Mango Range but no mangoes

by Mirza Yawar Baig

In 1989, I was promoted and transferred from the Anamallais to Assam. I was in two minds about this as the idea of being next door (so to speak) to Kaziranga and Manas National Parks with their rhinos was very attractive. However, after reflection and some very good advice, I declined the posting. I figured that if I went off to Assam, which was about as far as you could get from our corporate office in Chennai, I would be forgotten, and this would have a negative impact on my career. In the corporate world it is important to be physically visible, not only visible through reports. Paradoxically if you are doing well and all your reports have nothing to make anyone concerned, you are not rewarded but forgotten. It is indeed the squeaky wheel that gets the grease, and this is nowhere truer than the corporate world.

This was a trying period because suddenly I had no specific job. I couldn’t complain as it was my own doing. I had to leave my job as the Manager on Lower Sheikalmudi Estate because that job had already been assigned to another colleague. That left me literally homeless as there were no bungalows in the Anamallais where I could live. I was sent off to the Mango Range until the management could decide what to do with me. I was assigned a bungalow on Caroline Estate, located in a forest thicket, which was in a dilapidated condition. The location of the bungalow was lovely, and it was a joy to wake up to bird calls every morning. However, the house itself looked like it would collapse on our heads at any time. Of particular concern were the walls, which were so waterlogged that they had fungus growing on them in huge patches. My wife is an amazing homemaker and all her talents were put to test in this place. Out of this dilapidated house she created a lovely home which we enjoyed living in.

Since I had no regular job, I decided on doing two things: For a long time, I had been talking about the need for systematic training of new managers. The system in the plantations at that time was that a new assistant would be put under a manager and what he learnt or didn’t depended on the capability, interest, and energy of his manager and field or factory officers. If the assistant was lucky and got some people who were both knowledgeable and interested in teaching, then he learnt a great deal. If not, he remained guessing. This is a highly undesirable system, which is very time and energy intensive and does not give standard results. I had been saying for several years that there was a need for a standard textbook on tea plantation management, which could be used to provide standardized training. Any additional inputs that the young man’s manager and staff could give him would only add to this, but he would not be deficient in the basics.

During my stay in Mango Range, I decided to write this book and in 6 months, I produced a 200-page Manual of Tea Plantation Management. At the time of its publication there was no such book on the market, and it was a source of great satisfaction for me. My company published it as an internal training book and though it was never a commercial publication, it did get fairly wide publicity and was used by many new managers. It has since gone out of print and to the best of my knowledge, it has not been reprinted. A big lesson for me was the power of the written word and its high credibility in making your customer base aware of what you have to offer. After that book there was no way that I could be ignored, not that I feared that. I had a lot of people who I had dealt with over the years rooting for me in the company.

The second thing I did was to spend a lot of time in Mango Range factory and hone my expertise in CTC manufacture of tea. I was very fortunate in that Mr. T.V. Verghese, who had retired as a General Manager in Tata Tea and was consulting with our company on manufacture, was a regular visitor and we became good friends. He shared his knowledge freely and I learnt a great deal. He was a practical teacher, which meant that I got to spend a lot of time on my back on the floor meshing CTC rollers with grease anywhere on my face and body that grease would stick. I learnt all aspects of manufacture hands-on further reinforcing my belief that learning comes from doing – not from talking about doing. In Murugalli Estate, I’d had a lot of experience in Orthodox manufacture, and even though I was the Assistant Manager in charge of the Mayura Factory project, the premier CTC factory in South India, I was moved to Paralai Estate as soon as the construction was over.

Consequently, my knowledge of CTC manufacture was weak. In Mango Range, as a student of Mr. T. V. Verghese and thanks to his willingness to teach, I rectified that deficiency. It was ironic that thereafter I went to Ambadi, which was a rubber plantation and never really used this knowledge, but it did come in use for writing a paper comparing Orthodox and CTC methods, which I presented at the UPASI Annual Conference in 1989, thanks to encouragement of Mr. Rawlley. Nikoo was to do this presentation and I had written the paper for him. On the day of the presentation, Nikoo said to me, “My throat is bad, and I think I have lost my voice, so please present the paper.” When you have friends like this, you don’t need enemies. I am being humorous, but he presented me with a challenge and an opportunity. The challenge was that he sprang it on me, but I guess his logic was that since I wrote the paper, how much prior notice did I need? The opportunity was that I could be noticed positively which could only do me good. Nikoo was a dear friend and mentor and we remained in touch until he passed away.

His name was Frank Augustine (I used to call him Frankenstein) and he looked like a dried prawn. But when he swung the club, he always hit the ball with that sweet phut that all golfers love to hear. 

