The Saga of Kartoo

by Indi Khanna 

I of course had to pay for the victims of his hunting expeditions, not just for the bird but also for the many eggs she would have laid.... a chicken which was supposedly the ultimate egg-layer in the lines.

Hello, dear readers! Join Indi Khanna as he takes us on another of his enjoyable 'rambles'.  

In 1987 when I was the manager of Limbuguri Estate in Upper Assam our docile and beautiful Labrador Lady (thats her in the picture above ) probably got out of the bungalow compound one day and managed to get knocked up by one of the many dogs from the labour lines who would be hanging around the fencing hopefully whenever Lady was in heat.

Two months later with Kitty and the kids away on holiday to Simla, preparations had been made in the kids' room for the day when I was to become a grandfather. The day arrived and our bearer Japan and I watched in wonder while Lady worked her way around delivering eight beautiful Lab pups, five of them a lovely golden colour like Lady's and three black ones. And then with a final push, out came a rather strange looking animal. My immediate reaction was that this one was a runt which we would probably have to put down. However, barring the fact that he was very different from his siblings, the fellow seemed to be perfectly healthy. A couple of days later after the pups had opened their eyes and had started moving around, I had a good look at the last arrival and decided that this was the one which the children would love and the one we'd keep.

He was just about the strangest looking dog one would ever see. His coat was reddish brown. Four legs which ended in white, dappled with black spotted socked paws. A tail which was thinner than a Lab's but ended in a white speckled tuft much like a lion's tail. One ear which stood erect while the other was lazily bent over double. A muzzle which, like his tail and paws, ended in black speckled with white and eyes which had a strange and beautiful golden hue. There simply was no way that I could have named him anything other than CARTOON (this fellow with Muskan in the picture below is not Cartoon, though of the same size as him).

And to the workers he became Kartoo.

Much like Jack's beanstalk, Cartoon grew by the day. He ended up a very tall and large handsome specimen, living up to his name. He loved to wander and would disappear from the bungalow compound for hours on end, most likely fathering cartoons all over Limbuguri, but would always magically appear in the dining room in time for our dinner. He loved to ride in my Gypsy and would accompany me on my garden rounds sitting proud and erect on the front seat. Driving through any of the labour lines, should he spot a chicken anywhere, he'd be off the seat in a flash and then would dart off with the bird in his mouth only to be seen in the bungalow after hours.

I of course had to pay for the victims of Cartoon's hunting expeditions, not just for the bird but also for the many eggs she would have laid. In addition to the hunting on wheels, fairly regularly I'd have workers coming to my office complaining about Kartoo having visited one of the six labour lines on the estate and having made off with a chicken. Always a chicken which was supposedly the ultimate egg-layer in the lines.

Went on for ages with the hole in my pocket becoming ever deeper , but try as I might I was unable to control Cartoon's hunting adventures. In Limbuguri labour lines Cartoon became something of a legend, being famously known as 'burra sahib ka murghi chor' (the Manager's chicken thief).

And then that day while walking out of my bungalow gate next to which were the bungalow staff houses, I spotted Cartoon sitting erect and very alert in front of Gokulchand, our rather lovable and regularly drunk house boy. I was taken aback to see the gentleman busy plucking the feathers off a chicken. It being almost the fag end of the month, by which time most workers would normally have exhausted their salaries and would be scrounging, that scene stopped me in my tracks. The penny having dropped, I called Gokulchand and in my most stern voice I asked him how on earth at the end of the month he had money for buying a chicken. After much humming and hawing and shuffling of feet, it was explained to me that on a regular basis Kartoo would bring a chicken for Gokulchand and that the bird would be cooked and shared between the two.

Other than glaring at the duo, both looking at me most innocently, there really was not much else that I could do. The bottom line was that Gokulchand kept getting his regular supply of protein and hapless me had no option but to keep paying for it.

When we finally left Limbuguri in 1990, since there was no way that we could take Cartoon with us, we very reluctantly had to leave him behind to be adopted by his hunting buddy. With Gokulchand being of a ripe age, he and Kartoo must have carried on with their expeditions long after we had left Assam and would, I am sure be still at it in their happy hunting ground - wherever that may be.

