Gillanders and the Greenhorn

by Aloke Mookerjee
Gillanders Arbuthnot & Co. Ltd, now operating as a fully Indianised company, was once a family firm of the Gladstones. Wielding power and influence in high political circles of nineteenth century England, the Gladstones (one of them rose to be the Prime Minister of England on four occasions between the years 1868 and 1894) created a vast business empire that spread across the globe when the tiny island was on the pinnacle of her colonial supremacy.

In time, Gillanders opened up offices in Calcutta, then considered the ‘Second City’ of the Empire and the business capital of her ‘crown’ colony. From here, they managed an array of businesses ranging from engineering to copper mining, tea plantations, general insurance, office filing systems, tacks and nails, wood derivatives and paints. Notably, the legendary 24” narrow gauge ‘Darjeeling Himalayan Railway’ line was built by them in, as far back as, 1879. This enchanting ‘toy train’, listed by UNESCO as a ‘World Heritage’, still puffs along the eastern Himalayan slopes delighting those travelling up to this high mountain resort.

Gillander House, Kolkata. Pix - Wikimapia

Interestingly (and unknown to me then), one of their other business activities, dubious but thankfully short lived, arose from the ban on slavery across the colonies of the British Empire. Enforced in 1833, the embargo, caused acute shortage of workers required for the expanding plantations of the ‘new world’, including their own properties in far flung colonies. Undeterred, the powerful stakeholders set in motion a plan that adroitly dodged the ban by replacing the hitherto African slaves with ‘indentured’ labourers recruited from the various colonies, mainly India.

Gillanders Arbuthnot, along with Gladstone Wiley, another one of Gladstone enterprises in India (that later got to be known as Gladstone Lyall), exploited this lucrative opportunity by relocating from India, workers to Central America, Fiji, Mauritius and The West Indies.

Lured by (failed) promises of a good life and bonded by (one sided) contracts, many thousands of ‘indentured workers’ found themselves crammed in ocean going vessels sailing out to the newly opened plantations in the ‘new world’ including (British) Guyana where the Gladstones owned vast sugar plantations. Whether the descendants of the first generation diaspora in those distant lands should thank Gillanders, for their displacement, would now be a moot point!                                                                                                                                                                                               
In the tea business, Gillanders Arbuthnot owned plantations in Assam as well as the Dooars and Terai regions of North Bengal. They also managed, as agents, ‘sterling’ tea companies on behalf of the British owners residing in the U.K. The King William House Group, comprising three ‘sterling’ companies; The Dooars Tea Company, The Empire of India and Ceylon Tea Company (later changed to Empire Plantations) and The Singlo Tea Company with their plantations in the Dooars, the Terai and Assam were managed by Gillanders from their head offices on Clive Street (now Netaji Subhas Road) in Calcutta’s (now Kolkata) prime business hub, Dalhousie Square (now BBD Bagh).  A discreet but heavy teak door with a burnished brass plaque at its side, unobtrusively indicating the company’s presence, formed the entrance.

As a youngster seeking gainful employment, I knocked on their doors one Wednesday of May in the early 1960s. Full sleeved shirt with tie and jacket was mandatory wear for the executives of mercantile houses even in the steamy hot summers of Calcutta. I was thus appropriately attired for the ‘occasion’. The sombre wood paneled and high-ceilinged main hall with its dangling lights and whirling fans was filled with the chatter of the many dhoti clad clerks at their desks. Turbaned peons (chaprasis), in their starched white pyjamas and long white coats with wide, brass monogrammed, ‘cummerbunds’ round the middle hovered about with files and sheaves of paper, in an air of great importance. The constant clatter of manual typewriters and loud ringing of the heavy black Bakelite telephones across the hall added to the clamour.

The bustle and banter was a little unnerving for a greenhorn aspiring to embark upon a commercial life. Nevertheless, stretching to full height and leading with my chin, I strode across to one of the haughty chaprasis in the hope of an appointment with an appropriate executive of the tea department. It seemed to work. I was handed a slip of paper to write my name and purpose of visit, albeit with a cultured look of indifference; I was not the ‘chosen one’ to the ‘elite circle’ – yet!