Mango Range was an interlude in my career. I was marking time and waiting for some positive change to happen, and in the meanwhile I enjoyed myself. It has long been my philosophy to live one day at a time and to try to create as much happiness for myself and around me as possible. I have learnt that the two are the same. You can only be happy if those around you are happy. This is true whether you are an individual, an organization, or a country. Imagine what a wonderful world we would have if instead of competing, we collaborated and shared resources. We would all be wealthier, happier, and healthier. I have always held that the secret of happiness is to be thankful for and enjoy the small things in life. There are far many more of them than the big events. If we can enjoy the small things, then we can be happy all the time. The key to enjoyment is to appreciate them and be thankful for them. The key to contentment is not amassing, material but in being thankful for what one has. The happiest people are those who are content. Content people are those who are thankful. Material wealth has nothing to do with it.

One of the things that I was very appreciative of and thankful for was the leisure that I had in Mango Range. I had no specific work except what I decided to do for myself. And I was still getting my salary. I decided to learn to play golf. I got a caddy from Ooty Gymkhana Club (Ooty Gym) to come and stay with me in the estate for three weeks.

His name was Frank Augustine (I used to call him Frankenstein) and he looked like a dried prawn. But when he swung the club, he always hit the ball with that sweet phut that all golfers love to hear. And the ball would travel straight like a bullet down the freeway. Shows that it’s technique and not strength of the arm that works in golf. Also, in many other things in life. My club, on the other hand, would come up with a good measure of earth and top the ball to boot. Frankenstein believed in hard work – meaning, making me work hard. He set up a practice net, produced a set of a hundred used golf balls and we were good to go. I would hit the ball into the net until I felt my arms would drop off. All the while, Frankenstein would sit on his haunches under the Champa tree that was to one side and watch me and make clucking noises.

The effect of all this clucking and my swinging at the ball became clear when one day about midway in our training Frankenstein suggested that we should go and play a round at the club. So off we went on the three-hour drive to Ooty. After a cup of tea and a sandwich, I teed off and that is where all the practice paid off. Ooty Gym has very narrow freeways bordered by spiky gorse. If you didn’t hit your ball straight, you would send it into the gorse and then you may as well forget about it because if you want your ball back, you must pay by leaving your blood and skin on the gorse and acquiring gorse thorn furrows in your hide. As Frankenstein continued his mother-hen act, I could see the distinct improvement in my style and capability.

Another one of my joys while living in Mango Range was the time I got to spend with Mr. Siasp Kothawala and his wife Zarine, at their lovely guesthouse in Masanigudi called Bamboo Banks. Masanigudi is in the foothills of the Nilgiris at the edge of the Mudumalai-Bandipur National Park, so there is a lot of wildlife around. You see a lot of Chital, some Gaur, and some elephant, the latter being dangerous as they are too close to human habitation and often in conflict with people.

I saw a Peregrine falcon hovering in the sky ahead of me. I pulled up to watch it and saw a dove break out of cover from a hedge and head for the safety of the forest flying very fast. The falcon folded his wings and stooped coming down like an arrow out of the heavens. 

Mudumalai is also supposed to be a tiger reserve though I have never seen a tiger in it. The gate of Bamboo Banks was an ingenious contraption. It was a pole, suspended horizontally across the road and had a plastic water container on one end. There was a sign for you to tug on a rope if you wanted to open the gate. The rope was connected to an overhead tank so when you tugged it, water would flow into the plastic can on the pivoted side of the pole, which then went down and lifted the other end. All this happened while you were comfortably sitting in your car. The water would then drain out of a hole in the can and flow into an irrigation ditch and into some fruit trees, closing the gate. Siasp was a tea planter and had worked for the Bombay Burma Tea Company (BBTC). He then went into the tourism business and did very well. We would spend lovely afternoons talking about the tea industry and the general state of the world and drinking tea. Siasp always had an angle to everything, which he would put across in a hilarious and entertaining way.

Siasp also had horses on his farm and having had tea I would take one of the horses and go riding in the buffer zone of Mudumalai National Park. This had its exciting moments and I recall two of the best. One day, late in the afternoon, I was riding out of the farm and into the dry fields that surrounded it before the track entered the bamboo thickets that bordered Mudumalai, when I saw a Peregrine falcon hovering in the sky ahead of me. I pulled up to watch it and saw a dove break out of cover from a hedge and head for the safety of the forest flying very fast. The falcon folded his wings and stooped coming down like an arrow out of the heavens. The dove had almost made it to the forest cover when the falcon hit it in middle of its back with a slap that I could hear where I was sitting on my horse. The dove must have died with the impact, but the falcon bore it to the ground and then holding it in its claws, looked up right and left, its pale yellow eyes scanning the world to challenge any takers. What a magnificent sight that was. The image is engraved in my memory.

