry Sahibs simply took in their stride since nothing ever was up to the mark in any factory.
As we stepped out of the factory into the tasting room Mac casually puts an arm around my shoulder, and shifting from English to Punjabi, mentions that he has heard through the grapevine that the TV in my bungalow is functioning in the manner which TVs are designed to and that would it be possible for us to go across to check it out.
Which we did. I obviously had no answer as to why our TV should be behaving itself. And so, having checked out everything including the location and the installation of the antenna, Mac wanted to know who had been responsible for its installation, which led to my being requested to despatch N.Singh to Deohall to wave his magic wand on the E.D.'s bungalow entertainment system.
Next morning N.Singh's Kamjari (task) was to head off to Deohall with a couple of jugalis (helpers) to do his bit.
This was on a Monday. Come Thursday, by which time my CTC rollers had to be changed and a whole lot of other minor issues had to be attended to, I could still see no signs of the gentleman. The line chowkidar (the watchman responsible for ensuring that the factory personnel were on duty) being asked why the Head Fitter was AWOL, told me that as had been happening since Monday, Singh had headed off to Deohall with his jugalis in tow.
I was livid at the fact of one day's work having been stretched into four, and so promptly hopping on to my bike I got to the E.D.'s bungalow in Deohall. Having got the watchman there to find and get hold of the Rajah Ali fitter, I saw N.Singh walk out with an ear to ear grin, looking pleased as punch. I, needless to say, waded into the hapless soul, taking him to task for him having been missing all these days. N.Singh's response being that instead of me blowing my top, would I like to come to the rear of the bungalow to understand why.
Walking across to the bungalow backyard, what I saw left my jaw hanging. In front of me was progeny the parent in Paris would have been proud of, a scaled down replica of the grand Eiffel Tower rising about 20/25' from the ground. At the top of our very own mini Eiffel Tower was a 20' lead pipe with a TV antenna perched on the top.
Closer inspection showed that the pipe was housed in a large ball bearing and had two prongs attached to the pipe to make a handle, much like a submarine periscope which one had seen in movies, to rotate the antenna to catch transmission airwaves from whichever direction they happened to find their way into the Deohall bungalow backyard.
Finally finding my voice I had only one question for N.Singh – "WHY?"
His response, which I simply adore, has stayed with me all these years. "Makoll Sahib said that if that factory assistant can have an antenna 20' up, mine has to be at least twice that height!"
The post script to L'affaire รก la Eiffel – Regardless of the 'periscope' being rotated every which way thorough 360 degrees, the only thing Mac and Dinda (Lovely Mrs Makoll) ever got to see was the usual 'Upper Assam Blizzard' - albeit, once in a while in full blown colour!
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!
Meet the writer:
With an industry experience and a tea knowledge base of four and a half decades and counting, I literally live and breathe tea.
Starting my career in 1975 as an Assistant Superintendent with Malayalam Plantations Ltd, rolling up my sleeves by 'dirtying' my hands at the grassroots level and having literally 'grown' in the business, my experiences have matured me into a ‘one of a kind’ unique entity in the industry.
My journey which literally starts from the tea nursery and stretches all the way up to the consumer shelf, is in many ways unique. Regularly roaming the tea world, delving into the most remote areas wherever tea is grown or consumed, constantly interacting with Tea folk, I have always been learning and innovating. The invaluable experiences along this very interesting route have culminated into a unique new venture, a one-of-a-kind specialty tea manufacturing facility unit in the Nilgiris - www.teastudio.info.
My life has been and continues to be blessed.
Thankfully this very interesting Tea journey continues as an ongoing learning experience.
by Indi Khanna
Prefaced with an advance apology to Mac. Some literary licence having been taken, never any offence meant!
1984. Upper Assam. I was at that time the Mistry Sahib (Factory Assistant) on Rajah Ali Estate.
 |
| All pix by Indi Khanna |
 |
| Tingrai Club |
On days when the avid TV watchers did venture out, the first question each one would ask the other as soon as they stepped into the club was 'how was your reception today?'
Not that there was much that those folk were watching which would excite anyone with even an ounce of grey matter, because the only response to this all important question was a 'wow' or words to that effect - and then on the odd day, 'today my reception was in colour'. Which simply translated into the fact that instead of staring at the usual black & white blizzard on the screen, the snowflakes on that particular day had been viewed in all the colours of the rainbow.