Before long, I was ushered into a cabin occupied by an expatriate executive. In his crisp white shirt and striped ‘club tie’, he looked the archetypal ‘white saab‘ of the ‘colonies’. I did not fail to notice a linen jacket, on a hanger, dangling from a hat rack in a corner of the room – necessary, no doubt, when summoned by the ‘company burra saab’.

A series of rather starchy interviews followed; moving up the ladder to the head of the Tea Department and culminating in a call from the company ‘burra saab’ himself, the Chairman and Managing Director, Stephen Gladstone (of the Gladstone family). Comfortably ensconced behind a large desk in his impressive chambers, his restrained charm and geniality put me at ease. The interview ended with a pleasant handshake. I felt (rightly as it turned out) I was in!
  
Following the final interview and after what seemed like a long wait back in the main hall, I was called in once again, this time, to be offered a job in one of their plantations. My appointment, as an Assistant Manager of Nagrakata Tea Estate of the Dooars Tea Company, was tied to a ‘signed and sealed’ covenant of three years including an initial six months period of probation.

The salary, perquisites and other terms of service were clearly delineated in the contract and handed over, printed and bound, in an impressive folder. Specifically, stipulated was the clause that I could, at immediate notice, be transferred to any one of the fifteen plantations belonging to the three King William House Group of companies that spread across the Dooars and Assam regions. Also stipulated was a rather quaint clause that required me to remain a bachelor during the tenure of the first contract (not that there was an urge to tie the knot then)! Our leave terms allowed an annual ‘local break’ of two weeks for two consecutive years followed by a three month ‘furlough’ in the third year. I was given seven days to prepare for departure and asked to return to the office, in a couple days, for the final briefing.

Salary and perquisites of the British tea companies in India were then among the best offered by the mercantile houses. Added to this reputation was the lore of glamour and adventure associated with life in the plantations. ‘Tea’, therefore, attracted the somewhat flamboyant and spirited from the finest schools in the country, particularly those less academically inclined (!) with a leaning towards sports and outdoor activities. It resulted in a gathering of like-minded and often colourful individuals; some decidedly audacious and quirky!

Hercules - a '60s model. Pix - Google

On appointment, a ‘joining allowance’ paid to the young recruit helped him acquire the necessities of life in the plantations. I was advised to use wisely my allowance of six hundred and fifty rupees that was handed over in a sealed envelope, specifically, to equip myself with adequate pairs of shorts (khaki for work and white for tennis at the club), half sleeved shirts, work boots (Bata’s canvas ‘Hunter’ boots’ sufficed) and last, but not the least, a bicycle (‘Hercules’ for its sturdiness!). This ‘princely’ amount allowed me to not only acquire all the advised essentials but also left me with a surplus for a tailored ‘made to measure’ dark suit as formal wear!

That was not all, for the company separately purchased, for the new recruit, a set of dinner and tea services (by the then popular Bengal Potteries) as well as a set of Sheffield made cutlery including bone handled fish eaters and meat carvers.

Thus equipped, the young recruit was set to start life in the plantations independently.

The famous 'Hunters'! Pix - Pinterest

Aloke Mookerjee

Meet the writer:Here's what Aloke has to say about himself : 'Long retired from tea, but still active in business. Even after all these years, tea remains to live strongly in my thoughts; they were the best years of my life. 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.' Aloke's first story for Indian Chai Stories, in case you missed it, is called A Spiritual Encounter.

The Magic of Christmas

by Mrinalini Rautela Pahwa
While checking my emails today, the spring cleaning bug hit me – although spring is long gone and Delhi, currently, is a sweltering 43 degrees! I decided to begin my spring cleaning with my email inbox. Deleting email upon email from Marks and Spencer’s sales promotions to offers for home loans, I hit upon an old invitation to a Christmas carnival sent by our club.

Carnival? I paused with my finger almost touching the Delete button. The word struck a false note somewhere as I thought back to the Christmas carnivals I had attended in our club in Delhi.

The lawns of the club, resplendent with brilliant red poinsettias, red and white balloons and similarly themed checked table cloths on the tables and chairs that dotted the grounds. Live food counters with chefs in their white aprons and tall hats, a Bouncy, a magician, a tattoo artist and hair braiders, all in place, ready to cater to the demands of the children while the dance floor gleamed and the DJ belted out a steady stream of Christmas carol remixes, interspersed with Punjabi pop.