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.

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!

 

Oh! The O’Valley

by Vina Madappa 

Once again, I'm most happy to welcome a new writer. Thanks to Radha Madappa* for sending us this engaging story by her mother-in-law. Vina Madappa tells us about her early days as a planter's wife, and about the fine man who served the family as butler.   

It was in 1958 that we were wed and honeymooned and drove up to the Ouchterlony Valley Estates in the Nilgiris. This was the valley that the Raja of Nilambur gifted to Colonel Ouchterlony for having presented him an exclusive suit length from England. At first the Raja offered the Colonel gold in appreciation, but he expressed his desire for a piece of land. The Raja then led him up a hill in Naduvattum (about 30 kilometres from Ooty town) and pointed to a valley down below and said with a generous sweep of his arm, “All this I lease to you for a hundred years as a gift!” The gift encompassed 15,000 acres of pristine rainforest.

The Valley was then cultivated with tea and coffee and prospered. It had been sectioned into different estates for cultivation and administrative purposes. So there was Lauriston, Guynd, Glenvans, New Hope and Kelly. The Ouchterlony Valley Estates was popularly referred to as the OV or O’Valley.

 With my husband Tata Madappa at Suffolk bungalow, 1958

I was a bride when we moved to Suffolk Estate, a division of Lauriston which was the closest to Gudalur - the little town where we sourced all our essentials. The butler at Suffolk had been with my husband, Pilfering and nimble fingered, lined his pockets with no fear at all. Being just out of college I had no inkling of cooking and store-keeping, or of supervising the bungalow staff, who luckily were well trained.

In Mysore from the Metropole Hotel we interviewed and engaged a butler cum cook. A small-made, sprightly and pleasant faced man called Chinnappa. This was shortened to Chinnan which suited us all better and eventually our children (Navina and Vinod) called him ‘Chin’!!

With Vinod and Navina at Lauriston, 1964

He proved to be a good cook and punctual too. Only drawback was the quantity- having worked in a hostel and hotel, he was accustomed to producing big quantities for just the two of us!! He soon cut down and all was well.

He was willing and good at learning varied dishes. “You teach it me Madam, I make its keeping you”! Yes, Chinnan spoke not “Butler English” but his own style, a quaint language in which he was amazingly fluent. I had to unlearn my English so I could comprehend and instruct him-- as he insisted on speaking only in English! Never did he fumble for words or pause or stutter. His sentences flowed like a stream down a mountain. His narrations and statements were so utterly delightful and hilarious, but I was so intent on understanding his communications that never did I laugh. When we asked him if he had passed on a certain message, he’d promptly declare “I told me Madam” or “I tell it me Madam”. There was no ‘he’ or ‘him’ at all in his vocabulary. When I felt blue he’d be so concerned and enquire “Why Madam looking dim”?

The Valley was lush and beautiful, of a rich green, with the blue mountains of the Nilgiris bordering it along one side. The mountains so blue and magnificent such a feast for the eyes and humbling to the soul. The Nilgiri Peak and the Needle Rock were visible to most of the bungalows. In the summer, jungle fires broke out on the mountains in pretty chains, quite a spectacle. Except in the summer, the mountains were veiled and unveiled all day by the mist - an enchanting sight. The bungalows were not too far apart, about half to one hour’s drive over some good, some bad roads. The numerous streams were delightful, either tumbling over rocks or gurgling under the small bridges. Waterfalls cascaded down the mountains and just by gravity facilitated all the needs of the valley- including irrigation of some areas.

The tea in the Valley was emerald green and flourishing. The shade trees, mostly silver oak, looked ethereal and lovely. There is a tale, or a joke perhaps, about a foreigner who on his first visit to a tea estate admired the trees and finally looked down to comment- "But there are too many weeds (i.e.the tea bushes), you ought to control them”!! The Valley was teeming with wildlife. Chinnan would excitedly tell my husband, “Too much jungle pork coming in one place Sir, master shoot betters. I make it nice spig roast and spig fry”.