As I rode on, I took a path that went along the middle of a forest glade which had scattered clumps of bamboo. After a kilometer or two, the path passed between two very thick and large clumps of bamboo and dipped into a dry stream bed and went up the other bank. I used to like to gallop this stretch and my horse knew the routine. Strangely, on that day as we came near the bamboo clumps my horse shied and stopped and refused to go forward. This was odd behavior, but I have enough experience to know that in the forest your animal is your eyes and ears and you only ignore its signals at your own peril. I listened to the horse and turned around and then took a long and circuitous route to go around whatever it was that was bothering my horse. As we came around, I saw what was bothering him. It was a lone male elephant which was hiding behind the clump of bamboo. Now I have no idea what the elephant’s intention was, but I was not taking any chances. My horse obviously didn’t like the idea of passing close to the elephant and if we had continued on that track, we would have encountered that elephant where the path was the narrowest and where it was bordered and hedged in by the bamboo. In case of an attack, we would not have had any chance to escape. Lone elephants are famous for such attacks. A rather terminal situation which we were happy to have avoided.

On one of those trips to Bamboo Banks, I saw an elephant by the roadside, a little way inside the forest. As this was quite close to the Forest Department’s housing and elephant camp, I thought that it was a tame elephant and decided to take a picture. I had a small box camera at the time in which you were the telephoto – if you wanted greater magnification, you had to go closer to the object. So, I got out of the car and walked almost to the side of the elephant and took a photo. Suddenly I heard someone yelling at me, his voice high pitched in panic. I looked up and there was a forest guard, a good two-hundred meters away, waving frantically at me and yelling at me to get back into the car. Since it is not an offence to get out of your car on the main road in Mudumalai, I was irritated at this man’s insistence but since I already had my picture, I returned to the car. As we drove on and came up to him, the man waved us to a stop and still in an angry voice asked me in Tamil, ‘What do you think you are doing? If you want to die, go do it somewhere else.’

See also https://yawarbaig.com/seewithyourheart/mango-range-but-no-mangoes/

I said to him, ‘Hey man! Relax. What is all this about dying? I was only taking a picture of one of your elephants. Who said I want to die?’ The man said, ‘Our elephants? That was a lone wild tusker that you were standing next to. I have no idea why he let you get that close or why he did nothing. Your lucky day. That is a wild elephant and a lone one at that. Don’t do these stupid things.’ And he went on for a while in the same vein. I was so shocked that I listened in silence. And of course, how can you get angry with someone who is only interested in preserving your life? But I still have the picture, which is very impressive.

Final story here involving my good friend Siasp. Siasp had a very good friend in Mysore who was the Commandant of Police in charge of the Karnataka Armed Reserve Police Mounted Company, called SG Mariba Shetty. https://www.thehindu.com/features/metroplus/society/thoroughbred-tales/article4054508.eceMariba Shetty was known for his high standards and a visit to the stables of the Armed Reserve Police Mounted Company was a delight to say the least. I love the smell of freshly groomed horses and fresh hay. Yes there is the smell of horse dung also but it is a pleasant smell. I spent a lot of my youth grooming horses, because that is how we were taught riding at the AP Riding Club in Hyderabad, by our ex-cavalry Ustaads, Abdul Hameed Khan and Sayeed Khan. Our training was rigorous. You started one hour before it was time to ride by mucking out the stable and grooming your horse. Then you saddled up and you were ready to go. All this was unwritten. Nobody forced you. If you didn’t want to do that and wanted to ride a horse like you ride a motorcycle by just getting on and getting off and handing it to a syce, you could do that. But then you were given the worst nag in the stable. If you wanted to ride the Thoroughbreds or the Kathiawari and Marwari horses, then the unwritten rule was that you showed your readiness by starting with mucking out the stables. Great character building, if you ask me.

To return to Siasp’s story with Mariba Shetty, let me tell you how Siasp told me. “You remember Mariba Shetty? The Mysore Mounted Police Commandant?”

“Yes, I do. What happened to him?”

“I heard that there was a riot during a Dussera procession, and he tried to stop it but was pulled off his horse and killed. I was very sad to hear this. You know he was a great friend of mine. So, I wrote a long letter to his wife, telling her what a wonderful man he was and how much I appreciated our friendship.”

A couple of weeks passed. Then I get a call from Mariba Shetty. He says to me, “Mr. Khotawala, I called to tell you that I am well and that report about my death was wrong. Thank you very much for your letter. I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.” Big lesson in telling people that we appreciate them while they are alive, instead of writing moving obituaries after they are dead. In this case, the man got to read his obituary but in most cases, it is a waste of effort.

