Tea Tales & Chotta Sahibs

by Inder Nain

The endless carpet of dark green tea under the dappled shade of the Albizia Chinensis gave way in places to patches of natural forest... My escapes into these little gardens of Eden were always a delightful respite

I joined a Dooars tea estate in the spring of 1986. It was ruled by a grand old Burra sahib. Only, I discovered to my dismay there was little 'grand' and  a lot of 'old' about the Burra Sahib...he was soon to retire.

Be that as it may, I was only allowed into his presence three days after my arrival at the estate. He grunted a welcome in response to my “Good evening, Sir”. I saw little of him after that - to my relief.

In any case I was busy making sense of this mesmerizing world I had stumbled upon. It was lush & green & humid and abuzz. I was “Chotta Sahib” in charge of 200ha of tea and over 500 workers and their lives. Cycling to work at the break of dawn with the “cucku cuckoo” of the Indian cuckoo in my ears and the responsibility of putting 500 often belligerent workers to task weighed heavy on my mind.

The grass was green & wet from the night’s downpour, the sun shone through the trees in misty rays, branches hung low with weight of the moisture. The air, pregnant with designs for the day. I was often amazed, even excited at times but always a little scared. Took a deep breath and pedalled on, noticed a little, learning a lot.

The endless carpet of dark green tea under the dappled shade of the Albizia Chinensis gave way in places to patches of natural forest, where droves of “greeners” nested in a large oak, the silk cotton trees reached for the sky and alien gulmohur added colour to the greenery. My escapes into these little gardens of Eden were always a delightful respite.

The Jaldhaka river ( pix from https://mysticdooars.com/jaldhaka )

I learnt of the workers separated by race & tribe. The giggle of the young Adivasi maidens was, compared to the continuous chatter of the Nepalese damsels, a different rhyme, and my young heart did flutter at times!

If one thing described the reign of the new Burra Sahib it was 'procrastination' of  a mind-numbing scale

Time rolled on, and I moved from the bicycle to the motorcycle. The Old Man’s gruffness & grunts gave way to the unending drone of the new incumbent.

If one thing described the reign of the new Burra Sahib it was 'procrastination' of  a mind-numbing scale. He firmly believed, 'When something could be delayed to tomorrow it should never be attempted today'. His dithering delays were never more apparent than at times when Burra Babu confronted him with a cheque to be signed, payment for some unfortunate supplier.

He started out with feigned gusto but soon got stuck on the upright of the 'K' (his first initial). He scribbled and scratched on the K for so long it tore right through the cheque. At the first sign of distraction he flung the cheque book aside, "Burra Babu let’s do this later". The poor supplier would have to feed his children another day!

It was time for my annual leave, in fact it had been time for about twelve months, but the man just wouldn’t give me a firm answer.

"You can go after the pruning!!" he would say.

When that came around, "Go after the LP plucking!" ...and so on & on it went.

I kept up the badgering however, and he finally snapped, "Go today".

"Thank you, sir", I said and left.

The only ticket I could manage was a 'waiting' in the 2 tier AC of the Tinsukhia mail that night. When I reached NJP Rly Station, the train was 3 hrs late. Waiting on the mosquito infested platform, I met another hapless young planter in a similar predicament. We would be 'humsafars' on this journey; relief was writ large on both our faces.

Together we managed to push through the throngs as the train arrived and we reached our bogie. We heaved a sigh of relief in the AC as we took up position in the aisle and sat down on our suitcases. The train soon pulled out of the station to our greater relief, and we believed we had made it. To hell with the 'sleepers we would manage very well in the comfort of the AC, it was only a day & a half after all! But that was not to be….

We soon forgot our discomfort; chutti blues were sinking in 

The man in the black coat and stained white pants was soon upon us.

He checked our tickets& shouted back, "Yeh to baiting hai. Aap bahar niklo!"

Our pleas for help had little effect - never realised that an INR20 note would have easily achieved what our appeals didn’t.

Anyway, at Katihar we were thrown out of the comfort of the AC. We were soon scrambling to get into the unreserved compartment already bursting at its seams. Scramble on we did after much pushing & shoving but barely, hanging precariously at the door as the train pulled out of the station again. The heat & sweat didn’t rank low on our attention, but staying on the train needed all our focus.

