Tea Tales & Chotta Sahibs

by Inder Nain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We soon forgot our discomfort; chutti blues were sinking in 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet the writer: Inder Nain

Inder in his own words: 

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

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

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

Is this your first visit here? 

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

 Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!  ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/Indian Chai Stories

Face to Face with a Tiger

by Bhupendra (Bob) Singh Auwa

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

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

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

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

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

Bob supervising work at Powai T.E.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meet the writer: 

Bhupendra (Bob) Singh 

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

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

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
Do you have a chai story of your own to share?  
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

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

Lovable Ayahs

by Alan Lane

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

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

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

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

“Humpty Dumpty”:

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

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

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

Little Miss Muffet:

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

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

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

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
Do you have a chai story of your own to share?  
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

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

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

Christina and Amina

by Gumi Malhotra

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                        

Meet the writer: Gumi Malhotra

Gumi Malhotra

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

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

The 1944 to 1950 Story

by Jaswant

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All I can say is that it was party time.

Meet the writer :

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

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

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com.

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

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

The Modern Ghost

by Nandita Tiwari

This incident dates back to the year 2013, the month of February, when we got transferred from Dooars to Assam. Transfers are all well known in the tea community; what was new was that it was our first transfer to one of the Assam gardens.

North view of the Amgoorie bungalow. All pix by author 

And we drove into the majestic bungalow of Amgoorie, taking in the Assam weather, drinking in the nectar of fresh air, the lush green lawn, the colourful flowers and a strange feeling of everything new in and around us.

Akhil (my husband) dropped me to the bungalow and went for a round of his new garden. I sat on the lawn taking in the new place. As the sun began to set, the beautiful rays of light were vanishing and lush green lawn started to appear greenish grey to me. I started feeling lonely. So I moved inside the bungalow and the staff helped me unpack.

Ghost stories and tales of haunted bungalows etc. are often heard of in tea bungalows, and the bearer started narrating some of them, although assuring me that our bungalow was safe. I asked them to concentrate on unpacking. As we retired for the night after an early dinner, the first night in the new environment -- new bed, new staff, new room, all put together gave me an eerie feeling. So I recalled the time-tested technique of backward counting… 100…99…98… and soon dozed off.

The foggy compound

In the middle of the night, I woke up as I wanted to use the washroom. So I groped in the darkness and switched on the light of the bathroom and was relieved. The night was still; an owl screeched somewhere. However, my relief was short-lived. I heard a high pitched, loud noise of someone laughing - perhaps a woman or a child. “He-he-hee-hee-haa…” and I froze. 

The laughter sent shivers down my spine. It sounded exactly like what I imagined a witch’s cackle would have been. I cannot even begin to describe my fear. My hands and legs would not listen to me, they refused to move. My vocal cords refused to produce any sound. I mustered all the courage I could, taking God’s name and returned to bed.

I nudged Akhil a little but he was fast asleep, exhausted from the day’s activities. So I tried my best to go back to sleep. The next day passed by quickly with lots of unpacking, the incident of the previous night forgotten until… the evening chowkidaars were switching on the security lights of the bungalow and compound as I sat in the verandah sipping a cup of hot tea.

To my utter astonishment, I heard the cackle from last night again. Judging from the direction of the sound, it seemed to be coming from near the chowkidaar. There was silence again. 

To investigate further, I called the chowkidaar inside and found the cackle emerging from his pocket. “He-he-hee-hee-haa…”

The mystery was solved. The night ghost was caught. After reprimanding him and asking him to change his phone ringtone to a more conservative one, we went about the chores of the evening. 

Soon, we started settling down in Amgoorie. Last February, we completed six years and have loved every second spent here, night ghost and all. 

 

Meet the writer: Nandita Tiwari

Nandita joined the tea fraternity in 1991 when she arrived in Danguajhar in the Dooars. She and her husband Akhil were in various gardens in the Dooars for over 30 years, and also in Amgoorie (Assam) for a brief period of time. They are now settled in Siliguri.