Meet the writer: 

'Mirza Yawar Baig. President, Yawar Baig & Associates (www.yawarbaig.com). Business consultant specializing in Leadership Development and Family Business Consulting. Was a planter from 1983-93 in Anamallais and Kanyakumari. Author, mentor, photographer, speaker, inveterate traveler. Working across boundaries of race, religion and nationality to bring hearts together. I was in tea for seven years and in rubber for three. Also planted coffee, cardamom, vanilla and coconut.' 

You can read all Mirza Yawar Baig's stories on this blog here: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Mirza%20Yawar%20Baig 
It's My Life,  Yawar's book, here: http://amzn.to/28JpEC2

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!

The Ssssnake man of Pannimade

by Rajesh Thomas

Prelude : This piece was the first one in which I had put my thoughts on paper - after repeated attempts by three of my close friends to make me write. It was published in my annual family in house magazine “Stars & Sands". Later on, after it got published, I refined the article further and made the end a bit more interesting. 
In case my relatives are wondering if it is the same story, yes it is, but please do read on; the ending is different!!

Let me start with a disclaimer. As much as this story is about snakes, it is also about one of the many fascinating and colorful characters that I have come across in the plantations. This said, many of us have a deep aversion for snakes. Even a lone elephant, late at nights on the motorcycle at has not scared me as much as snakes do. Coincidentally, almost everyone hates snakes but almost everyone has a snake story to relate.

I had just taken charge of an estate named Pannimade (The estate for the most part of the year was perpetually covered in mist and hence the Tamil name “Panni & Medu” meaning mist covered mountain) in the Annamallai hills. It was a very pretty estate comprising of small rolling hills and situated on the banks of the Sholayar dam. Incidentally, when the dam was built, it submerged almost half the estate.

Athirapally falls. Pic from the Native Planet website

On the western side, bordering the estate was the thick verdant evergreen rainforest of Chalakudi which was infested with leeches and elephants. A single track ghat road wound its way down to the plains of Kerala passing by the picturesque Athirapally falls. An interesting feature of this road was that all the  milestones used to be painted black to prevent elephants from uprooting them. Elephants have a deep aversion to the colour white, especially in the dark, including white colour cars.

So there in this estate lived a worker named Thangavelu, whose claim to fame was his expertise at catching any snake, both venomous and non-venomous. Hence he was bestowed the title “Pambu Thangavelu” by his fellow workers.

"Pambu" means a snake in Tamil. I had heard many a tale about him from my colleagues when I had worked in the nearby estates. So after I had moved in, I was keen to meet him and one of the first things I did was to send for him. To my surprise, he was nothing like the snake catchers one sees on National Geographic or Animal Planet. He was an old man in his mid-fifties about five feet eight inches tall, dressed in khaki shorts and cotton shirt with a turban adorning his head.

The Pannimade snake man. He is seen here with a pair of common spectacled  cobras. The photo was taken on the lawn of the Pannimade Assistant managers Bungalow. Pic dated approximately 1992/93,  was taken and sent to me by my first manager Jose Thomas who was posted in Pannimade in those years.

At first sight, one could not discern anything special and it was actually a bit of a letdown as I had expected someone more imposing. As he greeted me politely, I started asking him about snakes. Slowly as the ice was broken I found out that he did indeed know a lot about snakes and their habits. The Field Officer who was with me asked him to catch a snake and show it to me.

I was a bit surprised by the instruction and I was wondering where he would catch a snake all of a sudden. Promptly Pambu Thangavelu disappeared into the tea field telling us to wait for about fifteen minutes. He reappeared after fifteen minutes with a common rat snake demurely coiled around his arm. He very proudly announced that it was a female (which incidentally I had no intention or means of checking, and had to believe his judgment).

The snake actually appeared shy and wouldn’t want to look at any one of us in the eye. And every time it tried to uncoil itself he would gently admonish it in Tamil like saying “Ai enge porai, suma iru” ( where are you going & keep still ) and the snake would obey him immediately. After about ten minutes he let go of the snake and looked beaming at me.It was quite an impressive show put on by the Snake Man and I thought that was the end of the whole thing little realizing that soon I will be witness to a bigger spectacle.

Some days later there was a big commotion in the Factory: a cobra was seen near the workers' restroom. The snake was chased and followed by some of the factory workers into a hole in a stone revetment (a wall made by loose stone rubble without cement to prevent embankments from falling).

Promptly the Snake Man was sent for and he arrived on the scene. Without wasting time the master started to work. He started to dismantle the stones near the hole where the cobra was last seen. Soon enough the cobra's head was seen. Incidentally, I realized that one of the old adages about a snake entering a hole, turning around and withdrawing its body behind was actually true as the cobra was facing the crowd. Now I thought that seeing itself cornered by the crowd, the cobra would lash out and try to escape and I among the crowd was preparing to put on my running shoes.