The ubiquitous Christmas tree with its professionally perfect decorations and lights glittered away and well -dressed parents ate their tikkas and drank beer, keeping an indulgent eye on the children and their nannies. Santa arrived to the tune of Jingle Bells, the MC cracked a few jokes, and announced the names of the children, who trotted up and collected the presents their parents had sent in earlier - and everyone went home happy. Sure, it was a carnival of colour, light and music but was it Christmas with its attendant spirit of togetherness?

Growing up in the remote tea plantations of far flung Assam, the winter season was always looked forward to, with its endless rounds of parties and picnics, duck and partridge shoots and the feasts that followed, the profusion of flowers in the sprawling bungalows and the flower shows that every Tea Garden Memsahib worth her salt, (including my mother) did her best to win. But for us children, nothing could beat the magic of Christmas!

For weeks in advance, the anticipation permeated the air just as did the aroma of candied fruit soaking in rum and the Christmas goodies the cook started baking for the club ‘Christmas Do.’ The ‘Do’ for the uninitiated, was the big party that was held at the Planter’s club, where all the tea planters of that district (the Assistants or the Chota Sahibs and the Managers – the Burra Sahibs) and their families gathered for an evening of much drunken revelry – with most of the planters going straight to work from the club, the following morning! And for us children, the one we looked forward to most was the Christmas party.

Weeks in advance, our mothers scanned the catalogues and sent off orders to large departmental stores in Calcutta for our Christmas presents, which would arrive in cloth wrapped packages and be hidden away until the big day. The ladies in charge of the club committee would designate work amongst all the Planter’s wives and so, the food and the décor would be taken care of amongst much bonhomie and laughter while the club took on a festive look.

In the meanwhile, we children would lay bets on which uncle was going to essay the role of Santa Claus. The requirements were stringent- a booming laugh, a beer belly and the patience and strength to dandle several children on his knee without busting it. The Santas I saw over the years as a child in tea had one thing in common…they all smelled of copious quantities of the alcohol that had been poured down their gullets by their friends, our fathers, in a bid to (literally) bolster their spirits!

And they all arrived in as dramatic a manner as possible – on an elephant, on a rickety cart, pulled by the local banker’s pony, once even by helicopter, loaned by the air force unit posted close by. For me personally, the most memorable was the Santa whose vehicle had had a flat. Hoisting his sack on his shoulder, determined to fulfil his commitment of bringing joy to the world, he hopped off the jeep and began his trudge to the club, only to be chased by an irate bull. All his padding notwithstanding, Santa took to his heels, putting in an impressive performance, beating the wicked horns of the bull by a millimetre as he flew over the cattle trap, leaving the frothing bull on the other side and winning our respect forever! A few bottles of chilled beer later, when he had steadied his nerves enough to get back to the job of dandling us on his knees and dishing out the gifts, not one of us attempted to pull his beard off or tickle him. He was our death defying hero!

Our Santa knew all the children well and called them to himself one by one, teased them, asked them questions and finally handed over the gifts. Then, the khoi bag was burst and we flung ourselves on the floor with gusto while Santa took that as his cue to beat a hasty retreat!

Finally, came the feasting at the long trestle table that was set up especially for us with caps and whistles and all the food that had been cooked in the kitchens of our friends. Aunty Trixie’s famed horse shoe shaped peanut biscuits and Aunty Shashi’s gingerbread along with Aunty Hema’s dosas and Aunty Cynthia’s Christmas cake were looked forward to year after year. We stuffed ourselves till we could barely move and as the shadows lengthened, the fireplace was lit. The adults played their music and took to the floor while we children played with our gifts or napped contentedly in the Children’s Room that all clubs had.

That was Christmas for me and for my generation. A time for laughter and celebration. Of pleasure in getting together with friends who had become closer than family. We didn’t know what a Bouncy was or a tattoo artist, for that matter and DJs and dance floors were a concept still to be born. But we could run races with the best, breathing in the pure winter air and our imagination ran riot, fed on a diet of the stories we read, from the books we received as Christmas presents.

And as I finally hit the delete button on the Christmas Carnival invite, I knew that our generation owed it to our children to show them the difference between a Christmas Carnival and a Christmas party and refresh our memories along the way.

