Assistant Manager- The Best Days

by Manjit Singh

The best days in the plantations were when we were Assistant Managers. It was a life led with gay abandon – free from serious responsibility; attending parties, playing games and living for the day – at that stage one had no ambitions and the only aim in life was to have fun.

Within a month of my joining I received an invitation on an embossed card for a party in Nyamakad Bungalow which stated that ‘pyjamas /night suits were dress de rigueur’. I went and checked in the Oxford dictionary and ‘de rigueur’ meant order of the day. I had never attended a pyjama party before and was not totally convinced, at the same time did not want to show my ignorance by asking my Manager .

On Saturday my friend from the neighbouring estate and I went on our motorcycles for the party-taking our pyjama/ kurtas in a bag.We parked the motorcycle far away from the bungalow and peered over the hedge in the bungalow garden to see a party on in full swing with everyone including the ladies in their night dress - one of our VAs was wearing satin shorts and a silk dressing gown!We changed and walked into the party nonchanantly and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves - knowing that we would never see our bosses again in night dress! 

Top station was a beautiful place to start a career in planting and if one had like-minded people posted there it was bliss.We were three assistant managers in 1980 who enjoyed a certain bonhomie- we met practically on a daily basis and discussed everything under the sun except work. Rajiv, who was posted on Chittavurrai estate carried a very impressive pocket diary and we all thought it contained official data only to find to our surprise that the data was confined to the school/college opening and closing dates of all the daughters of the managers in Munnar! Rajiv left after two years to pursue a career with Gulf news in Dubai and Sanjeev went to the West Coast of America - both having spent some memorable times in Top Station. 

Whenever an assistant manager got married and returned to the estate, all his colleagues joined together and welcomed the newlyweds back with some pranks. One Assistant Manager married a conservative Brahmin girl from Chennai and when he returned to the estate with his bride his mother-in-law also decided to accompany them.

When they reached their bungalow two small children emerged from within, clapping their hands and shouting ‘ Appa vandachi’ ( father has come). The mother in law  swooned on hearing this and when she recovered her composure, she was told that this was only a prank and the children were from the estate crèche.

Appa Vandachi!!!

The News Years' party was the best celebration of the year. We all looked forward to it as it was conducted with panache and grace.The club lounge was decorated according to a theme selected each year by the committee and there was a sit down dinner. A play was staged for one hour by members of the club which was always a delight to watch. It was the only party when all heiarchy was broken and as we sang ‘Auld Lang Syne' and ushered in the new year we all hugged each other. 

There was a band in attendance and as per custom one left the club in the wee hours of the morning - some even left after having breakfast in the club! New Years Day was spent going around the estate wishing all the staff and workers, and no work took place on that day. These traditions created a bond between the management staff, staff and workers and made us realize that we were all dependant on each other to survive in the tea estates!

The innocence of the days spent as an Assistant Manager was lost when we were promoted as Acting Managers and became 'in charge' of an Estate and came under the scrutiny of the top management - and performance became vital for survival . 

Meet the writer: 

Manjit Singh

I studied in the Lawrence School, Sanawar, and passed out in 1970. I then did my B.A (Hons) and M.A in History from Hindu College, Delhi University. I joined Tata Finlay in 1978 ( in 1983 it became Tata Tea ) and worked in the Plantation Division in South India- mainly in Munnar and a brief stint in the Anamallais in Tamil Nadu. 

I retired in 2014 as General Manager of the Tea Division of Tata Coffee a subsidiary of Tata Tea. I am a keen sportsman and represented the Club,Company and Upasi ( United Planters Association of South India) in cricket, squash and golf. After retirement we have settled in Chandigarh and my son and daughter work and live in Delhi. 