The crowd of estate workers had obviously seen the master in action, had full faith in him and were watching him confidently without moving from the spot. Then I realized that not only Pambu Thangavelu’s attire and personality was different from what I had seen on the television nature channels, his style of 'catching' was also different. He grabbed hold of a thin stick - the thickness of an average man's little finger - about one and a half feet length (none of the fancy Tongs which we see on television) and admonished the snake in Tamil like a stern schoolmaster admonishing his pupil.

The cobra literally cowered underneath that wisp of a stick and tried to get away. He then casually caught it and dragged it out of its hole. The cobra all the while did not try to be aggressive or try to escape. It was strangely submissive and obeyed him all the time. He kept talking to the snake in Tamil: at times he would admonish it and at times he would talk gently as if talking to a child. I still do not know what effect the talking had on the Cobra as snakes do not have any ears. Then the Snake Man tied a thin coir rope that is commonly called in Tamil as a “sanal kair” to its tail and proudly took it for a walk to the nearest jungle to release it there! The cobra followed him at his heel like a pet dog to the jungle.

After that, I decided that I would put the Snake Man through the ultimate test. The jungles to the west of the estate were supposed to have a sizable population of king cobras so I summoned him and asked him whether he had seen a king cobra and if he could describe it. He replied positively and described it. My next question was could he catch one to show me as I had never seen one. Promptly came the reply, “Yes, give me a few days”.

A few days after that, while I was having lunch I got a phone call informing me that the Snake Man was waiting for me at the Assistant Manager's Bungalow ( which was unoccupied then) with the prize catch - a king cobra. I rushed there and waiting there was the Snake Man holding a king cobra – tied with a string. As usual, as soon as the snake saw us it raised its hood and rose with a hiss. Then the Snake Man reprimanded the snake in Tamil, “Ai Sumu iru, Satham Podathey” ( keep still & don’t make any noise ) and waved his stick and the snake just slunk behind him.

After watching the show for some time we released it back in the jungle. I was also anxious that no damage comes to the snake, as the king cobra comes under the Schedule 1 animal in the endangered list of the forest department. Schedule 1 is the list of animals given the maximum protection and vice versa also the maximum punishment for killing or disturbing it. On the protection list, the king cobra is on the same status as the tiger or the elephant. So killing one you will get the same punishment as for killing a tiger or an elephant.

One thing that struck me was the king cobra that was very unusual  - different from any other snake I have seen. The eyes showed a streak of intelligence - very unusual in a snake. I had also learned that unlike any other snake they build a nest for laying  eggs and watch over the brood till they hatch.

The king cobra I saw measured nine feet nine inches in length. This I learned is only a mid-size king cobra.

It was amazing to watch how a simple illiterate man could know so much about snakes and the ease with which he handled them without any sophisticated tools. He would also dispense medicines to counter bites from poisonous snakes. He called his native medicines as “Pachai elai Vaithiyam” (a mixture of green herbs as treatment). I understood that they acted as powerful purgatory medicines and they possible purged the poison out of the victim’s body. Personally, I had never met anyone he had treated, so I really could not judge their efficacy.

It was interesting to spend some time now and then with the Snake Man learning a bit about the habits of the snakes and how to avoid them. Even now I marvel at the mastery the little man had over the serpents without any special equipment or fuss. Thanks to him I also came face to face with a king cobra at close quarters.

This is a picture from the estate I work on: Korakundah, Nilgiris. The unique feature of this estate is the elevation.The highest tea on the estate is 8,100 feet above sea level.                                                                                                       

The Snake Man had seen numerous Managers and Assistant Managers come and go in Pannimade and many like me were fascinated by him. It so happened that one Assistant in jest asked the Snake Man if snakes made good eating. I don’t remember what the Snake Man’s reply was but promptly that evening he was at the Assistant manager’s bungalow with a fresh rat snake.

This Assistant was taken back in surprise at this sudden gift didn’t know how to respond. He decided that the best thing was to share it with the Assistant in the nearby Malakiparai Estate. So he made the Snake Man clean the rat snake, got it cut into pieces, wrapped them up then jumped onto his motorcycle and he was off to see his pal to share the treat.

The Malakiparai Assistant was apprised of the circumstances and the pros and cons and possible after effects of eating the snake meat was discussed and Dutch courage summoned after a couple of shots of rum, it was decided to go ahead with partaking this slithery snack.

The cook was promptly summoned and given the parcel of meat to be fried. The cook after reaching the kitchen realized what meat it was and came running back to the drawing room and when he realized that the young masters were actually intent on eating the serpent, he thought they had gone insane.

Serious conversation between the cook and the house boy could be heard emanating from the kitchen, discussing the mental health of the Assistants.

Meanwhile, they downed a few more shots of rum awaiting the “snake” (snack).