The colours of a tea garden Christmas!Pic by Gowri Mohanakrishnan

Editor’s Note:

saat pheras – the most important ritual in a Hindu marriage ceremony

baraatis – the bridegroom’s party

band, bajaa and malaas – a fitting reception committee for the groom’s party

bidaai – the time when the bride leaves her parent’s home after the wedding

Meet the writer: 

Mrinalini Rautela Pahwa

Mrinalini Rautela Pahwa lives in Gurugram, Haryana with her husband, a dog and a daughter ...not necessarily in that order. She would like to believe that she is a teacher- a stolidly respectable pillar of society. However, there are many, who shall not be named, for fear of arousing homicidal tendencies in her-- who have been known to whisper otherwise. For now, let this suffice. The rest is silence.
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!
 

Back in the Day - Part V

by Shipra Castledine
The mainstay of the tea estate was / is the labour force. The iconic picture of a tea estate in India is that of a female labourer with a huge cane basket strapped over her head, plucking the young tea leaves on the top of the bush and deftly dropping them into the basket. Some used cloth bags to hold the plucked tea leaf.

And you had your babus in the garden office who did all the clerical work. The babus had to be able to speak in English as they worked with the Britishers, back in the day. Their English was unique and though I cannot remember some of the things they said, I remember the look of an office ‘babu’ and how he would speak! Quite distinct.

The burra saab and memsahib were like the king and queen of the tea estate. They were responsible for the wellbeing of their 'subjects' on the estate, their kingdom. The manager and his wife had to be a shoulder to cry on, counsellors, good hosts  - and a friend. Whilst the burra saab taught his assistants all he could work-wise as well as the play side of life in tea, the burra memsahib took in hand the young brides who would inevitably enter into the picture. I remember a young couple in the chota bungalow down the road from our burra bungalow. I cannot remember their first names but they were the Tandons. They were a  good looking couple. She came to Baintgoorie T.E. as a newly married bride. She was all at sea in tea, having come from Delhi.

Mum visited her every day when her husband was away at work and she would explain the unique terminology of the gardens like malibari, chowkidar, paaniwala, bawarchi and so much more. Mum would also explain the routine of life in tea. At times mum would visit and find the beautiful bride in tears as the change from her urban life to life in tea was so huge. At these times mum had to be mum, counsellor, friend and burra memsaab.

As the days went by Pummy (I think that was her name) settled down and started enjoying her new life. There were plenty of other chota memsaabs around in the district. They would get together of a morning and enjoy a session of morning tea and delicacies and have a good old talk sharing similar experiences.

As little girls are, I was fascinated with these brides. By the time Pummy was on Baintgoorie I was a schoolgirl and would be at home only on holidays from boarding school. When I was at home I would every other day drag an ayah from our bungalow and walk down the kaacha road (actually a beautiful road of gravel and a centre strip of grass – typical in all tea estates) to the end chota bungalow where the Tandons were. I would spend an exhilarating hour or so in Pummy’s company staring at her new clothes and entranced with her new bride status.

Soon enough Pummy was pregnant and mum played the role of mum again. The only medical facilities available for the tea planters and their families was the district GP. You were lucky if you got a good district doctor! We did have a GP who hadn’t been too flash a doctor in the city but did well enough in our district as he was a bit of a canny diagnostician (if there is such a word!). He was Dr. Mahajan. For the likes of Pummy he was the only medico to see her through her pregnancy!

However, expecting mothers in tea could fly to Calcutta every few months to have a check up with a gynaecologist.  As Pummy got closer to her time she went home to her parents to have the baby in Delhi. This was fairly normal practice for young couples. The hubby would be on his own for a few months, probably just getting some leave to go and see his newborn baby.

The new mother would come home to her tea bungalow probably in 3-4 months time usually with her mother in tow. The new grandmother would stay and see her daughter and grandchild through a couple of months. In this time, an experienced ayah would be employed who would turn out to be the young mother’s lifeline! Life in tea when you got to experience every part of it, could be very comfortable for a family. You actually did not lift a finger to do anything not even to do the hard yards for your baby! If you wanted you could have a day ayah and a night ayah!

A bit more about Dr. Mahajan. I remember mum started suffering from some gastric problems mainly due to the social life in tea. Plenty of morning teas, mah-jong mornings, evening teas and dinners galore, all accompanied by sumptuous food. You did not go to the doctor. He visited your bungalow on routine days of the week!