 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/

Dreams Do Come True

by Radhika Tandon 

Misa Polo Club, pix from https://amalgamatedplantations.co.in/misa-polo-club/

Dreams do come true. Growing up with Enid Blyton, Nancy Drew & Mills & Boon, I dreamt of a small house with picket fences & a red slanting roof. Cut to 1984, my first home after marriage - Sagmootea T.E. Incidentally my parents pronounced it as Sagmotee T.E for the longest time.

A house, not small ( I could live with that ), the roof wasn't red ( I could live with that too ), on the whole very very acceptable. Who am I kidding, I gawked !! A huge Chang Bangla with wooden floors that creaked & let in the cold from every crevice, housing the biggest crickets & cockroaches that I had ever seen. I loved the bungalow, the rest I learnt to live with.

What begins well ends well. We were hosted by the wonderful Wanda & Deepak Erasmus. Wanda made my transition from Bombay to Assam seamlessly easy. I must admit that Rachel & Ashley ( the cutest kids ) had a big hand in it too. I was a natural fit.

Travelling on a dirt track to Misa Club and invariably running into wild elephants on the way back ! No big deal. Banded kraits in the roof, so what ? All paled against the Mali Bari with the sweetest pineapples I had ever eaten. The trees laden with guavas & a lawn full of flowers. Bliss.

Those first few years were an education by itself. I tried to learn tennis & failed. I was not the sporty kind. I learnt to read the newspaper one day late as that's when we got them. Learnt that when someone drops in for lunch on a Sunday, it's served past tea time & dinner naturally follows. Learnt that it's normal to travel 2/3/4 hours away to visit or attend a party & drive back home after. Learnt that newly married brides were not to be trusted with club catering , even if they were Hotel Management graduates & knew how to cook. I had to earn my badges.

All in all, loved every minute of it.

Meet the writer:

Radhika Tandon

Says Radhika, "I am one of those city girls who took to tea life like a fish takes to water. From concrete jungle to vast verdant greenery, who wouldn’t ? Been a tea wife for all my married life. Posted mostly in Assam with a very short stint in the Dooars. We moved to Bangalore on transfer in 2005 & have been here since then." 

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! 
ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/Indian Chai Stories
There are over a hundred stories here, and they are all from the tea gardens! Our storytellers are tea planters and their 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.
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

 

A Lucky Escape

by Larry Brown 

An earthquake gets nearly everyone’s attention, particularly if it is a severe one. The damage is spectacular and the event is meticulously recorded by seismologists and news coverage is given throughout the media. In a big earthquake, seemingly sturdy buildings and bridges collapse, roads subside , houses are razed, landslides occur and there can be a tragic loss of life.

Such an earthquake can be preceded by a roar that is like a hundred locomotives and as it approaches the ground undulates alarmingly, fissures appear, bushes and shrubs shudder and tall trees bend back and forth - all in all, a scary scenario. Planters who went to New Guinea after India experienced many earthquakes and volcanic eruptions particularly in East and West New Britain where there were many active volcanoes.

The tea districts in Assam have had their fair share of earthquakes too and perhaps the biggest that some planters remember is the one that happened in 1950. This earthquake wreaked havoc in Assam; huge landslides caused rivers to change course, rail lines were twisted into all shapes, bridges disappeared, roads became impassable and many tea factories were rendered inoperable.

It cannot be said that the same interest or attention is given to the floods that happen almost every year 

As mentioned, great attention and focus is given to a big earthquake and its aftermath and possibly this is because the tremors travel a long way from the epicentre and can be felt in large cities and this, therefore, elicits more interest.

The Teesta River near Gangtok. All pix by the author

It cannot be said that the same interest or attention is given to the floods that happen almost every year sometimes with a great loss of life. Of the 50 or so major rivers in India at least 18 are flood prone and can cause major damage to infrastructure, loss of crops and livestock, and tragically, human suffering and loss of life - and yet, some are miraculously spared, and this is my story.

The Teesta rises at 17,500 ft at the Cho Lhamu Lake in the Himalayas and winds its way through Sikkim ,down the Teesta valley, passing near Kalimpong and on to the plains of West Bengal at Sevoke. It passes many large villages and towns such as Jalpaiguri on its banks and flows on through Bangladesh before finally discharging into the great Brahmaputra.