Finally, the cook came in with the scaly delight and the Assistants promptly helped themselves generously and took the first bite. It didn’t seem too bad so the first plateful vanished swiftly.

It was then they noticed that the cook had not left the drawing room and was standing near the doorway and staring at them in disbelief. A brainwave hit both of them. In unison, they started to flicker their tongues in and out like a snake and rose out of the sofas loudly hissing. At which the cook dropped the empty tray and fled to the kitchen screaming in fear.

And that was the day’s entertainment.

Meet the writer:

  Rajesh Thomas introduces himself:
"A second generation planter. Born and grew up in the planting districts of Southern India. Started my career in the High Ranges and Annamallais Planting Districts for twelve years. Had a stint in Africa for two years. Since 2009 been planting in the Nilgiris.

Read all of Rajesh's stories at this link: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/J.Rajesh%20Thomas

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Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea! 

 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!

Back in the Day – Part X

by Shipra Castledine

It has been a while since my last chapter. I had the good fortune to spend three months holidaying in India so my silence can be excused!

My last chapter stopped at a big holiday spent in Baintgoorie TE with childhood friends and relatives. Soon after that trip my father left Duncans Tea and he moved to Kolkata too. However my days in tea do not end there. I have spent a great many years as part of the tea industry. When my mother and myself moved to Kolkata at the start of 1967 we kind of lost touch with tea people and got busy in our city lives with my being enrolled in Loreto House, Kolkata. What a change it all was! Even after my father moved to Kolkata we somehow did not meet many tea people. There were a few close friends of my parents who were ex tea planters and we would socialise with them but that was about it.

The next time I met a number of tea people was when I was studying in college and we were invited at the last minute to my friend from Rungamuttee TE in the Dooars, Dora Roy’s wedding. My parents and I caught up with the Roys then at the wedding and soon after Tubloo (KK Roy, Dora’s brother) started dropping in at our place. That was 1974. One thing lead to another and Tubloo and I decided to get married. Our parents weren’t hugely enamoured of the idea as both of us were too young, but the families were well known to each other and the marriage happened in 1975.

After a couple of years working for Liptons in Kolkata, Tubloo was offered a job with a tea broking firm, Creswells, with a transfer to Siliguri where tea auctions had started. By this time we had a baby, our elder daughter Pompom (Anupa). Tubloo was ecstatic with the posting as it meant we could go live with his parents PK and Geeta Roy who had retired from Rungamuttee TE and built a house in Bengdubi, near Bagdogra, North Bengal. Times were turbulent in our lives in those years. We soon had another baby, Pixie (Anindita, our second daughter). And we moved to our own place in Siliguri. Whilst in Bengdubi we would sometimes visit Terai Club which was the tea club of the district. The socialising was pleasant in the club though it was not as active as some of the tea clubs in the Dooars. We carried on socialising at Terai Club whilst living in Siliguri.

As Tubloo’s job naturally took him visiting tea estates in the Terai district and the Dooars we became friendly with a lot of tea planters. Now started a time where my daughters got familiar with a tea planter’s life.

How they loved their visits to the tea estates. We would visit Dalsingpara TE and be hosted by Ron and Roma Circar. How they put up with the whole jing-bang lot of us including our major domo Margaret (children’s ayah) I wouldn’t know! We enjoyed our time with them immensely. One of our trips to them resulted in us picking up a gorgeous black Labrador puppy as their well bred Labradors would breed almost every year. In our time with the Circars we got to know Ozzie and Chinny Lobo too. Ozzie was Manager, Dalsingpara TE. All of them were / are wonderful people.

I think this is the driveway to the Manager’s Bungalow, Dalsingpara TE

It would be hard to name how many planters we became friends with. Another bungalow we visited very often was in Leesh River TE. An assistant, Niraj Verma. He was a bachelor in the days we piled on to his bungalow too. He would make us all so comfortable. He would visit us in Siliguri too and I will never forget how much Niraj liked Bengali fish! He would eat Pabda, Bata, Illish and any variety of fish that Bengalis eat with such relish and real love of it. In fact we had a number of non-Bengali friends who would come to our place to have a huge meal of Illish Maacher Shorshe Bata! We gained a reputation for being hospitable and everyone knew we loved to entertain and feed people!

The good fortune of living in Siliguri gave us the delights of being able to travel the mountains around us. Going on day trips to Darjeeling was fairly common. The minute we started climbing the hills we would all feel ravenously hungry, barely being able to wait till we got to Kurseong where we would have a delicious breakfast at the Kurseong Tourist Lodge. We visited many hill stations whilst living in Siliguri. Many parts of Sikkim became familiar as we visited over and over. Kalimpong, always so pretty. The highlight of the mountains was Bhutan. What a country! We were lucky to make 3 trips to Bhutan. A pristine, grand, totally carbon footprint free kingdom. The journey to Thimpu (Bhutan’s capital) from Siliguri was approximately 14 hours. We would drive to Dalsingpara TE and stop over for the night.