As the train trundled on, we slowly nudged a little deeper and settled down in the doorway. Dare not push any further, the doorway was certainly more comfortable - but more importantly, the stench from the sweating unwashed horde inside was a bit more bearable with the wind in our faces! 

We soon forgot our discomfort; chutti blues were sinking in. We exchanged stories about the pruning and the plucking and our unpredictable Burra Sahibs. The train kept its gentle sway as the country rolled by, Jhaal Moorie gave way to Aloo Poori as  the train pulled into Mugal Sarai.

We tried it all, boiled Anda & garam chai, thanda soft drink and everything that passed by. Germs would be sorted out later, we were going home. We got to know each other and a few of the closely squashed fellow travelers a little better, helping each other pass on food or cold bottles of dubious Bisleri, helping with the luggage when someone was getting off or on, and the night had soon slipped past our weary eyes.

I woke up with the sun in my face and on the diesel engine bellowing clouds of smoke as the train took a large bend. The whole countryside was awash with the orange hue of the early morning sun. As the sun ascended into the sky and the heat started to bite, the train rolled into Kanpur. Delhi was not far and it was nearly home…and it didn’t bother me that I had a five hour bus ride after getting to Delhi.

Nizamudin Rly Station was a cacophony of sounds as the train rolled in. the overwhelming cackle the swarms of the Indian Myna, the yells of the coolies hurrying along the slowing train, faint sounds of Amir Khusrau’s songs sung at the Auliya’s dargah…but I heard none of it. Heard not the screeching announcements, nor felt the coolies tugging at my luggage.

Groggy & tired I pushed through and rushed for the toilets. I jumped back at the sight of a strange, dark, ghostly face staring at me from the mirror, he jumped back too, surprisingly! It suddenly struck me, all the diesel soot from the engine had covered my face a ghostly black, thanks to the seat in the open doorway!

Never again was I going to fall for “Go today”.

Meet the writer: Inder Nain

Inder in his own words: 

Inder's life & times
Little brains & ample mind,
No common sense to hold me behind,
I push on..

Lucky breaks & simple takes,
Keeps me smelling the roses - 
and whisky's fine,
Leaving little room to whine.

And here is the 'practical version' as his wife calls it: 
Inder Nain worked for Goodricke Tea for 15 years in the Dooars and Assam before moving to Kenya in 2000. He worked with Sasini tea and coffee before moving on to start his own rose farm in 2006.  He is now successfully settled in Kenya growing roses.

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

Face to Face with a Tiger

by Bhupendra (Bob) Singh Auwa

I froze in my path...he may have attacked me and I may not have been here today writing this piece.

In May 1959 I joined the tea estates as an Assistant Manager with James Finlay & Co at their garden called Hattigor (Hatigarh in Hindi) in Assam. I with my servants flew from Calcutta in a World War II vintage Dakota being operated by some private party and landed at The Mangaldai Planters Club on their makeshift landing strip, old polo ground, where Williamson Magors, another British Tea Company, used to operate their private aircraft.

A truck was sent from the garden to pick up my luggage and my two servants (a bearer and a cook) and Mr Stevenson, the Assistant Manager, came to pick me up in his jeep.

This was my first look at a tea bush. He took me to his 'chung' bungalow, (most old tea bungalows  in Assam were built on stilts and hence called 'chung' bungalows) for tea, and I was asked to spend the night there and meet the Manager next morning. Little later that evening, Nosh Tankariwala from a neighbouring estate of the same company came over to meet me and said there had been a kill on his garden, probably by a leopard. So off we went, Stevenson with his rifle, Nosh and myself. However the animal never showed up on the kill.

Hattigor Tea Estate, one of the prestigious properties of James Finlay and Co. Ltd, was on the North Bank of the river Brahmaputra, just below the foothills of the mighty Himalayas about 100 kms from Guwahati, the nearest big town. It was a huge estate, in those days spread over about 800 hectares under tea. Between the garden and the hills there was an old Tangbari* and tall grass and hardly any habitation. Wild life was in abundance in Assam in those days; it was infested with tigers, leopards, wild elephants and many other big and small game. Morris Barker, a planter on this estate before me, had shot a few tigers and leopards there.

Bob supervising work at Powai T.E.

