by Conrad Dennis
Any tea aficionado will proudly exalt the many types of tea and emotively describe their brightness, briskness and strength. I’ve penned a few anecdotes about the equally strong and bright men who, like tea, possess unique character… men behind the cup that cheers.
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| May what I do flow from me like a river. Moments of solitude |
My attempt at writing is primarily to inject a sense of humour into a profession that at best demands a tremendous amount of hard work under extremely trying conditions by a dedicated band of men and their wives (who are an indispensable part of the tea canvas). To the non-tea populace it is difficult to comprehend the effort that goes into curating their daily cuppa.
To start at the very beginning… which as the song goes “is a very good place to start”.
One of the primary requisites for a prospective Duncan Planter was a clean bill of health from Dr C.K.M Thacker, the Company “Chief Medical Officer”. After clearing the interviews and armed with a letter from Duncan House I found my way to Hindustan Building on Chittaranjan Avenue. The imposing edifice reeked of heritage and the cage lift embodied it. There were no buttons, just a semi-circular burnished brass appendage akin to an old fan regulator. I was sure the wizened old operator predated it. One look at the file in my hand and he just clanged both the collapsible gates shut and we rattled up. He stopped on the fourth floor and let me out with a supercilious look that seemed to say, remember… I brought you up!!!!
The receptionist gave my letter a cursory glance (she possibly recognised the letterhead and guessed the contents). I was ushered into a large airy room to be greeted by a gentleman who was short, rotund with horn rimmed glasses and a clipped British accent. He was just an amazing blend of Billy Bunter and a character straight out of P.G Woodhouse.
I was told to strip and he conducted a very thorough examination, at the end of which I was told to stand in the “on your marks” position as if poised for a 100-yard dash. A gloved hand then reached down and cupped me not too gently from behind and he said “cough”. I was getting dressed when he was finishing off a similar examination on an overzealous lad who mistook “cough” for “off” and leapt eagerly forward…. They were still rubbing him with ice cubes when I left for Harrington Nursing home for my chest X ray. I cross checked with Mr Krupa David and Mr Navin Huria and they both confirmed that nothing had changed since the late 60’s. How’s that for consistency?
One of the many colonial throwbacks is the children’s Christmas party, looked forward to by one and all. The clubhouse would be dressed up with balloons and decorations, the Christmas tree in a place of prominence with a brightly lit star on top. The goodies - all prepared by the District ladies - were simply scrumptious.
Every yuletide one hapless Assistant was cornered into becoming Santa and he would be driven to the club on a festooned mode of transport which could range from a jeep to a bullock cart and anything in between (a far cry from the reindeer and sleigh we read about in all Christmas tales).
The year was '83 and my friend Kevyn David from Matelli was shanghaied by his Bara Memsahib to be Santa for the Chulsa Polo Club party. Traditionally, to bolster the surrogate Santa for the ordeal ahead he was plied with the better part of a bottle of “Honey Bee” brandy…neat. This helped lighten the load of a sack of toys and dealing with a hoard of children of all ages. The more mischievous would tug, poke and pull at the hapless Santa (this made a few of his Ho Hos cries of discomfort not joy).
By the time Kevyn reached the club house he was so high he could have just reached out and touched the North Pole.
Traditionally Santa had to engage the children in light banter before handing over the gifts which I would pull out of the bag one by one and hand him while calling out the name of the child. Santa in his enthusiasm went a step further and with a “Hic and a holler” wanted to kiss the kids (the younger of whom were in their mother’s arms). It could have been the alcohol fumes or just his persona but each and every little one burst out crying. Kevyn, not one be out done, yelled above the cacophony, "If I can’t kiss the babies, I want to kiss the mummies!"… I had to drop the bag of gifts and restrain Kevyn from making good his threat. There were deliberations on whether to scrap Santa or get Kevyn to stay on for a few more Xmases… the more sensible said let’s just water down the brandy next year. It then made sense as to why generally bachelors were the chosen ones. There was no Mrs Claus to post mortem the poor man’s performance (!!!) once the party was over in both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word.
With Sam Sing having been sold I rode off, not into the sunset but to Hantapara Tea Estate in Dalgaon District to be part of Mr Somraj Kocchar’s team. Little did I know that after a few months with him I would wish I had joined the army or taken up something more restful like becoming a lion tamer.
He was one of the most knowledgeable people I have met in all my years in tea. He had a tenacity and an innate ability to spend nights in the factory or hours in the field till he resolved the problem at hand. His expertise covered field, factory, Accounts and labour laws to a level that left one in awe and admiration. He had the most enviable command of the English language and even his charge sheets were literary masterpieces which took a while to explain to the errant worker “in a language he understands”. He could prune a bush better than the best pruner using a 3” folding knife and his speed, standard and style of plucking was amazing. He was a perfectionist and expected all in his team to measure up to his exacting standards. We all fell short in some area or the other.
He had the habit of driving up to the section at 2.30 in the afternoon just when you were planning to get back for lunch and he would put his foot on the mudguard of his jeep and say, "The bush under the Albizzia in the north of the section is not flushing freely…Why??”
He was checking: did you know north? did you recognise the shade tree? could you tell that there was a pest called thrips which caused a bush to have a supressed growth? He was a task master and I learned a tremendous amount from him about tea but more importantly I learnt what he didn’t propound or tolerate: that you could get a lot more out of a person or a team with a little understanding and compassion and by being fair and firm. Even if you go strictly by the book oftentimes one needs to read between the lines and if you don’t you kind of lose the plot. It is then that the lines get blurred between being disciplined and dogmatic.
