by Murari Saikia
As instructed, (while the ‘kit allowance’ was handed over after I was ‘inducted’ into the company), I bought myself two pairs of ‘stout’ canvas shoes, which I picked up at the Bata store in the Grand Shopping arcade in Calcutta, in addition to cotton shorts and polo neck T shirts, socks etc, shopping around in New Market along with the other lads who were also selected for postings in Assam and Dooars.
I was posted to Assam. When I landed in the garden, Tarajulie, I was surprised, yet very happy to find that I would be sharing the bungalow with an old class mate from school, Biraj Barbara, a second generation planter, who had joined a couple of months before me. Had lost touch with Biraj for a couple of years as he left school two years before we took the Sr. Cambridge exams, and yet he somehow managed to complete his graduation a year ahead of me and the rest of the class!!Anyway, back to my tale. It was June 1981 and the monsoons had just commenced. We used to be ‘kitted up’ in our ‘battle dress’ for kamjari and by the time I came back for breakfast, more often than not, I would be soaking wet. Anyway, young Anil our ‘trainee bearer’ would place my other pair of shoes with a pair of dry socks out in verandah for me to wear when I went out for work again. It would invariably rain once more between breakfast and lunch time, so, the cycle of getting soaked would carry on. In the afternoon, I would once again find my other pair of shoes nice and dry, the thicker parts at the toe would be a tad damp, but, what the heck, much better than wearing a squishy wet pair of shoes!
As usual when I came in for lunch, I wrenched out my wet shoes and socks sitting on the verandah steps, Anil came by with my glass of the compulsory ‘nimbu pani’ and carried away my dripping shoes and socks… I quietly followed him to the back to see what he’d do to get my shoes magically dry, the pouring rain notwithstanding.
Anil opens the screen door and gives a couple of violent jerks to expel the dripping water and then, walks back into the kitchen and opens up the large cast iron oven door and shoves in my shoes and socks to be ‘baked dry’….I could also spy a pair of Biraj’s shoes sitting side by side the tin bread box where our Morg cook Pradip places the dough to bake his tasty breads and croissants for us!
It’s very important that the chotta sahib gets dry shoes to wear!!!
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Murari Saikia |
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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!
4 comments:
Hi Murari .... great reading your story about the shoe warming ceremony; you are correct that such things happen only in Tea . Keep on writing about your other experiences ..lovely to read your lucid stlye ..
Thank you ever so much! You too write very well, and I thoroughly enjoy reading your writeups which appear in G Plus and other print media.
Very refreshing post Murari - nearly 20 years before your time. I was in Tea for just three years but memories remain after nearly 6 decades.
Very well narrated MS!! It happens only in Bagan!!! Cheers
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