I was very keen on hunting but had no guns or rifles with me, as my gun license then was limited to Rajasthan. There was another planter, Pratap Singh, son of Lt. Gen. Nathu Singh Gumanpura, on a nearby estate. I borrowed his .12 bore gun for small game shooting and one fine early morning in the month of November went out for a shoot to the north of the garden, looking for small game like wild fowl and partridges. One chowkidar from the garden was to come with me but he got late, and without waiting for him, I left my bicycle on the side and walked into this area with tall grass. 

After a mile of walking I was rudely shaken up from my walk with a loud growl. There was a tiger not more than 50 yards from me in the tall grass and all I could see was his tail. I froze in my path and started walking backwards. As I came to know later the tiger had made a buffalo kill the previous day and had had his fill, otherwise he may have attacked me and I may not have been here today writing this piece.

In those days there was plenty of big game in Assam and in the Dooars area of West Bengal. It was much later that the Government of India banned hunting, initially big game hunting and later of course even small game hunting.

The only other time I sighted a tiger was in 1969, when my wife and myself were coming back from Mariani Planters Club late one night to Debrapar Tea Estate: this tigress was on the side of the road about to attack cows in a cow-shed of some Nepali chap out side Dessoi Tea Estate. In fact in Debrapar the tiger - or may be the same tigress - killed our cow in the cow shed one night. We saw tiger pug marks in the morning and it was later confirmed by the official of the Forest dept.

Of course there were many leopards seen in Assam those days on the road coming back from the club, in Numaligarh and in Bhukial Tea Estates. 

In fact when we were posted at Lattakoojan Tea Estate in 1980 - 86, one evening going to Dhunseri Club, a black panther jumped out of the tea bushes over the fence and crossed the road. In the car light his black coat was shining and you could see yellow spots. 

Black panthers are black due to mutation, and they are not a different breed of animals. In fact at this very estate about 20 years earlier, in the 1960's, Pushpendra Ghanerao returning one night from somewhere found the black panther sitting on the roadside. He went to his bungalow,  took out his rifle came back and shot the animal. It was in those days when shooting was still allowed.

*The Tangbari I have referred to above was a bari or a forest of Tang trees, from which I was told oil was extracted, and this was long before I joined tea. They were trees which bore red cherry like fruits, but by my time all the trees had been cut for timber and there was nothing but tall grass growing there. Since then tea has been planted in this area.

Meet the writer: 

Bhupendra (Bob) Singh 

After graduating from Mayo College, Ajmer, I joined tea in May 1959, with James Finlay & Co., Ltd. at their Hattigor T E in Assam. The company changed hands and became Tata Finlays and then later Tata Tea Ltd. Having served in many gardens in Assam as Assistant Manager and later as Manager since 1974, was lastly transferred to Dam Dim T E in Dooars in 1991. In my last year with Tata Tea, I was posted to Delhi to look after their rice exports to the Middle-East.

A keen student of history, fond of outdoor games and shooting, we enjoyed our days in Tea with my wife Teeka and two daughters Harsha and Raksha, who still remember their good days in the gardens.

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! 

Lovable Ayahs

by Alan Lane

The story told by Gumi Malhotra is excellent and certainly brought back memories of my Nepali ayah way back in the late 1940s.

To be honest, once the planters had a good ayah they were very reluctant to let them go!
Even though in the majority of cases the ayahs spoilt “their” children terribly.

A few days before my father passed away, he told me of a couple of nursery rhymes that my Ayah used to tell me. These were the standard stock that I am sure most expatriate ‘char babas’ were told.

“Little Jack Horner”:
 Chhota Jack Horner
Kona par beta
Khatata Kismish mithai
Angli gussaya
Kishmish nikhalaBola
“Kya good boy ham hai!”

“Humpty Dumpty”:

Humpty Dumpty upa me bita
Humpty dumpty girghia phut!
Sub Rajah ka monas,
Sub Rajah ka ghorra
Humpty dumpty kubbi nay jora

And:
Neeni, baba neeni, roti, mucken, cheeni
Roti mucken hogia, chota baba sogiar.

And I had not heard this nursey rhyme that Carol Penstone (nee Graham, whose father was a long-time manager at Pahargoomiah TE ) shared – have you?

