In Memory of David Air

 

Thank you for weaving us all into the web on Koi-Hai, David!

David Air passed away on the 22nd December, before I posted my Christmas greetings to him. 

David was the founder and editor of  Koi-Hai.com, a webpage that brought together people all over the world who had worked in the tea gardens of Assam, Dooars and Darjeeling. He launched the website in 1999, and it became a virtual club for thousands of planters and their families. They sent in stories and photographs, and they sought and found old connections, friends and family roots. No easy task setting up a service like this some two decades before the era of WhatsApp groups.

David included me in his list of correspondents and gave me a page on Koi-Hai some fifteen years ago. Seeing my posts up there gave me the encouragement I needed to keep writing about the Dooars and our life in the tea gardens there.

Two days ago I sat and re-read all our old emails, and found these lines I'd sent him:

"I'd never have written ...(as much as I did ) if it hadn't been for you and Shalini Mehra. I remain indebted to Shalini and to Ali Zaman for introducing me to Koi-Hai and to you. I always admired the way you'd take out time to acknowledge every story that I sent, and you would give it a fine introduction as well (whether it was deserving or not! )"

David left India in 1962 - the year I was born. His interest in India and the tea gardens went beyond any nostalgic longing for days past. He was always delighted to get my little 'reports' of some quirky occurrence in the bagan - like the one on (the failed) Doomsday in 2008, when dozens of workers in our garden stayed home, slaughtering all their poultry and livestock in preparation for one last grand chicken and mutton lunch.

David was a wonderful editor. He was patient and encouraging without being patronising. He would acknowledge emails promptly. When he'd posted anything I'd sent him, I'd find a courteous note in my inbox, asking me to take a look at the 'What's New' page on Koi-Hai, to see whether I "approved" of the introduction he'd written and the way he'd presented the story.

Koi-Hai was my inspiration for Indian Chai Stories, but I had never edited so much as a school magazine until I started working on it. There were many things to worry about - how much to leave out in a longish story, how much to alter, and so on. And then I would think of David's way of doing things - he welcomed everything anyone sent him, and valued the effort they'd made. Each one of the contributors mattered to him. Koi-Hai was about people, at the end of the day.

I'd once written to David introducing a friend who was too shy to send him anything herself, and his response was characteristically generous: "Any friend of yours, Gowri", he wrote, "is a friend of mine." David was kind - he was indulgent, really, and there was much humour in his emails. He often addressed me as 'young lady' which did wonders for my ego!

No one could have been as selfless or self-effacing while working single handed on a web page with so much traffic, and which was, I imagine, a sort of "India Abroad" for so many. To those of us in India who still live in the tea plantations, it became a virtual bridge across time and space, connecting us to people all over the world who had also lived and loved this life.

I'm happy to re-post below a piece on David by Ali Zaman which appeared in Shalini Mehra's Camellia several years ago. Many thanks to Alan Lane who sent me the digital copy.

- Gowri Mohanakrishnan

 

THE KOI HAI OF DOT COM

by Ali Zaman

David Air, the author of website http.//www.koi-hai.com, has enabled personnel who served in the tea industry, now scattered across the globe, to keep in touch with one another and narrate those tales of a unique life style they had lead in India. The life style, from the days of the British pioneers has not totally faded away, in spite of the changes of time. Many traditions and customs prevail and the age old summon, ‘koi hai’, which activates personnel on a tea estate, can at times, still be heard.

David, who qualified as an engineer, flew with the Fleet Air Arm of the Royal Navy. One day, the First Sea Lord, Mountbatten of Burma, was reviewing the officers, who were all Sub Lieuttenans (Air) in the aircraft carrier HMS Theseus, he stopped in front of David and enquired of his name. “Sub Lieut Air Sir”,

Lord Mountbatten quipped, “I don’t want your b----- rank I want your name”. When the Squadron Commanding Officer explained that his name was indeed ‘Air’ Mountbatten exclaimed, “Good God” and moved on. 

On his release from service, a family friend in the tea trade arranged an interview for David with George Williamson in London. The Company recruited him as a mistri sahib and sent him to Assam. It was work from the day he joined Mijicajan, in 1954, with no respite, even when he fell through the factory roof!

The Sterling Companies, after WW II and India’s independence, studied the future of Indian tea before investing in their properties. The scenario appeared encouraging and companies commenced developing their fields and factories. A change over from orthodox manufacture to CTC was made. David was soon an authority on CTC’s and at the same time fitting into plantation life.

David mentions the veteran planter Doug Meston, of Borpukhuri, a confirmed bachelor, a great shikari, and a good host, who held on to his guests. Meston had his living room furniture arranged in a manner where the bearers never stepped in front of the guests to refill the glasses. The trained bungalow personnel kept topping the drinks from the back without the visitors’ knowledge. Dinner was always served late and the cook would be summoned and reprimanded for serving cold soup. The soup removed for reheating was an excuse for the host to lead the guests back to the gol kamra for more rounds. Meston served what he hunted; the steaks could be anything from elephant, tiger or python meat! 

The Company Air Scheme, under the charge of the Superintendent at Pertabghur, was operated by an eccentric pilot. The pilot, never on good terms with the Superintendent, regularly complained of technical defects of the aircraft. David was asked by the Superintendent to give an opinion on the plane’s air worthiness. This was done and reported that he could find no fault. The plane was then flown back to Majulighur by the pilot with David accompanying him in the passenger seat. Shortly after take off, to David’s great embarrassment the planes engine cut out –point made by company pilot deliberate or otherwise.

At Borgang he had encounters with the unnatural and natural. He describes his dinner disappearing in front of his eyes from the tray held by the bearer. Queries revealed of eerie happenings in that residence. Another night the house shook and it was not an earthquake. It was a herd of elephants scratching their backs on the bungalow’s walls. 

It was at Borgang that his fiancée Christine joined him and they were married on the estate. For their honeymoon the couple drove to Shillong in a Standard Vanguard estate car, which had indicators between the doors that lit up and flipped out to show directions. The honeymooners had difficulty driving to Shillong as wedding guests had reversed the connections between the horn and signal. Applying the horn had the indicators flipping out and the horn blew relentlessly when the signals were operated. The frustrated groom, in desperation, yanked off the wires to the horn.

Christine and David settled down to tea life. The children arrived, the first born a pair of twins, boy and girl. With the second birth, another set of twins, two boys, the Superintendent quipped, “David, you must realise that you are paid to produce teas”!! At Mijicajan an elephant, adored by the children, became the family pet. The owner, John Batten, who reared the animal from a calf, was posted to Africa for eighteen months. A dilemma was encountered when the pachyderm, prescribed pills for an ailment, refused to swallow them even when the tablets were camouflaged in papayas. The fruits were relished but the elephant spat out the capsules. Finally the medicines were fed wrapped in molasses.

Posted to the south bank, David served on Sangsua and Gootonga. In between he acted at Boroi and installed the manufacture of CTC teas.