The next day we would make the 10 hour drive to Thimpu. We had a big car, a Contessa which was sort of like the old Studebakers. I would fill in the space between the back seat and front seat with suitcases or boxes that would fit snugly in so I could then put a thick blanket over the entire back seat and the suitcases which created a bed for the girls. The first time we travelled up to Thimpu the car just did not want to move up in the Bhutan mountains! Between Phoentsholing, the entry township to Bhutan in the plains and Thimpu there was not a single car garage, petrol station or mechanic! We arrived in Thimpu with the car panting and puffing! And it happened to be a public holiday in Thimpu so not a mechanic available! Well, thankfully one of our friends who accompanied us had some Bhutanese friends. They called on a mechanic and it turned out that we had driven all that vast distance with not a hope of help, on a cracked carburettor cap! It was an adventure for sure!

The road through the Dooars to Bhutan

Above, a typical stretch on the road to Thimpu

Thimpu

We became close to other tea planters who were in the Terai district. One of those families have continued to be my close friends. They were the Ghaffars and Aman Ghaffar was Manager at Hansqua TE that was at Aman’s time owned by a proprietor and not one of the tea agency companies such as Goodrickes or Duncans. The senior Ghaffars, more Aman Ghaffar than Dipi his wife, actually knew my parents when Dad was a tea planter and Aman would have seen me as a child. And then us Roys, Tubloo, my daughters and myself, as a family, got friendly with the senior Ghaffars. I graduated soon to the junior Ghaffars as I was sort of in between age-wise!

We spent many days in each other’s company and those ties in the 1980s have created bonds that have lasted. We share so many memories together that when we get together today the feelings are of familiarity and deep affection. All of us have our life stories but we inherently know each other for what we are. Dipi was from the old style of tea planter wives and her hospitality was outstanding. She and I share a common love of food and her table would be so grand and mouth-watering. And another thing about Dipi is her generosity. Throughout the years when we lived in reasonably close proximity Dipi would drive in to our house in Siliguri from Hansqua TE which was about 20km away and a basket of fresh vegetables from her malibari would be offloaded to us! I can still see the beautiful, just picked cauliflowers, shiny eggplants, young cabbages, radishes and so much more that we would enjoy cooking and eating for days after.

Hansqua TE

 We were truly lucky to enjoy an unpolluted environment with the beautiful tea estates anywhere we looked and that we visited and the quality of produce and food that we availed. I would drive almost 30km to a poultry run by Catholic priests (we knew the priests) and pick up fresh eggs and undressed chickens. On a haat (market) day I would visit mainly Salugara Haat to pick up kilos of the most gorgeous pork we have ever had. I became well known for my pan bbq-ed pork rib chops! They were known by our friends as PC-s! The Illish we have had in Siliguri could rival the best of what you could get in Kolkata!

I will never forget a lunch we had where our dining table was full with more than 10 of us at the table. Lunch went on for a couple of hours as the men (as I mentioned before, non-Bengalis) devoured piece after piece of shorshe illish! Each one of them would have had more than 4 pieces each! I had to cook up fresh rice as they ate so they could keep enjoying the illish maach! Once done with the meal I began slicing chilled langraa mangoes. Oh my God! They went down like our friends had never eaten mangoes before! I had just the day before shopped 5kg of the mangoes. Every one of them was sliced and was polished off! Of course the standard of the mangoes was top class. And I used to rustle up desserts with the most gorgeous fresh cream from an army dairy in Bengdubi! You could say it was quite a life of decadence!

On that salivating note recalling the quality of food we enjoyed in our Siliguri days I leave you till the next chapter.

 Meet the writer: 'My name is Shipra Castledine nee Shipra Bose (Bunty). My parents were Sudhin and Gouri Bose. I am a tea 'baba' of the 1950-s era. I spent a part of my life growing up in the Dooars and another large part of my life married to a tea planter's son the Late KK Roy son of PK and Geeta Roy of Rungamuttee TE in the Dooars. I continued to be in the tea industry for many years as KK was a tea broker till he passed away in 1998.' Shipra recounts her childhood in the Dooars and her school days in Darjeeling in a series called 'Back in the Day' of which Part VII went up in August. Read all Shipra's posts here: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Shipra%20Castledine. 