Little Miss Muffet:

Mukati My, Dood Millai
Ghass mer bite parr Khai
Aya muckra sari pukra
Bagh geer Mukati Mai

To be honest, the only one that I can remember is the Humpty Dumpty rhyme, because my aunt (my mother’s sister, born in Allahabad in 1914)  used to tell me that every time I went to see her, even when I was in my teens! Do any other ‘char babas’ remember these?

When I was about three years old, after a bath, I escaped from the ayah, and running around naked, my father admonished me by telling me that I might lose my ‘little worm’ as the ducks would peck it off. A few days later, another ayah came to the bungalow with a little girl and both she and I (of the same age then) were given a bath together. Apparently, I was most upset, and on being asked why by my father, I told him that the little girl must have lost her ‘little worm’ to the ducks!

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:

Alan Lane, a 'cha ka baba', was born in Bombay. His contribution to Indian Chai Stories goes beyond the written word: he keeps a large number of people all over the world connected with their roots in India. In his own words, 'My wife and I still have lots of connections with India and we are, as you may well say, ‘Indophiles’.' Alan and Jackie Lane live in the UK; they left India a little over fifty years ago. Read the story of this cha ka baba's return to the tea gardens of Assam as a Crossley engineer here: Indian Chai Histories.  You will find more stories by Alan here.

Christina and Amina

by Gumi Malhotra

One of the happiest times on the tea plantation was the time spent gardening.

I always thought I got that from following my mother around while she planned and potted her garden but recently she told me that it was Christina who would take me around each plant and point out the new shoots and buds and tell me their names.

Christina was the lady who looked after me till I was five years old. I still remember her voice and the feel of her white saree. I remember hiding in the pleats because I’m told I was a shy child! She and I would have make-believe picnic parties, she indulged my imagination and I am so grateful to her for that and for igniting my love for plants. I wish she was around today so I could tell her in person - but when you can’t do anything in reality, you write about it.

These ladies were called ‘ayahs’ in tea and I believe the origin of this word means ‘maid servant’ in Portuguese, the most inept and inaccurate description ever! These were ladies of stature, who despite their loving ways with children occasionally displayed shades of Mrs Danvers to keep young mothers in check! When Imaan came as a baby to Nahortoli TE, the formidable Amina helped me look after him.

She would come in at eight in the morning and take over her Baba, giving him to me or Sukhi most reluctantly. Once after we'd had a few harrowing sleepless nights with Imaan, she came in at five am.

After the Baba went to sleep ( within five minutes! ) I asked her why she came to work early. She said the chowkidaar came banging at her door earlier saying, ‘ Jaldi aao, Baba aur memsahib dono jor jor se rota hai’!! ( Be quick, both Baba and memsahib are weeping loudly! )

We got in touch with Amina last month and we chatted about the boys and those early years gone by...it felt good reconnecting with her, like filling in a blank space we very often forget about.

                        

Meet the writer: Gumi Malhotra

Gumi Malhotra

Hello chai people, here’s another attempt to pen down one of the million memories I carry with me. We came away twelve years ago with our hearts full ( not so much the pocket) of such nuggets. We live in Bangalore now and what started as a hobby in the gardens has become my calling. I paint pet portraits. The happiest days spent in tea were in the Jali kamra with my paints, the boys occupied with make believe cars and a steady stream of tea flowing from the kitchen. Cheers!

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

The 1944 to 1950 Story

by Jaswant

One sunny September afternoon in 1944, a slim young man who had just graduated from Madras Christian College was ushered into the the general manager's office of English & Scottish Joint Cooperative Wholesale Society for an interview with the general manager for the post of an Assistant superintendent on Ripon Estate in South Wynaad.

This office was situated on the Beach Road in Calicut and was the head office in India. Their estates were Ripon in South Wynaad close to town, Meppadi, Talapoya, Cherkara, Jessie and Tatamala estate in North Wynaad, Caroline and Attikunna in the Nilgiris, Iyerpadi, Paralai, Lower Sheikalmudi, Murugalli and Sheikalmudi in Anamllais, and Deckiajuli in Assam.

Calicut was a trading centre for companies like Pierce Leslie and company, Volkart Brothers, Aspinwall and company etc. They all traded in spices, cashew, coir products and copra. Calicut had a pier jutting into the sea about two kms long.Goods for overseas trade were moved on rails to the end of the pier for loading onto to the huge dhows that were anchored alongside.These dhows carried the export goods to waiting ships in the middle of the Arabian sea.