Apparently even the cows in the tea area did the disappearing act at the sound of his jeep.
The Senior Assistant was an equally tough task master. He sat me down one evening after work and told me that he didn’t know the meaning of fear, he didn’t know the meaning of compromise, he didn’t know the meaning of quitting, he didn’t know the meaning of weakness. In fact, he didn’t know the meaning of so many words that I was tempted to buy him a dictionary for his birthday which was the following month. He is an amazing planter and we remain good friends.
To quote John Milton, "They also serve who only stand and wait" ...on us,
hand and foot, caring for us and cooking for us. This is to acknowledge a
man who was my veritable Jeeves.
It was in Hantapara that our old house help Babu Khan who had been with our family when I was growing up, expressed his wish to come and take over domestic charge of my bungalow. He was an amazing cook and I readily agreed. Babu Khan arrived on a train one cold wintry evening and the days of warm plates and excellent food for the first week of the month began (following that, money ran out, and thereafter was the start of the most innovative culinary preparations of potatoes, eggs and whatever seasonal vegetables were available in the Mali Bari for the rest of the month). My colleagues DK Arora, Darvesh and Arjun were regular visitors only during those first weeks.
A few months later I drove down to Kolkata for what is termed “long leave”. I made the most of the holiday catching up with friends and the latest in entertainment. It was at a Navy Ball in the Park Hotel one evening when I met Brenda (an ex La Martiniere, Lucknow lass whom I was meeting again after the last “inter Martiniere” meet many years earlier) and to cut a long story short, she was crowned the “Navy Queen” … I proposed before returning to the Estate and we got married in February the following year. Babu Khan was at the wedding keeping an eagle eye on the gifts and generally feeling proprietary about the whole show.
On the way back we travelled in a coupe on the Darjeeling Mail with Babu Khan on the same train. At six am the next morning we were awakened by a peremptory knock on our door accompanied by loud argument. I opened the door and found Babu Khan standing outside with two steaming earthenware pots of tea balanced on a very battered tin tray. The poor Chai Walla was screaming to get his tray back so that he could peddle his tea to others before the train pulled out of the station. Babu Khan would have none of it and was futilely explaining that it would be sacrilege to serve tea to his Sahib without a tray.
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PH
Bungalow-isolated- between two rivers and backed by a forest.
Electricity from one small temperamental genset with a fixed quota of
diesel... candlelit dinners lost their romantic appeal
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Things were a little like a Hindi soap once we got home, with Babu Khan discouraging Brenda from coming into the kitchen, wooing her with promises that he should just be told what to cook and for how many people and
voila, enjoy the meal. She would have none of it and since we have now been happily married for the last thirty-five years no guessing who bit the dust back in the day.
I have to confess though, that sometime past our fifth anniversary Brenda wistfully said that she wished Babu Khan was with us… she would happily abdicate the kitchen to him and enjoy her independence.
Mohan and Gowri visited us in Hantapara in ’86 and I think Gowri would disagree with the likening of Babu Khan to “Jeeves”. With his tall, gaunt look, beaky nose and white jacket just beginning to fray at the sleeves he was more akin to a character from Adams family, his whole demeanour seemed to say … I’m at home and wish you were too.
Some of us are not luminous but are good conductors of light…
Mr Jogesh Biswas was a success story at Kilcott Tea Estate in the early 50’s. He had worked diligently over the years and reached the coveted and powerful position of Head Clerk or “Bara Babu”. Mr K.J. Perry (the Manager at that time) was an avid investor and when Jogesh Babu was told to send a telegraphic request to buy 100 shares, (trusting his Bara Sahib’s financial acumen), two telegrams would be sent and he would buy ten shares for himself… and so on.
Over a period of time he had a reasonable number of shares in Kilcott tea Company and even attended one of the AGM’s in Kolkata. A definite first in that era that must have raised a few eyebrows and caused a few stiff upper lips to quiver in the panelled meeting hall. What is wonderful is that his son in law Bacchu was initially a Duncan planter who retired from Lakhipara and his grandson Abhijit Raha joined Duncans and rose to became the Manager of Kilcott…connecting the dots from generation to generation with pride and accomplishment.
As we live through one of the most trying times in human history let us develop the ability to look into a puddle and see beyond the mud, find happiness and peace in little thing, connect with friends and family with whom we have lost touch. I am confident that we shall overcome.
Stay strong and stay safe… remember even the worst day has just 24 hours.
Meet the writer:
Conrad
Dennis is a professional with over 39 years of experience in the
plantation sector. He has worked in Darjeeling, North Bengal and Assam
and has headed a team setting up new tea estates and a factory in
non-conventional areas of the Dooars. He oversaw the production and
profitability of the Amalgamated Plantations Tea Estates in North Bengal
and the Packaging. Division. He also is the Editor of the APPL
Foundation’s E- Journal “Organic Growth” which seeks to connect organic
Entrepreneurs and share the innovations and benefits of a shift to
Organic Agriculture.
Conrad
is on the Institutional review Board of the Tata Cancer Hospital
(Kolkata) and is part of the Ethics team that clears any Research and
trials on treatment and drugs that seeks to control/cure the dreaded
disease.
After
having retired as General Manager of Amalgamated Plantations he has
moved to the social sector and is the COO of Mission Smile a Medical NGO
that conducts free Compassionate Comprehensive Cleft and palate
Surgeries to underprivileged children throughout the country and on
Missions abroad.
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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!