David informs that from his youth he belonged to the church of golf, a game he plays well till today. For his golfing skills he was regularly invited to play with the Bara sahibs, including the veterans Bill Gawthropp and Bath (Ghusal) Brown, Superintendents of Jorehaute Tea Company. David was requested to join a foursome which included a Major General. The Army brass was accompanied by two ADCs, one carrying a bag of golf balls and the other Ben Hogan’s Book on Golf. Some shots the General played, where the ball hardly moved or flew in the wrong direction, the ADC had to refer to the book and read out the error made!

David talks of the days when he and the other Service Veterans, in dinner jackets displaying their campaign medals, would gather at Digboi for the ‘Trafalgar Day’ dinner. He fondly recalls his tea days in Assam which he decided to leave in 1962.

David joined North British Rubber Company in UK. The children settled down to the changed life style and schooling. Penny, their daughter, for a class essay on pets wrote about the elephant. The teacher summoned Christine and informed that her daughter was a bright child but her imagination was running riot. While the other children described their cats and dogs the girl wrote about an elephant as a pet! The teacher was amazed to learn from Christine that they had indeed had a pet elephant.

David in 1970 was asked to join Dunlop and the family moved to the Midlands. Life was pleasant for the Airs when tragedy struck. Christine was diagnosed with cancer in 1976 and passed away in 1980. The older twins had already left the nest but the younger pair was still there. After a few years the younger pair progressed to further education. David was visiting the USA in 1988 where he met a wonderful lady, Cynthia, and they married in 1991. He then retired and moved to live in Florida. It took him a little time to adapt to the American way of life.

 David still retains a Directorship of Engineering Company in Florida, Gencor, which is deeply involved in supplying Equipment for Road building. Cynthia and David live in a beautiful house in Florida where visitors, especially from tea, are made to feel at home. Cynthia, who has never seen a tea garden, has developed an interest for that unique life style from the tea tales which fascinates her. She and David regularly visit UK and have attended the planters’ reunions in Aberdeen and Eastbourne. Cynthia was recovering from a knee operation, when I visited them, but ensured that David showed me around Florida. He drove me to Cape Canaveral in his beautiful Cadillac where I dozed off. Planters and their lie backs!!

The creation of the website occurred when good friends from the Assam days, Jimmy and Wendy Knight, visited the Airs. Talk, as it always happens with planters, centred on the wonderful days of tea. The Knights suggested that the stories should be preserved and David, having trained himself in computer application, was the right person to do so. David designed and created the koi-hai web site* which brings so much pleasure to the chaiwallahs scattered across the world.

Thank you David.

  - Ali Zaman

Diving Headfirst into my Calling

by Indi Khanna 

Good afternoon, dear readers. Am back at my desk after a longish break, and what better way to start off another chain of stories than this little gem from Indi Khanna. It was just wonderful to go back to 1974 and to visit all the places Indi has mentioned. Get yourself a cup of tea, and be careful you don't laugh when you're sipping it!!😊 - Gowri

In 1974 while still studying for my post-grads in English in the Punjab University in Chandigarh, over the Diwali holiday break I had headed off to Delhi to spend a couple of days with my elder sister. On an evening at a party in her house I got into a long free-wheeling general conversation with one of the guests who, before he had moved on to someone else, casually asked what were my plans after university. Being told that I hadn’t a clue, as a parting shot the gentleman says, “Why don’t you come and meet me in my office tomorrow”.

Party over, guests all gone I asked my BIL who it was that I had been gassing with. Told that the gentleman was the Director of Manpower Development with the Oberoi Hotels Group, next morning all spruced and dolled up in my blazer and tie and armed with a copy of my Bio-Data I landed up in his office. The upshot being that by the end of the day, having been interviewed by three different people, I was offered a job as a Management Trainee and told that I could join as soon as I walked out of the university with my degree in hand. A job offer before I had even completed my Masters, what more could one possibly ask for? And so, three months later I found myself in what was then the Oberoi Intercontinental in Delhi. 

The bubble of happiness didn’t last very long! Within a couple of months into the job I simply hated it. In an enclosed, artificial environment where I had to keep smiling at folk I would have loved to smack across their smug faces, resulted in me becoming a grouch who spent every waking hour complaining about almost everything to anyone who would care to listen. And then, providence! Once again in my sister's place, once again a conversation with one of their friends, which went along the lines of him telling me in no uncertain terms that everyone in my sisters circle was fed up of my constant bitching and my hang-dog look and wanted to know why I was like that. “Hate my job, hate the hotel, hate being indoors” in short, hating everything. The answer I got was that since I hated being indoors, why didn’t I look for a job that would entail me being outdoors. “Outdoors – what would I do?” The response is what gave me my calling. “Have you ever considered planting?”

Planting! The VERY limited knowledge I had about planting was that it was all about Tea and that while Tea emanated from Assam, all the tea companies operated out of Calcutta. The world before Google! There being no other way I could think of to dig out any information, next morning I went across to the Delhi telephone exchange, where my request that I be allowed to borrow a Calcutta telephone directory led to me being handed over three VERY large volumes with an instruction that while I was welcome to go through those tomes in the premises, I was not allowed to remove them from there.

It took all of four full working days for me to thumb my way through those volumes, page by page, noting down addresses which appeared to be promising. Shooting in the dark, my search criteria were:

Entries had to be in bold. Since tea was reputed to be the preserve of the BIG boys, Companies that were “Limited”, and companies which sounded “British”.

Four days later I emerged from the exchange with a list of 120 companies which conformed to my yardstick.

Had a typist in a professional typing centre pound the keypad on his Remington type writer to produce 120 covering letters and a similar number of original two page bio-data’s. The insistence on originals because back then photo-copying was in its infancy and the apparatus (one could not really call it a machine) would produce very badly smudged and dirty looking copies. 

Within a fortnight of my having posted the letters after duly licking 120 postage stamps, I received a letter from Malayalam Plantations inviting me for an interview to Cochin and offering me first class train fare and hotel stay there. I was totally flummoxed. Couldn’t figure out how, since all my letters had been posted to only Calcutta based companies, I had received a letter from a company in Cochin (figured out later that a letter to Harrison & Crossfield, who were the managing agents for Malayalams in India, had been forwarded to Cochin). My southernmost travel having been one solitary trip as a kid to Bombay, who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth. The three day journey from Delhi to Cochin being an experience in itself, it’s a yarn I’ll be spinning on another day. For the present ramble, a fortnight later dishevelled and groggy I find myself alighting from the JJ Express at the Cochin Harbour Terminus.

Next day found me in the H&C office, seated in the company of about 45 hopeful young men. Two days later we were down to five who were ushered into the office of Peter Weavers, the CEO to be told that while we five may well be suitable for the job, it was also fair that we get a feel of what we were getting into and that each of us would be sent to one of the company estates for an extension interview. By noon the next day, I was driven into Mooply, a rubber estate near Trichur. The moment the car started winding its way up to the Superintendents bungalow, I just knew that this was IT!