I first saw the Teesta from the Coronation Bridge, an impressive structure which spanned the river on the road to Siliguri and Kalimpong. From the bridge, some hundreds of feet below, the river was a swirling mass of turbulent white water. An accompanying planter friend said it had the reputation of being an 'evil' river and this may have had its origins in a tragedy that happened in one of the early surveys in 1915 when G.P.Robertson, the Municipal Engineer of Darjeeling, was drowned after losing control of his boat in the turbulence. The boat struck a submerged boulder and was sucked into a whirlpool, leaving no trace of Robertson or his companions.

I can recall the year of the lucky escape, 1968, but not the exact month but I remember the events well. Myself and my wife went to Mal Junction in the Dooars in the evening to see a Hindi movie. It was raining as we set out from Bhogotpore and was fairly heavy by the time we reached Mal.

Shortly after the picture began we could hear the rain drumming on the roof and this steadily got heavier until it was almost impossible the hear the film dialogue – or the songs!

The film show was stopped and we exited the hall, hoisted the umbrellas and dashed to the car. The water around the car was ankle deep.

I had never witnessed rain like this before and as we made our way towards Chulsa, visibility decreased and we got slower and slower as the rain became heavier and heavier. When we turned into the Jaldhaka/Nagrakata road that would take us home to Bhogotpore, we were down to first gear and the wipers were on full speed. As we cautiously followed the black ribbon of the road we passed through the Chapramari Reserve Forest and had to gently nudge our way through herds of deer and other animals that were milling around in confusion.The road was much higher than the now flooded reserve forest and we encountered other groups of animals as we proceeded further. In one group two pairs of yellow eyes amongst the deer looked at us, two magnificent leopards, their coats sodden and bedragggled, just as scared and confused as their companions.

 On the relatively short distance through the forest new reinforced concrete bridges spanned the rivers. These stood out stark and white and the black ribbon of road that we were following led on to them. When we crossed the by now raging Jaldhaka river we were almost home.

 The rain pelted down all night and only ceased in the early morning hours.

So where's the lucky escape?

 Next morning I went to see how widespread the flooding was and as I approached the Jaldhaka bridge I could see that some temporary barriers had been erected. I walked on the bridge and looked downstream and there I could see a number of scattered vehicles that were partially submerged. I counted two buses, a jeep and at least five cars. There were more much further downstream. All the vehicles were found to be empty, there were no survivors.

When I got to the other side of the bridge I saw that at least 40 to 50 ft of the approach road had been washed away resulting in a long drop to the river below. The poor unfortunates from the vehicles I had just seen would have been doing the same as I had done - following the black ribbon - but for them, that ribbon concealed a gaping chasm. 

When the approach was washed away I have never found out. It could have been minutes after we passed safely or an hour but certainly not longer than that.

Later, when piecing together what had happened I found that the downpour had set in motion a chain of events that was to prove catastrophic.

This torrential rain (at its peak someone told me that 14ins was recorded in a few hours) had caused massive landslides in the deforested hill areas near Kalimpong and these blocked the river forming a natural earth dam hundreds of feet high. The Teesta backed up for miles, and then, at about two in the morning, the dam gave way. The railway bridge further down from the Coronation Bridge was swept away. 

The massive wall of water, travelling like an express train, reached Jalpaiguri at about 2.30am. It was reported that water levels in the town rose by 10ft in three minutes. Jalpaiguri was almost totally flattened. The waters careened on downstream causing further devastation and taking out whole villages along the way. The destructive run continued through the Rangpur district of Bangladesh before finally discharging into the Brahmaputra at Fulcherry.