On one such visit to the bungalow mum consulted Dr. Mahajan with her complaints. His prescription was to take one teaspoon of Milk of Magnesia after lunch and after dinner. Mum felt a bit let down with this inglorious treatment but she followed it and in a week’s time she was over the indigestion and gastric problems! I have never forgotten this tale of mum’s and that she used to say that degrees did not always make for a good doctor. It was the diagnosis!

 DDMA - Planters' Hospital, Darjeeling

One of the drawbacks of being in the tea plantations was the lack of hospitals and good enough medical facilities. You were lucky if you kept good health which thankfully my parents and I did but if you had any problems aside from run of the mill tummy upsets or flu etc it was a hard ask to get to decent medicals. The Dooars planters usually had to go up to the DDMA - Planters Hospital in Darjeeling or if you were lucky to be connected to the army they would treat you at the army hospital at their base in Binnaguri.

That’s my recollections for this chapter!

To be continued.........................

Editor's note: Shipra Castledine lives in Brisbane, Australia. Shipra has  been sending us these charming and absorbing instalments of  'Back in the Day': recollections of her childhood in the tea gardens of the Dooars.  

Here's what Shipra has to say about herself : 

'My name is Shipra Castledine nee Shipra Bose (Bunty). My parents were Sudhin and Gouri Bose. I am a tea 'baba' of the 1950-s era. I spent a part of my life growing up in the Dooars and another large part of my life married to a tea planter's son the Late KK Roy son of PK and Geeta Roy of Rungamuttee TE in the Dooars. I continued to be in the tea industry for many years as KK was a tea broker till he passed away in 1998.' Read more stories by Shipra here: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Shipra%20Castledine

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! 
Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true (always), maybe a tall tale, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 
 
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!
ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/Indian Chai Stories

A Spiritual Encounter

by Aloke Mookerjee

Panda came to my life courtesy Mike Whitford, the manager of Nagrakata Tea Estate. When he decided to leave tea for good he left the naughty dog in my care. Of obscure Bhutia origin, Panda was quite a unique individual.  Small yet immensely tough and fearless, he was an adorable rogue and a wayward wanderer who often disappeared for days, weeks and even months – particularly when the 'line dogs' were in season. I realized soon enough that I would have to accept his wild and wicked ways or forever remain exasperated with his wanton way of life. Surprisingly, in my care, Panda seemed to settle down well in his new home. No more wandering, no vanishing acts.  Perhaps, I thought, he had finally sowed the last of his wild doggy oats!

Soon after, I was transferred to Ghatia Tea Estate, in the same district but right across the other side several miles away with other plantations and the untamed open Dooars terrain in between. Around this time, John Drake*, the factory engineer of a neighbouring estate suddenly passed on leaving us all shocked and saddened. Richard Smith*, a good friend of John’s, was particularly upset. He was then the factory assistant of Nagrakata Tea Estate, occupying the bungalow where I had earlier lived with Panda.

 

Jaldhaka River in Nagrakata district of the Dooars - pic by Gowri Mohanakrishnan

Richard was raised and schooled in Kalimpong and Shillong. He and his glamourous Anglo-Khasi wife Mary* believed most profoundly in the many quaint Khasi customs and superstitions that is so much an essential part of life to these good hill people. Richard and Mary remained deadly serious in their beliefs even while we brushed them off with some good natured humour.

Very soon after John’s death, Panda suddenly disappeared from us yet again!  It seemed I was mistaken to have believed he had changed! A thorough search around the estate revealed little sign of his presence. Gloomy thoughts of the little rogue falling prey to a prowling panther kept floating in my mind.

After work that evening, an urgent message from the Burra Bungalow instructed that I should immediately drive on to Nagrakata Tea Estate and check out on a strange dog that seemed to have made himself very comfortable with the Smiths. I drove fast to reach Richard's bungalow in quick time.  On reaching, I found Richard flushed with excitement and pacing the veranda.

He explained animatedly how John often wished to be born as a planter's dog in his next life, to enjoy the freedom of the wide open spaces and the love and care lavished upon them by the doting planter owners. Now, this strangely familiar little dog, suddenly appears out of the blue and so soon after John’s death? There was no doubt left in Richard's mind that this was the re-incarnated John paying them a visit – and perhaps wanting to live with them!