Our family, who visited often, loved to engage Chinnan in conversation and when they burst into laughter and he’d merrily “gallop” (actually) back to the kitchen. Our daughter Navina was fond of him and he’d patiently push the pram while we were at the table. When she was six years old there was no avoiding admitting her in a boarding school in Ooty (Nazareth Convent). The worst drawback to wedding a planter.

Chinnan with Navina and my husband

Whenever we set out once a month to visit her at school, Chinnan would call out- “Tell it Baby, ask it me”!! Meaning,     tell her, “I enquired”. This message was unfailingly entrusted to us and it went on to become a family favourite and is still used. We often entertained friends for a meal and I being no cook would get all wound up and anxious. Then repeatedly impress on Chinnan that he must prepare all the dishes really well and on time. “They’ll be here at 7 p.m Chinnan. Everything should be ready”. 7:30 then 8 p.m. and no sign of the guests. He’d corner me- “Why this Madam simply worry-ed. Guest coming coming say that, not-aay coming”!!

When my parents came from Bangalore, I'd be so excited. Wanting to show off how well I ran the home and especially the kitchen, I would draw up an elaborate menu for Chinnan to prepare. His reaction every time was, “Why this simply make it so much Madam? Big Madam bringing lots and lots- not make anything here”. It was a fact that they always came laden with food to last us a few days.

Chinnan was an excellent cook and enjoyed improvising and producing new dishes. O’ Valley club hosted the Annual inter club tennis ‘do’, it was attended by all the neighbouring clubs - Mango Range, Mepadi and Prospect club. It was always Chinnan who made the popular Biryani for lunch.

He was of the firm opinion that boy babies were better. “Girl babies we spend too much for school fees and books then marriage. Then they go away. Boy babies good. When big man, they work job and make money”!!

Never did he take a day off work. Except once when his wife went to her village and was marooned in the floods. He rushed off and returned very soon, with tales of the disasters there. His wife, he found shivering on a tree with water all around. He described this incident as- “Monkey sitting no? Thassus- way sitting”! He was honest and responsible. One day we rushed off forgetting to lock our bedroom door. What did our Chinnan do? He stood watch by the bedroom door without budging the whole day till we returned. He didn't trust the other domestic help. I am sure he was one of a kind.

He was invaluable, in that he inspired in me confidence to cook. “Why this fraiding Madam? Go to kitchen, show powers. Nothing go wrong”!! Eventually I followed his advice and fared well.

Such a dear, loyal and reliable chap was our Chinnan who stayed with us through all the transfers. When my husband retired, he did too. “After working Master and Madam, I no work for anybody”, he declared. He visited us in Coorg and attended our daughter's wedding. We were lucky indeed to have him take good care of us all those years.

  Meet the writer: Vina Madappa

I am a Kodavathi from Kodagu and was born in Mysore. At that time Jayachamarajendra Wodeyar was the The Maharaja of Mysore. I marvelled at the grandeur of the Dussehra celebrations of great pomp and splendour. I did my schooling in Mysore from where I completed the Lower Secondary School. My father, an Ayurvedic doctor, was then transferred to Bangalore where I did my final school year and then went on to complete my degree in English Literature ( Honours) from Mount Carmel College.

My favourite hobbies were reading, playing tennis, listening to music and watching movies. I married a planter and settled in the Nilgiris and took to the game of bridge like a fish to water. Besides my hobbies, the occasional get- togethers, partying and picnicking with friends in the OV, Wayanad and Ootacamund, were mainly what made our lives exciting. Lots of tennis and bridge was possible. We had two great blessings, our daughter Navina and son Vinod. On retirement we settled down in Kodagu on our property and I continue to enjoy my hobbies. 

*You can read Radha's story here: Darjeeling 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!

 

Dacoity at Hattigor

 by Bhupendra (Bob) Singh 

Hattigor Burra Bungalow ( pix by Chumki Bhattacharyya )

I was Senior Manager of Hattigor Tea Estate, the biggest estate belonging to Tata Tea Ltd., in Mangaldai Dist. Assam from 1986 to 1991. It was a big estate, about 1000 hectares under tea and producing about 2.2 million kgs of tea. There were two divisions, Hattigor and Khoirabari, the latter being the bigger one. The estate employed about 3000 labour during the season. There was a PWD road which bisected the two divisions. The factory was on the Hattigor side and the Manager's office about 200 meters from the factory on the Khirabari side. The garden was in middle of Bodo country and at that time the agitation was in full swing. 