A few days later the 'Statesman' had the headline '2000 feared dead'. This was amended in the next edition to '5,000 feared dead'. Coco Das, a burly bearded planter, was engaged in relief operations along with many others in the district. Because of the stench of death and decay, he had doused his beard with after shave lotion. He and some of his fellow relief workers who knew also about the Teesta told me that the figure of those lost would be closer to 100,000, but the real figure will never be known.

Since that great flood, spurs have been built at Jalpaiguri so that the 1968 catastrophe would not be repeated.

 We had a very lucky escape indeed.

This is the bridge over the Jaldakha in the 2019 “Siliguri Times” noted as neeing repair

Footnote: See Minoo Avari’s story “Darjeeling October 1968” under Correspondents on the www.koi-hai site. He and his friend crossed the ‘Anderson Bridge’ at Kalimpong literally seconds before it was washed away! There were TWO Lucky Escapes that night!! 

Meet the writer:

Larry Brown lives in Southport, Queensland, Australia. His story The Ghost of Namdang Factory Bungalow is a great favourtie with our readers. Here are two pictures of Larry - one from 1960, and the other from 2014 when he revisited Namdang.

At Namdang Factory Bungalow steps, 1960

 

 

 

Larry revisits Namdang, 2014

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/

Ingenui-tea!

by Sarita Dasgupta

Since not many people know that tea is being commercially grown in Nagaland, I thought I'd write the story of the Wokhami family's enterprise. A school friend of mine who lives in Dimapur told me about this delicious tea ...it was grown, manufactured and sold locally, and the main person behind this enterprise was a woman. Intrigued, I got in touch with the son, Ahuka, a delightful young man who was happy to tell me about his family's business. I was impressed by this 26-year-old living all alone on the estate, even cooking his own food, but diligently carrying out the responsibility handed to him by his father.

Nagaland lies like a beautiful emerald in north-eastern India, bordered by the states of Arunachal Pradesh to the north and Manipur to the south; the Sagaing Region of Myanmar to the east; and Assam to the west. In fact, this picturesque region was part of Assam until it became the sixteenth state of India on 1 December 1963, with Kohima as its capital city. Established by the British in 1878 as their headquarters in the Naga Hills, Kohima remains an important centre for administration, culture, and commerce.

Agriculture has always been the most important economic activity in Nagaland, covering over 70% of the state's economy. The Konyaks of the Mon area had impressed the British by serving them home grown and processed tea, but though tea was planted extensively through the length and breadth of Assam by the British, the Naga Hills region was perhaps too politically turbulent for them to do the same there. The practice of growing tea in Nagaland was limited to home gardens for domestic use only until quite recently – in the last twenty-five years or so.

Most of these estates are small and family-run, but through sheer hard work and diligence, these enterprising families have managed to make a mark for themselves in the competitive tea market. One such family is the Wokhamis of AKAA Organic Tea Enterprise, under the guidance of their matriarch, Amenla. 

Amenla plucking tea leaves

In 1983, an enterprising young man called Kihoi Wokhami bought 53 acres of forested land in Ajiqami Village, Zunheboto District, about 150 km from Kohima. He cleared and burned 20 acres (approximately 5 hectares) of the land according to the local practice of ‘jhum’ or ‘slash and burn’ cultivation, and planted paddy.

 In 1991, Kihoi married an intelligent and ingenious young woman named Amenla. After their two children – Avini and Ahuka – were born, she encouraged Kihoi to take a chance and plant tea bushes on their land instead of rice. A tea garden had already been established in a village called Litta in their district, and they decided to follow suit. Using the first initial of each of their names, they called their estate AKAA Tea Estate. 

AKAA Tea Estate

After harvesting rice for the last time in 1994, the couple prepared the land and in due course, planted it with 5000 saplings propagated in their nursery from tea cuttings acquired from the Tea Research Association, Tocklai (Jorhat, Assam). Initially, Kihoi and Amenla looked after the tea garden on their own, but once they harvested the green leaf for the first time in the year 2000, they had to employ someone to help manage the seasonal workers who did the plucking and processing of the tea leaves.