It was breakfast time and so, most lovingly, Richard offered the hairy four legged 'John', two fresh fried eggs with rashers of bacon and buttered toast on his best china plate!  Later in the day, a 'curry bhat' lunch followed.  'Hairy John' relished it all and gobbled up every morsel. 

In the evening, the Nagrakata Estate Manager dropped in to see what Richard had been blathering about the entire day. Dumfounded for a brief moment, he broke into uncontrollable laughter to see Panda sitting on the drawing room sofa, sweet contentment written all over.

"Oh hell man!", Richard muttered sheepishly, " I was so certain it was John paying us a visit. He did so want to be a planter's dog in his next life and he did look so very familiar, right Mary?"

We had a good laugh that evening with a drink or two from the hospitable Smiths. And then, at my stern command Panda jumped perkily back into my car, pleased as Punch at the happy end of a wonderful day.

Piecing together the events of the day, it seems that Panda had been, for some time, missing his erstwhile home. That day he decided the time had finally come to fulfil his longing for a re-visit by traversing the vast terrain between Ghatia and Nagrakata. The incredible journey from one plantation to the other took him right across the district along the main road and over rivers, ravines, forests and paddy fields rife with thundering trucks, preying animals and a hostile terrain. How the little rogue made this hazardous journey in one day, by braving the lurking dangers remains, to this day, a question unanswered.  

Panda remained happily with us for many more years and accompanied us to Assam on my transfer there. He now lies in peace in a corner of the Ghoirallie ‘chota bungalow’ compound.  

Editor's note : Please click on the picture if you wish to read the details on the map - and get an idea of how much country  Panda had to cover!                                                                                                                                                                        

  *All names except Mike Whitford’s have been changed to respect privacy - Author

 

Editor's Note: Aloke Mookerjee is the latest writer to join Indian Chai Stories. He started his career in  tea in the early 1960s with  Gillanders, Arbuthnot and Co. Watch this space to read more byAloke!       

                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Here's what Aloke has to say about himself : 'Long retired from tea, but still active in business. Even after all these years, tea remains to live strongly in my thoughts; they were the best years of my life. 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.'

The Tale of a Wedding Less Ordinary

by Mrinalini Rautela Pahwa

I was born and brought up in tea and then married a planter, so I have a tea trolley laden with tales -- poignant, funny, ludicrous,  and to the uninitiated, possibly a figment of an overwrought imagination! And while I am waiting for the others to emerge from the cobwebby corners that life in a fast paced metropolis has thrust them into, here I am, testing the waters with my first offering-- the story of my wedding to the hapless Atul Pahwa, Esq!

Post him nearly getting sacked within days of his transfer to Dejoo, where my father was the Manager, not for any mess up on his part but because his dog took it upon himself to rid the garden of a wild cat that my mother had adopted (a tale that shall be aired in due course )  I arrived back home on my summer break from college and hit him - the master and not the dog - on the head with a squash racquet! In my defence, we were playing a friendly game of squash. However, I had a wild left handed swing which often confused my right handed opponents and I connected with the husband to be’s head rather than the squash ball! 

                                             

A solitary one of Atul and self dancing

AP insists that it was suddenly all very hazy and when the haze cleared, he found the saat pheras to be over and a delighted newly minted father in law/manager shaking his hand vigorously and thanking him for taking his older daughter off his hands! This is Atul’s story. The one I stick to is that Cupid quite literally struck him!

To backtrack a bit, when Atul and I decided that we would like to get married, I told him that he needed to ask for my hand formally in marriage. This entailed speaking to his trigger happy boss -- not something any young Factory assistant with the instinct for survival would be eager to do, unless he was feeling particularly suicidal! 

With Atul being a non- starter, I attempted to broach the subject with my father while he read the papers in the evening. The only question I was asked was whether the young man I had in mind was a good sportsman! No name asked. None given! It turned out that my wily father had been kept updated on the blossoming romance by the chowkidars who would carry Atul and my notes to each other.

Then came the matter of informing Atul’s parents and fixing the date. In true tea garden style, the date was fixed for 10^th March as it was a Saturday. According to my father, the guests could get ‘wasted’, have Sunday to recover and get back to work on Monday! The venue was the Burra Bungalow of Dejoo Tea Estate.