The PD there was Johnny Mathew who, after we had introduced ourselves, had me seen up to the guest bedroom, a seriously spacious room with a rather grand four poster bed in the middle of the gleaming polished wooden floor. Having settled in, I accompanied the boss to his office where I was given the programme for the extension interview. The modus operandi being that I spend one day with the PD, the next day with G K Mohan (one of the three Assistant Superintendents on Mooply) and then back to Cochin on day four (a Friday) where I was to cool my heels in the hotel to meet with the Agents post weekend. On an aside the PD also told me that on the morrow he had invited all the executives from the three estates which made up the Malayalams Mooply Valley Group for dinner and that, since I was his guest (for want of a better word) that I too was invited.

The next day with the PD went off rather well with me getting more and more excited at the door providence had opened up for me. At the end of that very interesting day a well scrubbed and spruced up Mr Extension Interviewee along with the interviewer awaited the arrival of his dinner guests who trickled in to make up a party of 12 (me included). Most of the chit-chat was work related with the PDs holding forth with the SDs hovering around the bar. As the evening progressed, the eight young gentlemen gravitated towards a corner with me as a sort of appendage. Having steered me away from the company of the seniors, the gang of nasty buggers tell me that all first time visitors to the Mooply valley undergo an initiation and then the very casual question thrown my way, “Do you drink?”

The somewhat recent experience of a bottle of gin shared between three friends in celebration of us passing out of university having ended with me getting violently sick, as is the standard reaction to episodes of such nature, I had sworn off drink for the rest of my life. At that point of time however, faced with what was obviously a dare, I believe I may have puffed out my chest with a ‘but of course’ response. What followed was a rather large beer tankard being handed over to me. 

Despite having seen what was poured into the glass (a shot of EVERYTHING in Johnny’s bar, topped up with beer and garnished with liberal dashes of Tabasco and some mustard from the dining room) I could not obviously back off. Bringing the glass up to my mouth I got this horrible pong wafting up to my nostrils and so did what was the norm when being given a dose of medicine when growing up, I pinched my nose and gulped that foul concoction down my gullet. 

Appreciative oohs & aahs followed by “would you like another one?” Having got my foot into what I took to be acceptance, another one was definitely going to raise my stature. And so, this time louder and with a lot more gusto “Sure!”

Swaying a bit, by the time I had finished the second tankard of venom, dinner was served and announced. 12 gentlemen sitting around a formal dinner layout and the first course which I clearly remember as being pea soup having been served, yours truly was working hard to eat the damn thing with a fork! Oh yes, despite my totally inebriated state I remember that as clear as day. And then did what I am still proud about and consider to be gentlemanly behaviour, I excused myself from the dinner table. I remember myself tottering out of the dining room to the staircase leading up to my bedroom. Put both my hands flat on the wall and inched my way up to flop down on the grand four poster bed in the middle of that room.

That night was spent either with me clutching on to the violently rocking bed to keep from falling off or of dragging myself to the loo to throw up in the WC. All night action!

Don’t ask me how because I, till today, I don’t have any answer to that question. All I know is that I not only survived the night but that at 5 O’clock when the watchman knocked on the bedroom door, I was up in a flash and by 0530 when Mohan who had had tried to poison me the previous night rode up the driveway to the bungalow 100% certain that I would be dead to the world, found me on my own two feet waiting for him in the porch. How I wish I had a camera then because the look on the horrible gentleman’s face was well worth capturing for posterity.

Loved every minute of that day! So much so that when reminded that evening by Johnny that the car would be picking me up post breakfast on Friday, I made what I am certain would have been considered a bizarre request by any interviewee, that since I knew no one in Cochin and would get bored there wasting my time in the Casino Hotel, could I not stay on at Mooply over the weekend and be transported to Cochin early morning on Monday. Taking this strange request in his stride, Johnny told me that it would be fine. Bottom line being that I spent that weekend in utter bliss. The result of the extension interview, the dinner episode and the aftermath having obviously been reported back to the bosses in Cochin and I presume, having been viewed favourably and likely having given those gentlemen something to guffaw over, the postscript to the extension interview was that when I reported to the Agents on Monday morning, I walked out of their office with an appointment letter in my hand.

Oh yes! I had found my calling!! 

Editor's note: *P.D. - Peria Durai, a Tamil term meaning 'Big Boss', like 'Burra Saab' in North India. Both  terms stand for the Big Boss of the tea garden - the Manager.

Meet the writer:

Indi Khanna with Xerox

With an industry experience and a tea knowledge base of four and a half decades and counting, I literally live and breathe tea. 

Starting my career in 1975 as an Assistant Superintendent with Malayalam Plantations Ltd, rolling up my sleeves by 'dirtying' my hands at the grassroots level and having literally 'grown' in the business, my experiences have matured me into a ‘one of a kind’ unique entity in the industry.

My journey which literally starts from the tea nursery and stretches all the way up to the consumer shelf, is in many ways unique. Regularly roaming the tea world, delving into the most remote areas wherever tea is grown or consumed, constantly interacting with Tea folk, I have always been learning and innovating. The invaluable experiences along this very interesting route have culminated into a unique new venture, a one-of-a-kind specialty tea manufacturing facility unit in the Nilgiris - www.teastudio.info.

My life has been and continues to be blessed.

Thankfully this very interesting Tea journey continues as an ongoing learning experience.

Read more by Indi Khanna here: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Indi%20Khanna 

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, maybe long, short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 

This is the link to all the stories on this blog: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/
Be sure to add it to your list of favourites! Happy reading!! Cheers to the spirit of Indian tea!

 

My First Home

by Mansi Chaturvedi

Good evening, dear readers! It’s lovely when the stories start pouring in again, and I’m delighted to welcome Mansi Chaturvedi to our band of writers. Mansi writes with affection and wonder about her arrival in the Dooars as a ‘tea bride’. 

They say a home is where the heart lives. For me my first home as a bride was the beautiful TataTea estate DamDim in the Dooars. Every girl visualises how her home is going to be once she settles down with her partner. For a man who has been a bachelor for some years, taking up responsibilities and changing his style of living is also rather difficult.

Picture of DamDim T.E. from https://www.getbengal.com/details/from-tea-bush-to-tea-cup-enjoy-damdim-s-super-tea-trail

My husband was an assistant manager at DamDim Tea Estate when we got married in the year 1999. My parents were sceptical about how I was going to adjust from city life to life in a tea garden. I on the other hand was really excited, and the moment we arrived at the estate I was so thrilled to see the sprawling green surroundings. My bungalow was huge and the view of the Kanchenjunga on a bright clear day was mesmerising.

I had started to settle in and started rearranging everything in my new abode. There was nothing much to bother about as I had so many bungalow servants who would do anything for us. The best part in the bungalow was the guest room which was called the 'Faaltu kamra'. The word ‘faaltu’ means ‘useless’ in Hindi, and it was funny to hear them say so. It took me two three days to do up my home and every evening my husband would be happy to see the changes.