In 2019, Nandita decided to start penning down some of the unique experiences that came her way. You can read her stories on her own blog, here: https://nanditat6.wixsite.com/rosee-t

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! Do you have a chai story of your own to share? Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com.

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

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

Trains and Toddlers

by Gumi Malhotra

Holidays in tea meant going home for a month every year to reconnect with family. Phone calls were few and restricted to ‘how are you and the children’ and ‘all well’. As leave was often granted close to the time of travel and resources being scarce, more often than not it was the three tier on the Rajdhani for us. Many times it was just the boys and I, Sukhi would join us later.

Traveling with toddlers was a blur of sticky fingers, colour pencils rolling on the compartment floor, blankets which slid off and landed...yes, on the floor and a constant medley of ‘Mama susu aya hai’!

The trip to the bathroom was fraught with nameless perils and was an exercise in balance. One infant on the hip, the other holding on to your hand while you kept the door open with one foot, all the time saying, ‘Don’t touch anything’!

Let me not even start on operation clean-up!!

Looking back, I remember mopping up spilt juice, face-down ice cream cups, going to the pantry for boiled water for Lactogen and cleaning the boys' faces with Wet Ones till they shone pink. Looking out of the window and pointing out the changing landscape and birds to them, reading, napping and being cosy in our designated space.

The last train trip for us was in 2003 when I woke up at six to find our luggage gone. Someone had made off with it at Patna Station at two in the morning. Before I had time to feel sorry for myself I heard a ‘Good morning Mama’. I had the boys! Lost luggage faded in significance.

I miss those long rocking noisy journeys when Mughal Serai, Barauni, Katihar and Kishanganj were names that made up the distance between one home and the other.

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


 Meet the writer: Gumi Malhotra

Gumi Malhotra

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

The Tea Planter Who Conquered Wimbledon

by Rajesh Thomas

A trivia question. Which planter had the unique honor of winning the Men's singles title at the Wimbledon Tennis Championship?

Before you could question my sanity, a planter certainly did have his name up, along with the hallowed immortals of the sport on the Wimbledon honors board.

On a sunny afternoon in London in 1877, a certain Spencer Gore emerged victorious against William Marshall in a tennis match, setting off one of tennis and sports' greatest legacies, known as Wimbledon or simply the Championships.

The settings those days was a far cry to what we imagine Wimbledon or the sport of tennis to be when men played in full pants and shirt sleeves and the ladies played in floor-length skirts, stockings, and long-sleeved tops, where hardly 200 spectators watched the proceedings, unlike the millions of television viewers nowadays. More importantly, the winner did not earn millions in prize money and endorsements! The winner's prize was 12 guineas and a silver cup. The guineas adjusted for inflation would total around 700 pounds today.

Wimbledon 1877

Tennis was still the gentle sport played in the front lawns by the rich people of England over evening tea.

The first edition of the championships was considered a big success and the tournament was set for a sequel in 1878.

Just before the start of the 1878 Championships a tea planter from Ceylon (as Sri Lanka was then known) Patrick Francis (Frank ) Hadow was on furlough* in his home country. He was a good cricketer in his younger days, having represented the MCC and Middlesex. He did his schooling at Harrow, the famous English public school where he excelled at racquets (an indoor game similar to squash).

Frank Hadow being a natural sportsman was persuaded by his friends to take part in the second edition of the Wimbledon Championship. He quickly adapted to the new game and reached the finals, where he was slated to meet the defending champion Spencer Gore. Frank Hadow defeated Spencer Gore in a tactical match 7–5, 6–1, 9–7 to claim the trophy.

Frank Hadow

Hadow noted that Gore's chief tactic was to approach the net and finish the points with his volley: a style Gore had mastered when everyone else played from the backcourt. Hadow countered the volley tactics of Gore by developing his new shot, the lob ( A lob is a shot which sails over the opponent when he is standing near the net, waiting to volley and into the open court behind him or her ), which he played to devastating effect.

The tables were reversed this year. While the rest of the field had no answer to Gore's net rushing tactics the previous year, Gore couldn't cope with Hadow's lob. Sport, like life, evolves, and in a few years William Renshaw, one of tennis's early greats ( he won seven Wimbledons and six in a row ) developed the overhead smash to counter the Lob.