There were a few textile mills too. All of them were headed by British executives.My grandfather was the public prosecutor in Calicut and was also the legal advisor to most of these companies.He Was Rao Bahadur T.C.Karunakaran.He was a close friend of Mr Boland who headed Pierce Leslie and company. Mr Boland and Mr J.W. Russel, general manager of E&S were bum chums and this is how my father C.Harikrishnan was selected as an assistant superintendent of Ripon.

Selection of the candidate as a covenanted staff was based on the family background, command over the English language and sporting activities. Appointment was a contract to be signed with the company for three years and to be renewed for a further three years after a furlough of three months. The contract to be signed was sent from the office on 100 Leman Street, London.The entire Leman Street belonged to E&S, a company with different divisions from safety pins to aeroplanes. 

Tea was a very small division. The British candidates were selected and sent to India on contracts ranging from three to five years with three months' notice on either side. So the same terms and conditions were applicable to the Indian counterparts too. The salary was Rs 1000/- per month with all facilities like furnished bungalow with curtains, bed linen, crockery, cutlery, cooking utensils, an Electrolux refrigerator that operated on a kerosene lamp, the cast iron stove that burnt throughout the day on fire wood and of course a cook and a bungalow servant.

My dad's first posting was on Ripon Estate close to the Meppadi town. Ripon was about four hours from Calicut (now its about 2.5 hours).The roads were bad: Calicut to Kunnamangalam, Thamarserri and to Adivaram where all the cars are stopped for cooling the engine before climbing the Vythiri ghats.

My dad always spoke of the small tea shop at Adivaram where you could devour the best sardine curry and rice with coconut chutney and pappadam while the car engine was being cooled. Once you are up the Vythiri ghats you are in Chundale and then Meppadi and next is Ripon. 

Dad's boss was Mr Threadgill, a stocky middle aged Scottish man who ran the estate like an army commandant. His workers were very loyal to him. Those were the days when there were no labour unions and whatever the Superintendent said was law. The field staff were the field writer, plucking writer, and the supervisor. Estate office was run by the head clerk who had three or four assistants to take care of the accounts and the day to day affairs of the estate. Most of the staff members were Malayalis. The training as an asst superintendent was rigorous. Field practices and tea production were taught by the Superintendent, the field and factory staff.

Trainees were not involved in the social activities though there was the Meppadi Club frequented by the British managers of Harissons&Crosfield, AV Thomas and Company, Chembra Peak Estate, Elstone Estate, private owners of large estates and also visitors from Attikunna and Caroline Estate in Nilgiri Wynaad.

After three years' contract my dad went for his three month furlough and got married.The contract was renewed for another three years. He picked up his first second hand Norton bike from one of the managers in Harissons Crosfield

My elder sister was born in 1948. My father was selected as a member of the Meppadi club in 1949. The club days were Wednesdays,Saturdays and Sundays. On club days the clubs car parking space had the likes of Citroen,  Austin of England, Studebaker, Dodge, Hillman, Vaxhall, Standard Vanguard etc. The bikes were Matchless, Triumph, AJS, Indian etc.

On 7th May 1950 I was born in Ripon Estate's Assistant Managers Bungalow. Within six months transfer orders came from the Calicut office for my dad to move from Ripon to Murugalli Estate in the Anamallais. 

Anamallais with 42 estates belonging to seven corporates and the beautiful club in Valparai changed my dad's life.

All I can say is that it was party time.

Meet the writer :

My name is Jaswant. I live in Coimbatore.My father Harikrishnan woked as senior planter in E&S Joint Cooperative Society Plantations in Wynaad and the Anamallais. I graduated from Madras Christian college in 1972, worked in J Thomas and Company for one year, Excel industries Ltd,Mumbai, an agro chemical company for three years and from 1976 to 2007 I was running a company called Growel, supplying agro chemicals to most of the tea planting companies in South India. Since 2006 I am running a homestay in Coimbatore catering to the needs of the international,corporate and plantation guests who visit Coimbatore often.

I am planning to write my stories in four parts. 
1.The stories as told by my father (1944 to 1950) 
2.The Anamallai days. 
3.The Wynaad days. 
4.My chemical peddling days.

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!