At that time, there was no local market for green leaf, so only limited harvesting was done. Kihoi and Amenla used the ‘handpound’ method to process the tea for local consumption.

The Aboshu Akhumu for hand pounding tea

 

Handpound tea

As their son, Ahuka explains, “Hand pounding is a labour-intensive process of tea making. After plucking, withering of the leaves is done for up to 18 hours at normal room temperature. When the withering of the leaves is completed, the leaves are pounded manually in the aboshu akhumu (a local wooden mortar and pestle) till the leaves are crushed and ready for the fermentation process. Fermentation of the leaves is carried out and then they are sundried. Sometimes, due to high humidity and dampness during or after the rain, the tea is ruined by moisture, especially if we are unable to dry it in the sun.” 

Since hand pounding is a manual process, the yields are low, so the Wokhamis were able to sell whatever tea they produced. The tea was packaged and sealed in plain plastic packets and sold locally to a few regular buyers.

A few years later, the Wokhamis decided to expand their tea garden by adding another five hectares from their forested land. The remaining area is still covered in forest, and remains as a buffer zone.

A 'hands on' Ahuka

In 2016, they started planting out saplings every year with the objective of setting up their own factory within their estate, which they did, in 2018. They started manufacturing orthodox black tea and green tea the same year. As of now, AKAA is the only company that manufactures these teas in Nagaland. There are other factories manufacturing CTC teas, and some tea growers processing green tea manually. 

Kihoi has retired after handing over the management of the estate and factory to 26-year-old Ahuka, who became involved in the business in 2017, a year after he graduated. Ahuka now lives on the estate permanently, looking after the ten hectares of tea, and administering the manufacturing process in the factory. 

The factory

Ahuka’s elder sister, Avini, is also involved in the family enterprise. She designed the company’s logo, and now takes care of the paperwork, packaging design, and content writing.

AKAA products

Although Kihoi has retired, Amenla remains actively involved in the tea company they worked so hard to establish. It is not uncommon for her to join the workers plucking tea on the estate on occasion.

Amenla with her workers

Mainly, though, she oversees the packaging of the green tea, orthodox black tea, flavoured tea and handpound tea manufactured in their factory. A room has been set aside for this purpose at the Wokhami home in Dimapur, where she directs the seasonal and part-time workers employed through her extensive network of contacts.

Amenla also looks after the distribution of the packaged teas. The handpound tea, made in small quantities, is only available to their regular consumers. Although most of the orthodox, green and flavoured teas are sold locally in departmental stores and outlets, there are some regular consumers outside Nagaland, such as in Delhi and Odisha, to whom the tea is couriered. The company has built up a good clientele due to word of mouth publicity from their satisfied customers.

Ahuka got the factory licensed in 2019, and, in 2020, he obtained a certificate which will allow them to attend tea auctions where they can find potential buyers. They attend expos when invited, but where they make a lot of sales and get a great deal of exposure is at the Hornbill Festival held every December in Kohima.

Amenla and Ahuka at the Hornbill Festival

AKAA is an example of what an ingenious woman, an enterprising man, and their small family of hardworking and dedicated members can achieve in just a quarter century – produce cups and cups of refreshing tea from the dreaming hills of Nagaland.

Meet the writer: Sarita Dasgupta

Sarita enjoying a warm cup of Kawakawa tea in New Zealand. 

Read about it here

 

"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.

More stories by Sarita 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/

 

A Brush with the Past

by Murari Saikia

In the world of black and white there are always some shades of grey: clouded, imprecise and at times taciturn figures which are never seen full face but more often than not in silhouette. 

We were driving back to the garden from Jorhat, my wife Sruti, my colleague Pranjal, my driver and I. It was just about dusk as we left the town and coasting along the by-pass, the soft autumnal breeze wafted through the open window of my Ambassador and Kenny Rogers’ ‘The Gambler’ was playing on the car audio system. We chatted and traded stories of the ‘good old days’ in tea. 