Hadow's invention of the lob would be his greatest contribution to the game of tennis.

Frank Hadow never returned to defend his title at Wimbledon; the only champion in the history of the game to have done so. When queried on this, he is supposed to have remarked that it was 'boring' and 'tennis was a sissies sport played with a soft ball'.

It is rumored that he never played tennis again. More likely the logistics of running a tea estate and travel by ship would have also been a reason for the same. His next appearance at Wimbledon was in 1926, when he was invited for the fiftieth anniversary of the tournament,  and as a former champion he was given a commemorative medal by the All England Club.

Frank Hadow's planting career was reputed to be mainly in the Uva planting district of Ceylon. One of his brothers also served as a planter along with him in Ceylon in the 1870s and 1880s. It is assumed that they were a part of the early batch of planters who oversaw the transformation of the plantations from coffee to tea following the devastation of rust which completely decimated the coffee in Ceylon.

Little else is known about the life of Frank Hadow. After his retirement, he migrated to East Africa to pursue his interests in big game hunting. He had very good success in hunting returning with record size trophies in sable antelope, Cape buffalo, Uganda kob and eland.

No wonder he considered tennis a sissy game.

Postscript
Being a planter and a tennis aficionado, I would be grateful if anyone, especially from the planting community of Sri Lanka if they could add more to the life of Frank Hadow.

*Author's note: Historically, expatriate planters enjoyed annual leave of one month which they could spend in India, and once in three years they were given four to six months leave - or furlough - to enable them to go to their home town in Britain. This long period of leave was given to accommodate the long journey by ship.

Meet the writer:

 Rajesh Thomas introduces himself:
"A second generation planter. Born and grew up in the planting districts of Southern India. Started my career in the High Ranges and Annamallais Planting Districts for twelve years. Had a stint in Africa for two years. Since 2009 been planting in the Nilgiris.

Read all of Rajesh's stories at this link: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/J.Rajesh%20Thomas

ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/Indian Chai Stories.
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea! 

 Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!
Do you have a chai story of your own to share?  
Send it to me here, please : indianchaistories@gmail.com. 

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

Glow-Worms and Kawakawa Tea

by Sarita Dasgupta

A cup of Kawakawa tea. You can see the antique stove on which it's brewed in the background

My last trip abroad was to Aotearoa – The Land of the Long White Cloud. An appropriate name for New Zealand, which always seems to have an unbroken bank of clouds lying serenely overhead. It is the most beautiful country I have ever visited, giving stiff competition to the scenic Pacific North West (Washington state) in USA.

Every place I visited had its own breath-taking beauty. While in Rotorua on North Island, I went to see the natural geysers, the thermal park with its volcanic rock formations, sulphur lakes and bubbling mud pools, a Maori village, and the spectacular glow-worm caves. It was at the Footwhistle Glow-worm cave that I first tasted the native Kawakawa tea.

Inside the cave

The Footwhistle Cave (or Te Anaroa Cave in Maori) is a stunning limestone labyrinth beneath the hills of Waitomo, with luminescent glow-worm displays. One enters in the pitch dark and looks up to see spots glowing like a constellation of stars on the ceiling of the cave. The ‘worms’ are the larva-like wingless female beetles which emit light in the lower abdomen, to attract the flying male. They produce hanging threads that look like strands of pearls amidst the limestone stalactites.

The cave belongs to 45-year-old Kyle Barnes. Kyle has more than 20 years guiding and customer service experience. His father, Ross, started guiding at the Glow-worm Caves in the early 1970s. He later joined the Department of Conservation as a Ranger, building walkways in the area. Two of his creations are rated in the top ten short walks in New Zealand.