It had just been four days and we were invited for a party at the 'factory bungalow', the deputy manager's bungalow near the factory. I was amused to hear these names. The party went on till midnight, and being the new bride, special care was taken of me. 

We returned home and it was a lovely drive. The only thing was that I found it weird that there were no street lights. The only light was from the headlights of the car. We reached home very tired, and the moment I entered I saw my bungalow in a mess. The sofas had been turned upside down, the carpet rolled up, the decorative items all disarranged and scattered all over as if it had been ransacked. My husband remained cool while I was losing it completely. 

The night chowkidar had no reply and no one knew what had happened. I had taken such pains to do up my home and it was all undone. To my surprise there arrived two cars . It was past midnight and my husband welcomed the guests with the rooms all messed up. He introduced me to them and I kept myself calm and composed. 

I was a bit reluctant to meet them, wondering what would they think about my house and me. Tea was ordered, which took very long. On enquiring I was told there was no milk or tea. I had never been in such an awkward situation. When I joined my husband and guests, I came to know all that had happened. 

While we were away, these friends had come in to mess up my house, something that they always did when anyone got married - and then they would come back again after a while pretending they had never been there! It was all taken in good spirit and everyone laughed about it. They apologised for what they’d done, as they could clearly make out it was not funny for me. That is how they used to have fun with friends and family in those days at our tea estate.

You might find this weird, as I did initially, but I would like to let you know, my stay in a tea garden was the best part of my life after my marriage. The memories I made there, the friends , the fun and the bonding I have never ever seen anywhere. It has been twelve years that we left and settled down in a city, but we still long to go back and live life again in the midst of nature. There are so many instances that happened with us in every tea garden where we stayed, but DamDim Tea Estate is the home where my heart lives.
  

About the writer:

My name is Mansi Chaturvedi. I am based in Kolkata. I am a published writer and a blogger. I had been part of the tea family for 15 years as my husband was working for Tata tea. We had wonderful experience in tea gardens both in Dooars and Assam. 

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, maybe long, short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 

This is the link to all the stories on this blog: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/
Be sure to add it to your list of favourites! Happy reading!! Cheers to the spirit of Indian tea!

 

'A little bit late'

by Vineet Rajvanshi 

Hello, friends! There are some things that could only ever happen in a tea garden! Please welcome our latest writer,Vineet Rajvanshi, who tells us a most intriguing and interesting story.

It was during the year 1996, when I was posted as divisonal Manager at Lakmijan Tea Estate, Nazira, District Sibsagar, Assam.One afternoon after lunch break, had just settled down in my office and was preparing for my afternoon round of the garden, when office peon informed me that Doctor Babu wanted to come in.

The Doctor Babu, an elderly pharmacist, said that there was a snake bite case in the nearby labour line but the patient was refusing to come to the hospital for treatment.

I advised him to go to the house of the worker and get him to hospital. After about 15 -20 minutes the pharmacist, along with the worker and a few of his neighbors came to the office. The worker who was in his early twenties was in an inebriated condition. He was holding a baby king cobra about a foot long by its neck. On inquiry, he explained that he had gone to fish in the pond near his house and found the baby snake on the bank. He tried to catch the same, in the process it bit him 2-3 times. He proudly stated that he had finally caught the snake.

The pharmacist complained that with the snake still in his hand, how could he provide treatment to the patient. I convinced the worker to release the snake .When the snake was released, the pharmacist gave him first aid and referred him to the group hospital at Mackeypore Tea Estate.

I was later informed by Dr Phukan, the Medical officer at Mackeypore that the patient had been referred to Jaysagar Civil Hospital. He was further referred to Assam Medical College and Hospital, Dibrugarh.

However the patient died near Moran, on the way to Dibrugarh.

The following morning the labour union secretary named Masa Koyah approached me. He lamented that the worker could not be saved despite all efforts, basically as he was drunk and the very reason why he was bitten by snake. Moreover he reported to the hospital very late. I gave my usual sermon to him about the ill effects of consuming liquor, saying that this menace must be checked. He being a seasoned trade union leader supported my views, nodding his head. However, I could sense that this was just a formality. After discussing a few other points and seeking customary help from the management for the cremation of the deceased, he left the office.

Next day, seeing Masa Koya near my office, I casually enquired about the cremation of the worker, and was shocked to learn that he had not been cremated. Masa Koyah told me that the OJHA of a nearby village was doing JHAR PHUNK on the body and family members of the deceased were hoping for his revival. 

I reasoned with him that the dead can’t be brought to life and it was already the third day since he died. Masa Koyah pleaded with me to allow one more day , for the satisfaction of his near and dear ones. Reluctantly I agreed, but warned that by the next day he must be cremated. 

Next morning I called the union secretary and enquired about the progress. He replied in the negative. With my patience running out, I told him that if the cremation was not held on that day and if there was any infection in the labour colony he would be held responsible. 

He replied that he was making a last request and sought time up to evening. He told me that there was a very renowned Ojha near Moran town who possessed supernatural powers, who was known to have made dead men alive by his medication and yantra mantra. The family of deceased wanted to take the dead body to that Ojha as a last resort.

With a warning that the deadline must not be crossed, he was given the go-ahead. That evening the family came back from Moran Town and the body was cremated. 

Next morning I asked Masa Koyah what had happened at Moran. He replied in all seriousness, "Ojha bola ki thoda sa deri ho gaya, nahi toh theek kar deta" ( You are little bit late in bringing the patient, otherwise he would have been cured)!
 

PS

I was transferred the following year to Poloi Tea Estate, District Cachar, Assam, as Manager. The property changed hands during 1999 . I chose the option to work with the incumbent company up to the year 2005. Afterwards, continued working in Cachar and Tripura for couple of companies. However, in an interesting turn of events, got a call from Lakmijan Tea Estate during January 2018 to rejoin that garden. Considering the long association with that company, I decided to join again.

It was a strange feeling going back to same garden after a gap of full 21 years. So much change had taken place in and around the garden. Many staff members had retired, though a few were still there. Masa Koyah the Union secretary of yesteryear and many others had already left on their journey to the next world.

My driver Kamal Gogoi, who used to be lean and lanky, had  turned into a stout fellow with grey hair. Kamal Gogoi used to take me around the garden on my daily visits. One day I mentioned to him about the case of snake bite during my earlier stint. He immediately recollected the incident as he was ambulance driver at that time and had taken the worker to Assam Medical College. He informed me that the man's widow and his son were permanent workers in the garden. 

After a few days, a frail woman appeared outside my office window in the morning hours. The window used to be kept open while I was in the office to facilitate any communication regarding any grievance or requirement.

I asked her what the matter was, and she explained that she was the wife of the worker who had died of snake bite many years ago.