One afternoon on a weekly labour payday I was sitting in my office when there was a commotion outside and Krany Babu (head clerk) came and informed that dacoits had attacked the place where the labour payment was going on, both in Hattigor and Khoirabari. I got into my car and drove 100 meters to where the Khoirabari workers were being paid.

Apparently two men had arrived on a motor bike and while one kept sitting on it, the other got down and threatened the staff with a locally made pistol. He then started filling his bag with cash. In the meantime, one of the workers threw a bamboo shaft at the person sitting on the bike. He got scared, and after letting go of the bike, he jumped over the fence and tried to escape. At that time in Khoirabari section no. 4, the old tea bushes had been uprooted and it was under guatemala grass. 

The man must have thought he would hide there and escape from the other side. However, Gojen Bardoloi, the Senior Assistant Manager, got some labour to encircle the section and these guys quickly came with bows and arrows. Seeing this, person filling the bag with the money panicked and started running from there. On the way he lost the bag! That was retrieved by a member of the staff, but some money had fallen out of the bag and the shopkeepers holding the local bazaar on the PWD road pocketed it. The dacoit hiding in the grass was injured with an arrow shot by one of the workers, caught, and beaten up badly by the angry workers before being brought to the factory.

In the meanwhile, with the help of some workers, I surrounded the person who had escaped with the bag of money - just a few tea sections down the road - and though he was pointing his country made pistol at us we managed to get hold of him and take him to the factory. At the same time two other dacoits struck at Hattigor Division where labour was being paid, and before the Assistant Sanjay Sablok could reach there, they had made off with a bag of money. He did give them chase on his motor bike and in turn, they fired at him and missed, but he could not catch them. 

In the absence of telephone connectivity in those days, I took off immediately in my car to Paneri Police station ( about 20 kms away ) to inform them of the dacoity. The police were very helpful and came at once to the garden to take stock of the situation. However, the dacoit who was caught first was so badly beaten up by the workers that he died in police custody. The police could not file a case of murder against anyone, as there was a mob of few hundred people; against whom would they file the FIR?! 

We lost about Rs. 75,000/- which could be claimed back from the Insurance Company.

 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! 

Shobha the Bison

 by Norman Wood

It's always good to welcome a new writer at Indian Chai Stories and I have to thank Noreen Wood for sending me this lovely story by her brother Norman ( 'three generations of planters in the family', writes Noreen ) All pix courtesy Noreen.

Pic of Norman's children Carol and Andrew taken at their home on the tea estate some years ago

Kadamane Tea Estate is situated on the Western Ghats, about 30 Km from a small town named Sakleshpur, in Hassan District, Karnataka. The town and its surrounding areas are mainly plantation country. Saklespur is known for its lush vegetation, thick forests, flowing streams, waterfalls and beautiful meadows stretching for miles.

The name Kadamane (prounced Ka-da-man-aye) in the local language literally translates as Kaadu (Forest) and Mane (House). Kadamane was the only tea estate in the district and is known for its thick vegetation, picturesque landscapes and wildlife. Originally purchased to be the hunting grounds for the Earl of Warwick, it extends for 7600 acres and was a place of work and home to us for many years at the start of my career as a young tea planter in the 1970s. The property is surrounded by vast grasslands and it was customary in the months of February/March for the villagers who live along our border to set fire to these grasslands as precautionary measures adopted to prevent forest fires and to enable luxuriant re-growth of the grass for grazing their cattle.

In 1976, the estate workers noticed a raging forest fire, and saw that a bison and her calf were trapped in it. Great efforts went into saving the bison and her calf, but unfortunately, they were only able to carry the calf to safety.

My wife Lorraine and I decided to take care of the bison calf which was a herculean task at the onset. We named her Shobha.

We first tried to let our Jersey cows adopt her, but this did not work. We then decided to bottle feed her; she could drink anything from 3 to 6 bottles of milk a day. We gradually weaned her and started her on rice conjee water, ground nut cake, ground cotton seed and of course her favourite jaggery (molasses). 