When I asked Kyle how he’d come to own the cave, he said, "In New Zealand, if you own the land above the cave you own that section of the cave. My father and I helped develop and open the cave as a Blackwater rafting tour in 1991. I started as one of the first guides in 1992. I would crawl up the side passageways and I found that entrance you walked into. I realised it was on the neighbouring farm. I worked as a guide and slowly bought some houses and rented them and in 2007 sold everything to buy this farm. I purchased it and then the GFC (Global Financial Crisis) hit and all of a sudden, I owed more than the farm was worth. It was difficult to keep the farm and I sold off parts of it while we developed the cave."

Kyle Barnes walking down to the Footwhistle Cave

 "We opened the Footwhistle section of the cave in 2010. My father, brother-in-law, a local lady (Colleen, who was your guide) and myself guide the tour. My wife and sister-in-law work in the office." I asked Kyle about the Kawakawa trees on his land. He said many of them were growing on the land already, but he and his family had planted several hundred more.

Sir John Key in the Ponga Tea Hut

In March 2014, the then Prime Minister of New Zealand, Sir John Phillip Key, inaugurated the Ponga Tea Hut, a quaint log cabin at the top of the path leading out of the cave. There is a tall Kawakawa tree right outside the hut. The Prime Minister had planted that on his visit. Kyle says they developed the bush tea ceremony concept to appeal to tourists seeking a unique experience. Visitors stop off for a cup of complimentary Kawakawa tea after touring the caves.

Colleen leading us into the caves

After our walk through the glow-worm cave, our guide, Colleen, led us to the Ponga Tea Hut, where we sat at the charmingly laid out tables while she boiled hot water in a kettle on an antique iron stove and brewed the dried Kawakawa leaves. She then served us cups of the refreshing ‘tea’. As we sat and sipped the delicious brew, I looked out of the window at the Kawakawa tree and asked Colleen to tell me more about the special nature of this genus.

She told me that it belonged to the pepper plant class of trees (Macropiper Excelsum, as I found out later). It is native to New Zealand, and has distinctive bright green heart shaped leaves.

Kawakawa leaves

The Maori use its fruit, bark and leaves not only for medicinal purposes but also as a significant part of traditional ceremonies. An infusion of the leaves makes a tasty, refreshing cup of ‘tea’ which is considered good for digestion. It was drunk as ‘tea’ by early European settlers while awaiting shipments of black tea, but they soon discovered that it served as a great ‘pick me up’, as it was a refreshing and rejuvenating tonic, which increased one’s energy and stamina.

The Kawakawa leaves are harvested and hung in small bunches in a dry, airy room away from direct sunlight to reduce the moisture content. The leaves can also be dried for 12 hours in a food dehydrator set to its lowest heat setting. The dried leaves are separated from the stems (which are discarded) and placed in a pot with water brought to a boil then simmered for 15 minutes, allowing the water to reduce by a ¼ cup. A piece of ginger can also be added to the boiling water along with the leaves if desired. The brew is strained and served plain, or with a squeeze of lemon juice and raw Manuka honey (another New Zealand specialty). As Kawakawa tea has a relaxing and calming effect on the digestive system, it is a good postprandial drink.

Among the many exceptional and memorable experiences I had in New Zealand, walking through the magical Footwhistle Glow-worm Cave, and tasting the unique Kawakawa tea at the Ponga Tea Hut, would be somewhere on top of the list.

Pictures by Sarita Dasgupta and Kyle Barnes

Meet the writer: Sarita Dasgupta

Sarita enjoying a warm cup of Kawakawa tea

"As a ‘chai ka baby’ (and grandbaby!) and then a ‘chai ka memsahab’, I sometimes wonder if I have tea running through my veins! 

I have been writing for as long as can remember – not only my reminiscences about life in ‘tea’ but also skits, plays, and short stories. My plays and musicals have been performed by school children in Guwahati, Kolkata and Pune, and my first collection of short stories for children, called Feathered Friends, was published by Amazing Reads (India Book Distributors) in 2016. My Rainbow Reader series of English text books and work books have been selected as the prescribed text for Classes I to IV by the Meghalaya Board of School Education for the 2018-2019 academic session, and I have now started writing another series for the same publisher.

More stories by Sarita here : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Sarita%20Dasgupta

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

https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/