“Saheb Kamal driver bola ki aap ham log ka khoj liya tha,” ( Sir, I came to know from driver Kamal Gogoi that you had enquired about our well- being ).

She did not marry again, though she must have been very young when widowed. I conveyed my condolences and expressed my anguish that her husband could not be saved. She said “Kya karega saheb woh itna peeta tha. maanta hi nahi tha.” ( Sir, my late husband used to drink so much despite being asked not to drink).

Editor's note:
Ojha - medicine man/faith healer
Jhar-Phunk - mystic rituals
Yantra- Mantra - charms/incantations

The writer, Vineet Rajvanshi

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, maybe long, short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 

This is the link to all the stories on this blog: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/
Be sure to add it to your list of favourites! Happy reading!! Cheers to the spirit of Indian tea!

The Hump on the Road

Hello again, dear readers! I'm most happy to bring you another lovely story from Indi Khanna. Get ready to travel through time to the High Ranges in Kerala, 1978. I'm going to get myself a good cup of tea before I settle down to read this; why don't you? Cheers! Gowri

by Indi Khanna

I’m terrible with dates. While I need to shovel loads of fish down my gullet to simply remember even my own date of birth date, the one date which is firmly etched in my memory is the 1st of January 1978. I was a young pudian (green horn) SD (Sina Dorai = Assistant Superintendent) on Panniar Estate in the High Ranges in Kerala. The estate was teeming with with elephants so much so that Panniar had one Division going by the name of Anairankal (literally translating into ‘the road by which the elephant goes down’).

The upshot was that not a day went by when one, while going around the estate, didn’t bump into at least a couple of the pachyderms. The SOP was straightforward, you see a fellow, you simply swivel your bike 180 deg and head post-haste in the opposite direction. Workers, since they were always on foot, whenever they saw an elephant (which was a regular feature) either turned on their heels or should the fellow be too close and have been encountered while coming around a corner on the road, would simply duck under the nearest tea bush and stay put till the gentle giant(s) had ambled across. Perfect harmony and cohabitation. The man/animal conflict tale was, in those days, unknown and waiting in the wings to be played out many decades later.

Back in the day the High Range Club was always buzzing and VERY active. With the district encompassing 26 estates, 23 Tata Finlay (now KDHP) properties and 3 belonging to Malayalam Plantations (of which company, I as an Assistant Superintendent, was a teeny-weeny cog in the machinery) the strength of covenanted staff in the district was enough to ensure that the club was always alive and kicking. Never more so than on New Year’s eve. Which ‘evening’ traditionally ended the next morning with an early 0500 Hrs breakfast of dosas, leaving one just about enough time to hop on to one’s bake and make the one hour plus ride back to the estate in time for muster. 

The High Range Club on new year’s eve (besides other big bashes and inter-district meets through the year) was very pucca. Ladies resplendent in their best saris and all the men in formal attire – dinner jackets or ‘bandh gala coats’. The accepted form back in the day was that, following the New Years dance and somewhat extended dinner, on the 1st of January one attended muster (always sacrosanct and de rigueur) allocated the day’s work and could then take it somewhat easy through the day. I digress, so back to 1978 and the first day of the new year.

Leaving the club post a hearty dosa breakfast, still in my formal dinner attire, I rode into Panniar just in time for my morning muster at 7 a.m. As the workers trickled in, they were assigned their work for the day and headed off to the allocated fields. Around 0800 Hrs, by which time normally all the workers should have reported for work, my conductor Mr Balia (Incidentally NEVER Balia – always Mr Balia) remarked that he found it rather strange that not a single worker from the No.5 line had come in for work. Odd indeed. So I got on to my bike and heading off towards the lines. Nearing the line houses I saw that a whole lot of workers and kids were sitting on the roofs of their houses. Seeing me they started shouting that I shouldn’t come any further since there was an elephant sitting in the middle of road.

Did a quick about turn and drove up instead to the main office which was on the hillock opposite the No.5 lines, from where I could also sight the road leading up to the lines. Sure enough, there it was – this huge pachyderm sprawled across the road with his massive head slightly raised off the ground, resting on his tusks. On the question being shouted out, the workers hollered back that the fellow had been there since midnight in exactly the same position. As to why everyone was perched on their rooftops, was told that they were scared to come down. By which time Mr Balia having also arrived on the scene, explained to me that the elephant on the road was the same one which had been visiting the lines regularly to raid their kitchen garden plots for banana and sugar cane which the workers had planted. To fend the fellow off, whenever the workers would hear or see him heading their way they would scramble up on to the roof and would start banging on the CI sheets to drive the fellow away from their homes.

This particular time, probably fed up of being chased off all the time and being robbed off the juicy cane, it appeared that the tusker after trumpeting and raising his trunk to its full height, had charged towards the lines and had probably tripped and fallen over and was most likely injured. Which would explain him sitting on the road in the position he was in. In all the continuing pandemonium and egged on by Mr Balia, one of the workers finally picked up courage, clambered down from his rooftop perch and approached the elephant with a large rock in his hand, got close enough and threw the rock which simply bounced off the elephants back with not so much as a twitch from the mastodon. That gave all the others, including me, the courage to approach the fellow. Which is when we saw the high tension cable firmly lodged, running across through his mouth above his lower lip. And him obviously dead!

By this time Rajah Pooviah (red arrow) who, since Abid was away on a longish leave, was the acting Superintendent had also arrived on the scene. After much discussion the only conclusion we could arrive at was that when the big fellow charged the lines, his trunk being very high up in the air, had probably hit the electric cable dragging it into his mouth. And there it stayed with the electric poles on either side of the sagging cable bent inwards and leaning at an acute angle towards our poor dead pachyderm.

The matter being reported to the Divisional Forest Officer resulted in almost all the government functionaries in the district descending upon Panniar. Which lead to two days of a merry-go-round with Rajah being threatened with arrest for having willfully electrocuted the elephant. Two days of tension and with all sorts of pressure being applied before the DFO finally arrived at the obvious conclusion that the death was the result of an accident. Which then culminated in a formal permission from the district authorities to the estate management to dispose of the carcass.

Ever tried to dispose off a 4 ton carcass? Easier said than done I assure you. The first option being cremation, 600 litres of diesel was brought in from the factory and poured over that massive body and from a very safe distance, a burning rag was tossed on. Whoosh! A cloud of dense black smoke and a massive flame which died away as quickly as it had erupted. The smoke having cleared we saw that, barring only the hair on the elephants hide which had disappeared and some singing of the hide, the carcass itself was totally unaffected. After much deliberation and logistical planning a massive pit was dug across the road just behind the carcass. The estate tractor fitted with a winch cable and our two lorries were pressed into service to pull the elephant, dragging it into the pit. Following which the workers paid their respects to the tusker by conducting a Swami Kumbra (a prayer ritual) before the grave was covered over, leaving a massive hump in the middle of the road. 