It was that time of the day when birds and humans alike are homeward bound and semidarkness wrapped itself around all objects…..the twilight! In the distant horizon the sky was darkening with clouds hanging low as if portending a storm. The song ended and it became ‘deathly quiet’, the only sound was of the wind swishing through the rolled down windows. Pranjal, sensing the mystical eeriness created by these sounds began his tale, which I now narrate to you, dear reader…

Pranjal was then a young trainee assistant in a garden near Jorhat and was temporarily billeted in the huge old burra bungalow (now rechristened the Directors’ bungalow) as his accommodation was under renovation. 

It was a cold winter’s evening and Pranjal was sitting in a deep armchair tucked in one corner of the cavernous sitting room waiting for the old bearer Jagganath to serve the ‘nasta’. It was Saturday and Pranjal was expecting his colleague, another bachelor assistant. Samir Handique to drop by for a couple of sundowners. 

Pranjal hollered to old Jagganath to hurry up; the old man had to fetch the tray from the kitchen which was away from the main house connected by a covered galley-way. Old Jagganath was of the ‘Raj’ vintage having started his career as a little ‘chokra’ in the very same bungalow, where his father was the burra sahib’s bearer, the major domo. Old Jagganath with rheumatic limbs and eyes whose lustre had dimmed somewhat was every inch the class of domestic staff that has now become extinct. 

The evening drew on and as it usually happens, the grid supply tripped and enveloped everything in a shroud of inky darkness; there was not a shred or pinprick of light nor any sound barring a shrill cicada pining for the warmth of summer to break the silence. Time ticked on but the back-up generator had not started up. 

“Damn, the engine attendant must be out in the bazaar, being payday”, Pranjal said aloud as he cursed himself for not bringing the torch with him from the bedroom. 

He was about to push himself up from the deep armchair when he heard the sharp click of boots studded with steel sole protectors climbing the verandah stairs. “Hey Handique, watch your step, man” Pranjal called out towards the verandah, certain that it was Samir making his way up. Samir was very fond of wearing those stylish ‘Beatles’ boots with steel sole protectors and had a couple of pairs made to order from the famous Chinese shoemakers of Shillong. 

It was still pitch dark, but the footfalls were surely making an entry into the sitting room. “Hey, I’m here Handique, watch your step”, called out Pranjal. The drawing room door seemed to have opened as a draft of cold air wafted into the room, the footfalls had momentarily stopped. “Come on Handique, quit the games! - and why don’t you strike your match and make some light buddy, and do sit down” Pranjal cried out. 

No response, and instead it became eerily quiet, even the lone cicada stopped rubbing its wings….time just hung, and once again the footfalls resumed and were nearing the chair where Pranjal sat. As the steps neared, Pranjal could feel and sense someone’s presence, and waving out his hand he cried out again, “Quit it Handique, you will now trip all over me”. Fear had forfeited control of his faculties and Pranjal wildly flayed and flung his arms across him to ward off Handique…but, despite feeling someone so close to him, Pranjal’s arms cut through thin air, once, twice, three times...nothing!! 

Nothing or no one was there!!!! But, he was so certain of someone or was it ‘something’ by his chair?? 

Pranjal was now in a cold sweat chilling him down to his spine, his skin erupting in goose pimples and with the wayward impulse of a madman he sprang up from the chair and tore out of the room throwing peg tables asunder in his rush out to the verandah whilst shouting out to Jagganath at the top of his voice. When his hand hit the wooden railings, Pranjal stopped for some air and peering into the galley-way could see the feeble light of Jagganath’s torch as the old man shuffled towards the main house….and at that instant the lights came on. 