And this is when things began to get exciting.

Atul pushed off to Delhi to fetch his parents and relatives. He reached Delhi all right but the wedding party missed the return train to Gauhati. I might mention here that his father was a Railways man and had retired as Advisor Railway Board! Gauhati to Dejoo was a nine hour bumpy drive and my parents had sent band, bajaa and malaas to the Gauhati station to welcome the baraatis, who were still trying to find their way to a remote corner of Assam in the days where the garden did not even have a landline through which they could inform my now palpitating parents of their progress- or lack of it.

Meanwhile, my mother, in her enthusiasm, had got the floors and steps of the bungalow polished to such gleaming perfection that while leaning over to admire her reflection on the floorboards, she tumbled down the staircase and fractured her right hand. All the wedding photographs have her looking rather dramatic in a resplendent lehenga and sparkling tassels wrapped decoratively around her plaster encased hand!

Mum with her hand in a plaster

The year was 1990. It was the height of the ULFA agitation and many had told dad that it was foolhardy of him to get his daughter married in an increasingly unsafe environment. But Assam, to my parents, was home and their daughter was going to be married from home. QED.

Turns out it wasn’t quite so simple. On the night prior to the wedding, members of the organisation swept in and very politely took away a revolver that was licensed in my mother’s name. They then proceeded to take a Gypsy from another planter and use my mother’s revolver to shoot a third person in that vehicle! The next day, the cops turned up to arrest my mother and dad had to send off for anticipatory bail. This is right when the bedraggled wedding party arrived, all shaken and stirred. Looking at the scene that met them, instead of the traditional aarti, I wouldn’t blame them for wondering about the antecedents of the family their prospective daughter in law belonged to! But they were there and fleeing was next to impossible so they took a deep breath, sent up a silent prayer, squared their shoulders and got down to the business of getting us married.

The band

The pundit was from the army and addressed one and all, regardless of gender as Sir. The army band struck up a rousing tune and after the pheras, the festivities were uncorked along with the champagne. There is not a single photograph of Atul and me together but there are several of me with many planters- all in an increasing state of inebriation (the planters, that is!) and of Atul with lipstick marks covering his face, surrounded by the ladies! By the time my mother got around to trying to find the official photographer to take photographs of us, he had got sloshed and fallen into the cattle trap, from where he spent the rest of the evening contentedly photographing the legs of guests who passed by. The bar was the summer hut next to which the Ranga Nadi flowed and several planters who were deep in their cups, found themselves taking the wrong turn and having to be fished out by the gleeful maalis whom my father, with long years of experience, had positioned just for this eventuality.

In the wee hours of the morning, people reluctantly started wending their way home, promising to return for my Bidaai, the next day. I still remember that just as the car brought me from the Burra Bungalow to Atul’s bungalow and parked in the porch, the heavens opened up to a massive downpour. My mother in law was delighted- it was auspicious, she said. It certainly wasn’t auspicious for all the guests, who in their finery had got into a boat to cross over to the neighbouring Koilamari Tea Estate and got the drenching of their lives midstream!

The Bidaai, of course, was a thinly disguised excuse for the beer and bridge party that was going to take place while the DC signed off on our marriage certificate. Incidentally, I have no photographs of the bidaai either as the drunk as a skunk photographer was too busy nursing a hangover to show up. However, all these aforementioned sodden guests ensured they turned up, sniffles notwithstanding!

And thus, in the midst of friends, family, love and laughter, set against the backdrop of a political agitation that would change the face of the state I knew as home and draw the curtains on a way of life that is in the blood of anyone who has been a part of the plantations, and cannot be understood by anyone who has not, I got married.

The fact that we had to face a 73 hour Bodo bandh, drive through Bodo territory with all my jewellery in the dead of the night to board a train back to Delhi from Bongaigaon, only to have it derail with us on board, is a story for another time.

    The bungalow, 15 years later, when we took our daughter back to visit from Delhi

Editor’s Note:

saat pheras – the most important ritual in a Hindu marriage ceremony

baraatis – the bridegroom’s party

band, bajaa and malaas – a fitting reception committee for the groom’s party

bidaai –  when the bride leaves her parents' home after the wedding

Meet the writer: 

Mrinalini Rautela Pahwa

Mrinalini Rautela Pahwa lives in Gurugram, Haryana with her husband, a dog and a daughter ...not necessarily in that order. She would like to believe that she is a teacher- a stolidly respectable pillar of society. However, there are many, who shall not be named, for fear of arousing homicidal tendencies in her-- who have been known to whisper otherwise. For now, let this suffice. The rest is silence.