Fast forward to 2018. I had to visit Munnar for some work with KDHP and decided to pay a visit to my first estate. Walked up to the office and looked down into the valley. Yup! Not high or as prominent when we’d buried the hapless soul, but there it was immediately discernable – the hump in the middle of the road!

Meet the writer:

Indi Khanna with Xerox

With an industry experience and a tea knowledge base of four and a half decades and counting, I literally live and breathe tea. 

Starting my career in 1975 as an Assistant Superintendent with Malayalam Plantations Ltd, rolling up my sleeves by 'dirtying' my hands at the grassroots level and having literally 'grown' in the business, my experiences have matured me into a ‘one of a kind’ unique entity in the industry.

My journey which literally starts from the tea nursery and stretches all the way up to the consumer shelf, is in many ways unique. Regularly roaming the tea world, delving into the most remote areas wherever tea is grown or consumed, constantly interacting with Tea folk, I have always been learning and innovating. The invaluable experiences along this very interesting route have culminated into a unique new venture, a one-of-a-kind specialty tea manufacturing facility unit in the Nilgiris - www.teastudio.info.

My life has been and continues to be blessed.

Thankfully this very interesting Tea journey continues as an ongoing learning experience.

Read more by Indi Khanna here: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Indi%20Khanna 

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, maybe long, short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 

This is the link to all the stories on this blog: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/
Be sure to add it to your list of favourites! Happy reading!! Cheers to the spirit of Indian tea!

A Wedding Invitation

by Vijaya Sarmah

Good evening, dear readers! I'm very happy to welcome another new writer to Indian Chai Stories today. Vijaya Sarmah's first contribution is a charming story about a very interesting character - and about a quaint practice that prevails in the tea gardens! Enjoy your read!

Lal was the name of our cook in Bungalow No. D. in Khonikor T.E. He lived just outside our bungalow. Lal was extremely polite and hardworking. He had immense strength and could single handedly lift big and heavy logs. He came to work around 8:30 in the morning, but before coming to the bungalow he went to the nearby forest, in search of firewood and wild herbs. This firewood he would sell in the daily bazaar every evening to make an extra income.

He had a big family - three children,a wife and a mother. Lal was the only earning member. However, it was not so much to feed his family that he had to earn money. His children were very small. He had two daughters and one son . The son was the youngest, and probably about two and half years old , while his daughters were aged five and six. His mother and wife were also thin and tiny women,who did not eat much. It was Lal who needed two kilos of rice every day. 

He ate rice like a demon from some mythological story. I called him 'Bakaashur', sometimes. He told me that he had tried to eat less at night, but he couldn't sleep well. He could eat the rice without the complementary dal or sabzi. Plain rice and salt was enough for him. 

 Lal cooked food in the bungalow, taking down my instructions. He was not an 'original' cook, not one of those descendants of the Mog cooks from the British era. In fact, he had actually been a gardener, and was engaged as a cook only a couple of years earlier. Still, he was making an effort to learn cooking, taking down my instructions carefully, and slowly he was able to whip up dishes on his own. 

Lal was sincere about his duty; he would come to work on time and never took any leave. Every evening,his three children would come to our place to play with my son. Lal's son was adorable.He could say a few words and would run around with his sisters. I enjoyed watching them playing games with my son who was the youngest in the group. The four of them would sit on the lawn, and eat biscuits ,cakes,chocolates, whatever I let them have. Sometimes Lal's wife too would come with her children.She called me 'Didi', which was refreshingly different from 'Memsaahib', which was so new to me; I thought only older ladies were addressed as 'Memsaahib'. She would come and talk to me for few minutes and then take her children back home. 

Vijaya in her garden

 Like Lal, she was also always smiling and was hard working. Lal had a happy and contented family. One day,Lal came to me in the early morning . I saw that he was hesitating to say something. 

'What is it, Lal?' I asked to make him feel at ease. 

Lal told me he needed five days' leave. 

I was surprised to hear this, as he never took more than a day off. I asked him why he needed the leave. Lal was looking down and smiling shyly. 

'What is it,Lal?' I asked him, a little irritably. 

'I am shy to tell you', he said. 

 'How can I give you leave if you don't tell me the reason?' I asked . 

 'We are getting married', he said. 

I was dumbfounded. Just when I was thinking of his happy family,was he going to abandon them.

'You are leaving your wife?' I asked.

'No, no, Memsahib, I am not marrying a new 'chokri', I am marrying my wife.'

'Have you not married her?' I asked him, perplexed.

'No, Memsaahib, actually we eloped from home. It is seven years now and our village people had given me a warning this time. I have to marry her now and give a feast or we shall have to pay a fine'.

 I had to bite my tongue hard to stop myself laughing in his face. 

'Ok, take your leave', I said him. 'Thank you Memsaahib!' Lal was elated. 

'Invite me too,' I called from behind him.

'Zaroor, Memsaahib!!' And he went whistling on his way.

Meet the Writer:

Vijaya Sarmah

It's been twenty two years in tea. I used to write one or two poems here and there for my college magazine but that was all. I did my Masters in English from Guwahati University.

Worked in local schools, wherever my husband got posted  - sadly nowhere more than two years - from Hatigor Army School to Bagrakote Army School in Dooars, then Naharkatia St. Mary's, again at Shankardev  Bidya Niketan, in Mazbat, Assam. 

 

We have two boys, both live away from home. I don't work anywhere at present, like to wield my pen now and then as I have nothing much to do in the house. I've published some poems in The Assam Tribune and  The Woman's Era magazine.

 

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, maybe long, 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/

Petrichor and Other Poems

Good evening to all of you, dear friends! Yes, Indian Chai Stories is back - with a new writer, as you might have guessed. And no, we don't have a story today, but a love story. Please welcome Reema Das, who expresses her love for tea life in verse! 

Petrichor

I dunk a chunk of biscuit

Into my lemon tea,

It doesn't let me

Leave my old die-hard habits.

 

It was raining heavily

Heaving, heady, the wet-earth smell 

and the fresh aroma of tea leaves

That is blown towards me.

 

 I look at the river,

A little far away from my wooden bungalow

Through the curtains of green trees

The whispering wind sometime drops the silvery leaves onto the ground

I realise that I'm lucky to watch all this

 - and have a dream like life to lead,

Staying beside the Dibru-Saikhua santuary,

At this time of pandemic

And vigour my quarentined panic and painful mind!

 

 Departing Winter

The slight chill wind tossed my hair

When I was walking through the pebbled path

Of the tiny north-eastern farm house.

The barking stray dogs, the smell of forest fire,

And the song of falling wild leaves under the deep blue sky

Bring a tinge of romance inside you

With a whiff of the departing winter.

 

The once bursting river, once devouring its surroundings,

Has now dried like the orange plantation.

All set to die, and ending its far and wide story.

 

As I stretch my legs after the long journey, at our tea estate bungalow

I get a few soft midnight knocks on our door as soft as the first flower blooms.