As Jagganath approached, Pranjal enquired “Handique sahib kaha hai?” “Woh to nahi aya hai sahib” was Jagganath’s reply. Pranjal was quite shaken up, and seeing him so, the old man peered at him with his old eyes and inquired “Kya hua sahib?” Pranjal narrated the incident which occurred during the last seven to ten minutes since the grid failure till restoration of the lights. As Pranjal was narrating the story, Samir Handique walked up the steps to the verandah with a cigarette hooked on to his lips and the steel protectors of his boots clicking away on the tiled floor. 

“Handique, you came here a while ago while the lights were off, didn’t you?” asked Pranjal, certain that it was Samir who might have pulled a practical joke on him. Samir replied in the negative and swore that he had just come in; he’d detoured by the factory to check on why the attendant was taking time starting up the engine. 

Jagganath, the wizened old faithful following the exchange between the two chotta sahibs piped in, “Sahib, aaj hamara Burra Sahib aya tha”, as a matter of fact. “kya bola, Jagganath? lagta hai aaj phirse bhaang charaya hai”, was Pranjal’s admonishment to the old bearer while sending him off to fetch whisky tumblers and the bottle. 

As the old man shuffled in with the tray, Samir, after having heard the whole story asked Jagganath, “tum kuch bol raha tha, Burra Sahib key baat?’ “Ji Sahib” replied the old bearer and went on to narrate the story which went like this… 

Pix by author

‘This garden was managed and partially owned by a middle aged Scotsman, who resided in the bungalow. He was married, but his firangi mem left him to go away to ‘Bilat’ when their only child was born. 

Burra sahib was a very good natured person and when the ‘mem’ was with him, there used to be lovely parties, full of fun, dances and songs, and Burra Sahib would entertain the other sahibs and memsahibs by playing the violin. 

Though burra sahib resided here for several years, the memsahib and baby never visited again. Sahib became very lonely, depressed and a sad person, he took to drinking quite heavily too. One winter evening, Burra sahib was very disturbed and distressed after he had received a ‘dak-tar’ (telegram). Sahib remained very pensive and after drinking quite a bit, retired to his bedroom without asking for his supper. 

After a while, there a very loud crack of a gunshot from the bedroom and all of us rushed to the door, which was locked from inside. We broke it down only to find our burra sahib sprawled on the deck chair, his head shot to pieces and his handgun hanging on his now limp hand.’ 

Jagganath with a forlorn look in his weary eyes as if transported back in time, shook his old head and mumbled that the burra shaib’s spirit sometimes visits the place he loved so much in the hope that his mem and baby have returned. “sahib ka atma bahut atcha hai, sirf dekh ke chala jata hai”. Having said that, the wizened old man straightened his back and slowly walked out of the drawing room to his domain in the kitchen and pantry, leaving two very puzzled young men, Pranjal and Samir. 

As Pranjal ended his narrative, we saw the lights of my estate ahead of us, the gates were opened by the watchman and we drove in to the welcome lights of the bungalow porch. As Sruti & I got off the vehicle, I was in a tizzy with a bit of awe and a concoction of thoughts crowding as well as clouding my mind after having heard this strange but true tale….truth my friends is often stranger than fiction!!

 Meet the writer:

Murari Saikia

I was born in Dibrugarh in 1959 and grew up in Shillong. After finishing school from St. Edmund’s College (School Dept.), Shillong in December 1975, went off to Delhi University and graduated from Ramjas College, in 1979. Joined FSL (Nestle) around mid-79 and was in Calcutta for a short while and thereinafter joined tea in 1980-81 almost by accident!! 

After a career spanning 36 years in the plantations of McLeod Russell & the Luxmi Group, I retired from the gardens in 2017. But, the love and the lore of tea have not left me. I am still actively involved with the industry currently with Parcon (India) Pvt. Ltd as a Visiting Advisor. 

It’s always a pleasure visiting the gardens and meeting up with some very good old friends who have weathered the storms together, and as always it’s also a treat to meet the younger generation of planters and get to learn a thing or two from these lads too, while throwing back the sundowners!!

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My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true (always), maybe a tall tale, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull.

 

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!