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, maybe long - or short, maybe impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull.
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!
 

Have you read all our stories from June 2018?

Hello readers, old and new!

Here's a round up of all the stories that went up in June, in case you missed any. And you get to see who's been writing them. Please click on the links to go to the stories you want to read.

Viraj Circar

Viraj Circar, cha ka baba in Kolkata, kicked off for June with Henry and His Horse  This was Viraj's second story. His first is here: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-elephant-flora-dor.html They're both stories from the Dooars, and full of that special atmosphere of growing up in a tea garden.

Jaya Dutta

Jaya Dutta wrote her first story for us in June, and it's called 'The Power-full Problem'. Hope there will be many more stories from Jaya, a Cha Mem who now lives in Toronto with her planter husband Bijoy .

Mandira Moitra Sarkar

Mandira Moitra Sarkar, a 'cha ka baby' who grew up in the gardens in Assam, writes from Guildford in England  about her days as a 'boarder in LC', Shillong. Read Wednesdays at LC to know what fuelled the little ones at school. Mandira has also written The Bourbon Era and High Tea at Sunset with recipes here at Indian Chai Recipes.

Roma Circar

Roma Circar, Cha Mem now in Kolkata, has been writing (and rooting ) for Indian Chai Stories from the beginning! Her story for June was The Sisterhood. If you haven't read her first two stories, here they are: Unrequited Love and Lessons from Tea. Roma is mother to the other Circar writer on these pages, Viraj!

Shalini Mehra

Shalini Mehra, Cha Mem in Jaipur, has been a most encouraging presence at Indian Chai Stories from the time when it was it was just an idea! Her story for June is Comic Timing, an account of how the most carefully laid plans can derail in the tea gardens! Shalini has also written Train of Thought: A Comedy of Errors, Oh Manglu and A Predator: Lost and Lovelorn. Don't miss any of them.

Shipra Castledine

Shipra Castledine lives in Brisbane, Australia. This cha ka baby also has experience of managing a tea brokers' firm. Shipra recounts her childhood in the Dooars and her school days in Darjeeling in a series called 'Back in the Day' of which Part IV went up in June. Don't miss Back in the Day Part I. Part II and Part III.

Mamlu Chatterjee

The next new writer to join us in June was Mamlu Chatterjee, a cha mem who lives in a tea garden in Malaysia. Mamlu wrote Memsaabs, an adventure story from the gardens in Assam! We hope there'll be many more.

Gowri Mohanakrishnan

Gowri Mohanakrishnan  is happy to receive, read, edit and post other people's stories at Indian Chai Stories ( her 'start up' as she likes to call it ) but she does contribute one of her own occasionally. Not a Bad Egg, Really was her story for June, and she also wrote Hawa Pani - from a tea bungalow and Ghenwa the Jewel: A Birpara Tale 

Krupa David

Krupa David writes about how he landed (literally) in tea off a Jamair flight at Newlands 'airfield' in the 'Corner': Newlands and New Beginnings. Krupa has kindly shared his opus, Tales from a Planters' Diary so there will be more stories for our readers. Don't miss his two part story, The Three Legged Terror of Santula Busty Part I and Part II, if you haven't read them yet.

Rajesh Thomas

Rajesh is a second generation planter who was born and brought up in the planting districts of Southern India. His Learning to Drive takes us to Annamalai Club. Don't miss out on his earlier stories, An Interesting Day and The Dinner.

Joyshri Lobo

Joyshri Lobo's story for June is that of a fiesty woman from the Dooars , A Home Beside Two Areca Palms . Joyshri was among the first writers here, and she is a staunch believer that Indian Chai Stories is going to get bigger and better! Don't miss her first story Eight Years a Tea Mem. And then there's  Tiger Tales for those who love to read about adventure.

Those were our stories ( and writers ) for June!Thank you to all the wonderful writers and readers. You will see more posts introducing our other writers, and  July will bring new stories, with two new writers (at least) ! Watch this space!!

Happy reading, and cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!