Major excitement which kept the whole of Upper Assam agog for the better part of a year!
 |
| Lohit Valley 1988 |
To bring the system to life, the very next morning the factory head fitter, Naranjan Singh, a wonderful Sikh gentleman who managed to keep the factory running with sheer ingenuity and common sense was given the task of installing the TV antenna in the bungalow backyard. Ever tried to lift up a 20' length of lead piping with some weight at one end, from the horizontal to the vertical position? If you haven't, I can tell you from experience that it's not quite the most easy or pleasant of tasks. The installation took on the air of a rather complex military operation.
Regardless and with shouts of achievement we finally had our antenna, atop one full length of 1" piping, lording over the Rajah Ali Mistry sahib's bungalow.
The antenna having been duly plugged into our Niki Tasha, surrounded by the whole gang of artisans and workers who had been instrumental in getting it up, when the idiot box was switched on you could have knocked all of us down with a feather - because what we got on our screen was an almost crystal clear picture in full blown Technicolor. Not the signs of an impending blizzard which others in the district had been 'enjoying' all those months, but an honest to goodness actual TV picture. Much excitement all around followed by tea and samosas for the large gang of achievers!
In course of time word got around that the district had been blessed with a TV which actually 'worked'! Which - not that this required any prompting - led to an acceleration in what is the usual evening social practice in all planting communities, with many friends and colleagues dropping in to Rajah Ali to spend the evening with us, with the added excitement of watching 'Chitrahar' on our fully operational Niki Tasha.
About a fortnight into all this excitement Mac (Mr R.S.Makoll, the Executive Director of Warrens) whose bungalow was about 10Km away on Deohall Estate, decided to bless us with a factory visit. The hour long visit went along totally predictable lines – that nothing at all was up to the mark in the factory. Which berating all Mistry Sahibs simply took in their stride since nothing ever was up to the mark in any factory.
As we stepped out of the factory into the tasting room Mac casually puts an arm around my shoulder, and shifting from English to Punjabi, mentions that he has heard through the grapevine that the TV in my bungalow is functioning in the manner which TVs are designed to and that would it be possible for us to go across to check it out.
Which we did. I obviously had no answer as to why our TV should be behaving itself. And so, having checked out everything including the location and the installation of the antenna, Mac wanted to know who had been responsible for its installation, which led to my being requested to despatch N.Singh to Deohall to wave his magic wand on the E.D.'s bungalow entertainment system.
Next morning N.Singh's Kamjari (task) was to head off to Deohall with a couple of jugalis (helpers) to do his bit.
This was on a Monday. Come Thursday, by which time my CTC rollers had to be changed and a whole lot of other minor issues had to be attended to, I could still see no signs of the gentleman. The line chowkidar (the watchman responsible for ensuring that the factory personnel were on duty) being asked why the Head Fitter was AWOL, told me that as had been happening since Monday, Singh had headed off to Deohall with his jugalis in tow.
I was livid at the fact of one day's work having been stretched into four, and so promptly hopping on to my bike I got to the E.D.'s bungalow in Deohall. Having got the watchman there to find and get hold of the Rajah Ali fitter, I saw N.Singh walk out with an ear to ear grin, looking pleased as punch. I, needless to say, waded into the hapless soul, taking him to task for him having been missing all these days. N.Singh's response being that instead of me blowing my top, would I like to come to the rear of the bungalow to understand why.
Walking across to the bungalow backyard, what I saw left my jaw hanging. In front of me was progeny the parent in Paris would have been proud of, a scaled down replica of the grand Eiffel Tower rising about 20/25' from the ground. At the top of our very own mini Eiffel Tower was a 20' lead pipe with a TV antenna perched on the top.
Closer inspection showed that the pipe was housed in a large ball bearing and had two prongs attached to the pipe to make a handle, much like a submarine periscope which one had seen in movies, to rotate the antenna to catch transmission airwaves from whichever direction they happened to find their way into the Deohall bungalow backyard.
Finally finding my voice I had only one question for N.Singh – "WHY?"
His response, which I simply adore, has stayed with me all these years. "Makoll Sahib said that if that factory assistant can have an antenna 20' up, mine has to be at least twice that height!"
The post script to L'affaire รก la Eiffel – Regardless of the 'periscope' being rotated every which way thorough 360 degrees, the only thing Mac and Dinda (Lovely Mrs Makoll) ever got to see was the usual 'Upper Assam Blizzard' - albeit, once in a while in full blown colour!