They say: it's the unrequited love of a British tea-planter and a tea- tribe girl!

The magic of their love still lingers

in the nooks and corners of this bungalow.

These spirited love birds must have faced adversity

Otherwise why would it surge every now and then,

That this poet could sense and feel it. . .

 

Evening Chai

While brewing black tea

It took me back to Upper Assam,

A lingering short journey to Dibrugarh,

how the strong aroma of tea in Panitola

would penetrate and rejuvenate the whole of me, purifying the soul;

that a dip in the Ganga wouldn't do!

 

While Earl Grey tea steals my heart,

like seeing your lover's eye fixed on you,

and the smile that sets, never dies...

To flavour more, green tea tightens my lazy bones and the muscles -

my first cup in the mornings

Sometimes CTC, graced with milk

would bring the memory of my school,

over the cup of tea , diluted with my students half- revealed or sudden

outburst or mystery grin

Or the laughter that would snatch my prime attention.

 

Having our breakfast

on the green lawn at the tea estate,

with talking leaves, tweeting squirrels

and the green manicured garden in the background,

endorsed with Orthodox tea,

seemed to be a transition

from madness to a responsible lady,

wearing a lady-like smile 

And nodding head languidly... 

 

 Oolong tea, O, it makes me drink sadness... 

a farewell treat that may not let me look back...

way to my most peppered life. 

Evening chai is something I still relish right here 

at the Assam tea estate with opened meshed - windows,

through which I surf the world.

 

Kissing my cuppa everyday is like kissing my birth place virtually; 

whose image I have painted in my eyes ! 

 

Meet the Writer:

Reema Das is an educationist and a poet. Currently she writes from a tea estate in Assam. Her debut book, Out of Shoes, is available on Amazon. She has contributed to leading newspapers of Assam, anthologies of national and international acclaim, and has been invited to literary conferences to present her work. She's had a short stint in freelancing.

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, maybe long, 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/

 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, maybe long, 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/

The Doctor from Baltimore

by Aloke Mookerjee 

Hello friends! It’s time to post another delightful story by Aloke Mookerjee - his 16th for Indian Chai Stories! The tea planter’s perfect recall never ceases to amaze me: you’d think he was writing about something that happened last week, not forty plus years ago. Let’s go, then, to Ghatia T.E., Nagrakata district in the Dooars. Thank you, Aloke, for story number sixteen. I wish we had a picture or two, but Aloke’s storytelling does away with the need for one. Happy reading!

‘My long tenure as an assistant manager of Ghatia Tea Estate was frequently punctuated by residence switches between the estate’s ancient ‘Factory Bungalow’ and the relatively new and popularly known, ‘Honeymoon Bungalow’ in the distant ‘Upper Division’. The two ‘chota’ bungalows were very unlike each other. The far-away Honeymoon Bungalow, was compact and contemporary in style with bright lights and fans that came to life by the crank of its own ‘AC genset’ installed within the compound while the old factory bungalow was built on stilts with thin ‘crete’ walls and wooden floors. The vintage floor, pitted and marked, creaked eerily with each footstep but still glowed with genteel charm by the vigourous rubs of ‘mansion polish’ it received at regular intervals! Unlike its far away counterpart, the factory-supplied electricity to this old bungalow did little for its lights and fans. The lights remained dismally dim and the dated DC ‘punkhas’, reminiscent of the ‘Raj’ days, revolved labouriously with ominous groans and grunts!

It was in this old bungalow of fading charm that my ex-wife arrived fresh from Calcutta as a new bride. In those wonderous days of discovery, minor discomforts of creaky floors and gloomy lights never crossed our young minds. The excitement to dress it up with ‘taste and style’ dispelled all other thoughts!

Being a passionate dog lover, Neena had no problem with my loving rogue, Panda, who had accompanied me from my earlier garden, Nagrakata. Panda took to his new mistress quickly. Soon after, we acquired through Bill and Topsy Grice, a yellow Labrador pup of an impressively long lineage authenticated by the famed Collinson’s Kennel in Darjeeling. Little Tippy immediately became the spoilt child of the family. Happily, Panda took to the adorable new addition straight away. They romped around the bungalow compound joyfully together all day long as two (disparate) peas in a pod. Sometime later we got a third dog. A beautifully proportioned miniature dachshund, whom Neena had left behind in Calcutta, now entered our household. This time, Panda was deeply disturbed. He made clear to us, the dislike for this male upstart from a city now trespassing in his own sublime country domain. It was only after a great deal of stern talk from Neena that Panda learnt to accept Put Put as part of the family, but only just so. He chose to remain aloof and indifferent to the ‘sausage’.

So, there we were now, quite happy with our three dogs in our antiquated little house when news arrived that an American friend of Neena’s mother would be soon coming upcountry to stay with us for a few days with his wife and two children. It thus transpired that, Dr. Gerry Schad from Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore (then working on a research project in Calcutta at the Johns Hopkins International Center for Medical Research and Training) arrived with his wife Donna, their perky nine year old son Eric and their adorable ‘doll like’ daughter Lisa, all of fives. On their arrival, the unique traditions of life in tea began unfurling before the Schads. Gerry was curious about the strongly entrenched British customs that were still very much in evidence in the day-to-day life of a tea planter. For the casual American, curiosity soon gave way to awe at the living standards - even at the level of an young assistant manager. He and Donna had never before seen a ‘mem-saab’ ringing a little hand bell to call the liveried bearer for service at the dining table or a bath being prepared for the ‘saab’ at the perfect temperature when he returned from work every evening or a glass of plain drinking water being brought in promptly and soft footedly on a silver salver whenever asked for!

The climax of such services, as seen by the Schads, touched new heights one fine day when we were seeking Gerry’s advice on how best we could get rid of the fleas that seemed to be emerging from the gaps between the old floorboards and settling on Tippy’s otherwise fine coat. We were applying a flea powder that was helping but not fully. Gerry wanted to take a look at the powder and so, the indispensable little hand-bell was reached out for and delicately shaken. On the prompt appearance of our bearer, he was asked to bring the tin of flea powder for the ‘bahar ka saab’*. Soon after, entered the bearer with the powder tin standing proud on a silver salver! For us this mundane act became a jaw dropping moment for our American guest, of what he perceived as a ceremonial act from a bygone age! He never got over the little incident and the story of the ‘flea powder on a silver platter’ spread far and wide amongst his circle of friends!

Eric, being the son of an eminent doctor/professor, knew a lot for his age, particularly biology. He had come armed with a butterfly net to trap the odd moth or butterfly that he knew would certainly be hovering close by in the clean tea-country air. He was not wrong! One beautiful balmy evening, the large French widows of the drawing room (without mosquito netting) were left wide open to let in the cool and pleasant breeze. At some point of time, it did also let in a huge colourful moth with a wingspan of about 8”. The lepidoptera floated around the room dodging the ‘fearful’ sweeping blades of the groaning ‘punkha’ and eventually parked itself on one of the thin crete walls. Little Eric jumped up and down in high excitement at this rare sight and in his stockinged feet quickly thudded off to the bedroom for the butterfly net. Meanwhile, the moth, perhaps disturbed by the commotion caused by Eric, flew off the wall only to succumb to gravity with a perpendicular dive down to the floor. 