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! 
If you've ever visited a tea garden or lived in one, or if you have a good friend who did, you would have heard some absolutely improbable stories! You will meet many storytellers here at Indian Chai Stories, and they are almost all from the world of tea gardens: planters, memsaabs, baby and baba log. Each of our contributors has a really good story to tell - don't lose any time before you start reading them!
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. The blog is updated every two to three days. 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/Indian Chai Stories

Teatime in Tajikistan

by Sarita Dasgupta

Anytime is teatime in Tajikistan! I discovered this when I stayed with friends in Dushanbe, the capital of Tajikistan, in September-October 2016. Incidentally, the nation had completed twenty-five years of Independence on 9 September, so Dushanbe was in a celebratory mood. The streets and parks were lit up at night, and I noticed that the colours on their flag were the same as on ours!

At the statue of A.A.Rudaki

Like in the whole of Central Asia, tea is the most popular beverage in the country. Every meal begins and ends with a cup of tea, and the brew is drunk throughout the meal as well. Green tea is known as ‘kabood’ or ‘zeliony chai’ and tea with milk is called ‘shir chai’.

This universal habit of tea drinking is responsible for the tea stalls and stands in places like Hissor Fort which are frequented by locals and tourists alike, and the popularity of the tea house – the ‘choykhana’ – where people gather over cups of tea and snacks like ‘sambusa’ and ‘shashlik’, exchange pleasantries, and watch the world go by.

 Choykhana Rokhat

The oldest ‘choykhana’ in Dushanbe is the open-plan Choykhana Rokhat. It is an attractive place with columns, decorated ceiling and a grand staircase. Tables are set along a gallery which overlooks the main street – Rudaki Avenue. (Here I must mention that this extremely long, central street, as well as a beautiful park located on it, are named after the 9th century CE Tajik poet, Rudaki, considered to be the first great literary genius of the modern Persian language.)

Choykhana Rokhat has an indoor restaurant as well, which has beautifully carved wooden pillars holding up an ornately carved and painted wooden ceiling. Musical evenings are held outdoors in pleasant weather, and sometimes weddings too. I met a retired government official, nattily dressed in a suit, tie and Tajik hat, proudly sporting his decorations, and drinking a leisurely cup of tea with his friends. He was curious to know where I came from, and when told that I hailed from India and that I had spent most of my life on tea estates, he happily took a photograph with ‘the lady from Hindustan who grows tea’! (It would have been too tedious – and probably lost in translation- to explain that the nearest I’d come to growing ‘tea’ was nurturing camellia plants in pots and drums, so I let it pass.)

With a Tajik gent at Choykhana Rokhat

The Choykhana Saodat, also on Rudaki Avenue, is newer and less frequented, I found. Although different from the Choykhana Rokhat, it too has a decorated ceiling with a beautiful chandelier, and a fountain in the front courtyard.

The newest and grandest Choykhana in Dushanbe is the Kokhi Navruz, situated near the Hyatt Regency Hotel on Prospekt Ismoili Somoni. (Somoni was another larger-than-life figure who ruled the area around Afghanistan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan in the 9th century CE. The Tajik currency is named after him.) Kokhi Navruz was recently completed and although the restaurant hadn’t started business when I was there, one could go on a conducted tour of this magnificent building. The decorated ceilings, chandeliers, cupolas with paintings of eminent Tajiks, fountains and lake give it an air of grandeur more in keeping with a palace than a tea house! Although, tea is worthy of being drunk in a palace too!

Choykhana Kokhi Navruz

Interestingly, there is a very popular ‘choykhana’ at the Palais am Festungsgraben in Berlin (Germany) called the Tajikistan Tearoom. After being displayed in the Soviet Pavilion at the Leipzig Fair in 1974 (when Tajikistan was The Tajik Soviet Socialist Republic and still a part of the Soviet Union) it was donated to the Society for German-Soviet Friendship and moved to its present location.

Tea drinking is a centuries-old practice around the world. It has a rich history and, in many countries, it is steeped in tradition. In the Central Asian countries like Tajikistan, tea is more than just a drink that quenches thirst – it is a basic necessity! They believe that “teatime doesn't end when the pot is empty; you carry it in your heart.”

Lunchtime is tea time!

Meet the writer:

"As a ‘chai ka baby’ (and grandbaby!) and then a ‘chai ka memsahab’, I sometimes wonder if I have tea running through my veins! 

I have been writing for as long as can remember – not only my reminiscences about life in ‘tea’ but also skits, plays, and short stories. My plays and musicals have been performed by school children in Guwahati, Kolkata and Pune, and my first collection of short stories for children, called Feathered Friends, was published by Amazing Reads (India Book Distributors) in 2016. My Rainbow Reader series of English text books and work books have been selected as the prescribed text for Classes I to IV by the Meghalaya Board of School Education for the 2018-2019 academic session, and I have now started writing another series for the same publisher.

Have you read all of Sarita's stories on this blog?
Click here:  https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Sarita%20Dasgupta

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. 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/Indian Chai Stories