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:
 |
| Indi Khanna with Xerox |
Starting my career in 1975 as an Assistant Superintendent with Malayalam Plantations Ltd, rolling up my sleeves by 'dirtying' my hands at the grassroots level and having literally 'grown' in the business, my experiences have matured me into a ‘one of a kind’ unique entity in the industry.
My journey which literally starts from the tea nursery and stretches all the way up to the consumer shelf, is in many ways unique. Regularly roaming the tea world, delving into the most remote areas wherever tea is grown or consumed, constantly interacting with Tea folk, I have always been learning and innovating. The invaluable experiences along this very interesting route have culminated into a unique new venture, a one-of-a-kind specialty tea manufacturing facility unit in the Nilgiris - www.teastudio.info.
My life has been and continues to be blessed.
Thankfully this very interesting Tea journey continues as an ongoing learning experience.
Very nice! Although your technicalities quite went over my head, my husband had a jolly good laugh. Apparently, such contraptions were the order of the day then and hugely effective too!
ReplyDeleteThoroughly enjoyed your story, expressed wonderfully, particularly as I am acquainted with the gentleman in the tale.
ReplyDeleteHa ha, what a delightful tale. Television hadn't come to the Estates when I left in 1980 but later in Kodaikanal we all had TV antennas on our rooftops to catch Sri Lanka television. That was excellent - we got to see Knight Rider and some other entertaining programmes but, best of all, WIMBLEDON tennis!!
ReplyDeleteThe Kodaikanal transmitter came in 1985. The first Wimbledon was Beckers first as a seventeen year old.
DeleteThe southern planting districts in Tamilnadu had the luck to get TV reception from both Doordarshan and the Sri Lankan national channel Roopavahini. While Roopavahini was streets ahead of our Doordarshan in terms of programming with the latest English cartoons, sitcoms and serials and was the preferred channel, everyone liked to watch Chitrahaar on Fridays and the movies on Sundays. This resulted in the antenna getting adjusted every weekend by the bungalow servants, while someone gave directions from inside the bungalow watching the television sets. So the ingenious factory black smiths designed the handle with the ball bearing so that the antenna can be turned to which ever direction by simply cranking the handle at the base.
ReplyDeleteLater on it became the status symbol for the seniors to own two sets of antenna one for Doordarshan and one for Roopavahini.
As Mr.Khanna says television became the first step in killing the social life in Planting and later on the process was completed by the advent of the VCRs and satellite television.
As VCRs came it became the responsibility of the junior Assistants to record the TV shows for the seniors when they went on leave.
What a delightful anecdote! Really enjoyed it !
ReplyDeleteMy first encounter with a TV - believe it or not, that was the first time I even saw one - was in 1985 when thanks to the Asian Games (India hosted them in 1982), color TVs came to the Anamallais. We would go to Taher and Bibs, in Sheikalmudi Manager's bungalow to watch one program or another followed by delicious Hyderabadi dinner. God bless all planters. There was never a question of being palmed off with tea and biscuits anywhere. One of my most memorable evenings was watching Boris Becker win the Wimbledon on July 17, 1985. For those of you who are impressed with my memory - I just looked that up on Google, which of course knows everything. TV and as Indi rightly says, VCRs were th death of club life. Mercifully, because we had tennis and golf at the Anamallai Club, people would still come. So also for any events, but the end was nigh and it happened sooner than later. As I keep reminding myself, the difference between a planting job and any other job on the face of the planet is that the former was a lifestyle; not a job. When that changed, then everything changed.
ReplyDeleteGreat story. I am intrigued that the Factory Assistant was called a "Mistry" in Assam. That would never happen in South India. Covenanted Staff were always Manager or Assistant Manager. A "Mistry" was really a Supervisor in the field. Many thanks for the story.
Interesting read. Fascinating study in human nature. In my time there was no TV and I assembled my own valve radio and HiFi amplifier to keep me entertained in the evenings when the factory generator was switched on. We also spent our weekends at the Nagrakata Club.
ReplyDeleteNice story Indi - I have advised two of my ex-tea (Rajah Ali and Deohall) friends to have a deko - one, Ian Marchant whose father 'Dickie' Marchant was the Assistant Manager at Rajah Ali in 1960, and the other, Peter Bartlett, was at Balijan and Deohall in the 1960s. Bohut salaams. Alan
ReplyDeleteThoroughly enjoyed the story. Thanks.
ReplyDelete