Now sadly, for both moth and Eric, our ‘sausage’ Put Put who had been, so far, watching all the excitement quietly with the patience of an experienced predator now sprang to action. Skidding and sliding on the polished floor, he raced up to the moth and in one big bite and quick gulp, killed and swallowed up the poor creature. Thus vanished, in a jiffy, the slightest evidence of a ‘living being’ that was a reality only moments back. Having done with his body and soul satisfying deed, Put Put was quickly back to the corner in his usual supine position with what I thought was a look of blissful satisfaction! Just then, Eric races into the room, his net waving wildly. Screeching to a halt, he looks around for the moth that was there just moments ago. At the sight of the blank wall before him, his expression changes from thrill and expectation to utter bafflement. “The moth? Where is the moth?”, he eventually blurts out. In a serious tone I replied truthfully, “Eric you would be sad to know that Put Put has eaten up the moth”. Now visibly disturbed, Eric walks up to the fat sausage and looks down sternly at him with arms akimbo. He then shakes his head a few times and addresses offender with the firmness of a disapproving parent, “Put Put” he says in an admonishing tone, “YOU’LL NEVER LEARN”!

‘Put Put, you’ll never learn’ has since become an immortal phrase in our family and friends’ circles whenever one wishes to put another on line, gently but firmly! Eric was a bright, talkative and sprightly boy. We were unaware of his pet hate – spinach soup (we would soon enough to know of it)! Little blond Lisa, on the other hand, was quieter but sharp and observant.

Ignorant of Eric’s culinary dislikes, our cook decided one evening, to prepare the boy’s ‘bête noire’ as the first course for dinner. When the green broth was placed before us on the table, Eric took a long disturbed look and announced with steely firmness that he would not touch this ‘distasteful’ stuff. His seemingly unbreakable resolve, however, began to crack soon after by what seemed a convincing explanation from Neena, (backed by his parents) that, it was not spinach soup at all. The cook had merely added a green food colour to a plain chicken broth! Somewhat convinced, Eric started eating the soup albeit a bit hesitantly to begin with. Soon after, we realized with some relief that he had begun to actually enjoy the green broth. Now, all this time, little Lisa seemed unconcerned and quietly eating her soup with relish. Just when Eric had settled in comfortably with the regular spoonsful, Lisa still looking intently at her plate, was heard announcing very clearly, “It’s spinach soup, stupid!”. That did it! Eric’s spoon came clattering down and no amount of persuasion could get him to lift it again!

Memory also takes me back to the occasions when Eric and Lisa would entertain us in the evenings by performing little skits they had created on their own; and of Donna (who found it impossible to keep awake after dinner} quietly dozing off as we listened to Gerry's fascinating ramblings on the various types of frogs he had spotted in Ghatia or of his research on hookworms that took him into the villages of interior West Bengal.

Meanwhile, of our three dogs, Panda quickly became Lisa’s favourite. She would be seen spending all her time with the little scallywag with a ‘jalebi’* tail. Both appeared to enjoy every moment of their time together. This mutual love and admiration continued for all the days the Schads were with us.

The days went by and sadly, as we know, all good things do come to an end. The Schads’ holiday was finally over and the day arrived for them to depart. We were to drive them to Bagdogra for their Indian Airlines flight back to Calcutta. While their luggage was being loaded on to the car, Lisa quietly appeared before us and announced with great firmness that she had decided to take Panda with her. Her determination was very disturbing for Gerry and Donna who immediately sat with their daughter to explain at length why her decision was not a wise one as Panda would surely be very unhappy living anywhere but her own Ghatia home. Lisa seemed to understand this. Pensive but still unrelenting in the thought of parting with Panda, she appeared to have found a new solution. She now wanted to stay on with us in our bungalow, so as to remain with Panda and she would now not have it any other way! Her increasing determination was very upsetting for her parents and she was eventually forced into the car, crying loudly for Panda.

That day, little Lisa cried all the way to Bagdogra and in the airport for as long as we could see her. Donna and Gerry turned to wave us goodbye. They gestured from the distance that Lisa was still crying for Panda as they disappeared into the cabin. The aircraft took off with Lisa but alas without Panda!

Sadly, Donna and Gerry are no more. Eric is apparently a doctor in USA now and of the whereabouts of cute little Lisa, I have no information. Sometimes I wonder if Eric and Lisa have any recollection of their unique holiday in the tea plantations of India with Panda who was left behind and of the greedy Put Put who deprived a little boy of his prize catch by gleefully gobbling it up!

PS Much of Gerry Schad’s life and passion was unknown to us. Excerpts taken from his obituary that appeared on April 29, 2009 reveal a remarkably interesting and brilliant man: “Gerhard Adam Schad, 81, of Chadds Ford, a professor of parasitology at the University of Pennsylvania School of Veterinary Medicine for more than 35 years, died of cancer at home…Dr. Schad was an enthusiastic world traveler, wildlife photographer and fly fisherman. His first wife died in 1998. In 2003 he married Margaret Mulqueen in Cape May, where they enjoyed weekends birdwatching…In addition to his wife, Dr. Schad is survived by a son, Eric; daughter, Lisa; five stepchildren; and nine grandchildren.” “…He published more than 150 scientific articles. His recent research involved understanding how certain parasitic worms are able to find the people and animals they are going to infect… …In 1964 he accepted a position at Johns Hopkins International Center for Medical Research and Training in Calcutta. His work in India resulted in the publication of classic studies that are required reading for students of hookworm parasites.”

Meet Aloke Mookerjee:

 

I am a planter long retired from the Dooars  as well as Assam and Papua New Guinea where I worked in tea and coffee for several years. I have been writing about my life in tea. These are really ...the early impressions received by a young 'greenhorn ' of those times upon his arrival at the plantations.

 

Even after all this time, tea remains alive in my thoughts; those were the best years of my life.  I have relocated to Goa recently and its hot and humid weather is taking me back to my 'tea days'. Alas, I cannot say that of the cold weather here. Nothing could beat the wonderful cold months of NE India!

 

Other interests? Always loved jazz music - still do - and have written about this incredible genre. Love vintage airplanes (thus my love for Dakotas!) and cars, and intend to make this my next focus.'  

 

Here is the link to all posts by Aloke - Stories by Aloke Mookerjee 

Aloke's book, The Jazz Bug, is available on Amazon. Read about it here: https://notionpress.com/read/the-jazz-bug?fbclid=IwAR2HjxSU2rY6sq5cX_lzBxJY5oat1i_Z22qKdRRP1Tm77Dqp48B2CAlnGvY 

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, maybe long, 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/