A small pen was made for her in our cattle shed. Shobha became very tame and mixed with the other cattle to graze on the grasslands. In the evening she was fed her food supplements. She soon became a favourite with all the workers and if called by her name she would respond by coming down the hill to join them. She would eat jaggery, bananas and coconut from Lorraine’s hand.

Shobha came on heat and we tried to rehabilitate her with the bison herds on the grass hills, but she refused to join them and would return home with the cattle.

Lorraine, our two children Carol & Andrew and I used to go home for our Christmas vacation via Mysore to Coonoor, a hill station town in the Nilgiri Hills. The children enjoyed their trips to the Mysore Zoo where we usually stopped for a break in our journey. It was on one of these trips that we realized that the Mysore Zoo had no bison. I got in touch with the designated zoo authorities and asked them if we could donate a bison to the zoo. After the initial documentation and inspection, they happily agreed. 

The day arrived for Shobha to leave. It was with mixed feelings that we saw her being loaded into the zoo vehicle. We made a trip after a few months to see her at the zoo and we were happy to see that Shobha was well looked after and happier to note that she responded to her name and came towards us. She had not forgotten us. With the permission of the authorities, we were once again able to give her her favourite food, jaggery. The rest is history.

We have photos of Lorraine feeding Shobha jaggery, the letter from the Mysore Zoo acknowledging our gift of the Bison and the write up in the local newspaper of our star attraction, Shobha. 

Meet the writer: 

Norman with Lorraine

Norman's career in tea spanned 34 years with Chennai based Murugappa Group and he retired as General Manager after heading their South India plantation operations with Parry Agro Industries Ltd. His retirement is spent serving as Chairman of the Board, Managing Trustee and Member of the Board respectively, of three English speaking schools in the Nilgiri Hills. He and his wife Lorraine enjoy visiting their daughter Carol in the USA and their son Andrew in the UK whenever they can.   

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. There are over 120 stories of tea life here, all written by people who have lived in tea gardens. 

Add this link to your favourites: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/ 

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

Mangra Oraon – A Man of Many Parts

by Aloke Mookerjee

When I first met Mangra Oraon back in 1965, he was a flamboyant, swarthy, six-foot tall Adivasi of middle age with a twirling handlebar moustache and a raffish smile reminiscent of Errol Flynn*.

Mangra was then the driver of the estate’s ‘Thames’ lorry imported from England many years back and popularly known to all as ‘Thaamis’. Thaamis had, by then, seen better days and in her years of toil had turned into a cranky old lady. But with her in his charge, Mangra Oraon artfully coaxed the temperamental dame to productive service – day after day. 

Errol Flynn (Pix source https://www.criminalelement.com/errol-flynn-the-swashbuckler-way-out-west-edward-a-grainger-hollywood/)

Colourful Mangra, however, did not start his working life as a lorry driver or one even remotely connected to anything mechanical! Before the transition, he was happily engaged as the ‘syce’ in-charge of (the then) Manager, Bill Hudson’s stable of horses. According to Bill, the tall and strapping young Mangra was not only an impressive sight in his smart livery and starched ‘saafa’( headgear ) but also a very efficient keeper of his horses. 

In the years that followed, the ever rising cost of upkeep eventually sounded the death knell of the horse riding and polo playing days. The inevitable redundancy of a syce’s prestigious position loomed up menacingly leaving Mangra uncertain of his future. Foreseeing this eventuality, Bill Hudson worked on a plan to ensure his loyal employee remained gainfully employed with the dignity and status of the position he had been holding. Accordingly, he initiated Mangra‘s metamorphosis from a ‘syce’ to a truck driver. And so it came to pass, that only Mangra, with his sheer dexterity (and some will power!), could now safely handle the old, groaning and spluttering second truck of Ghatia Tea Estate!

Mangra and I ‘hit off’ well from the start and whenever he saw me huffing and puffing while negotiating the steep Ghatia roads on my bicycle, he would stop and insist on getting me and my bike onboard. In the driver’s cabin, Mangra would regale me with stories of his love life and other small gossip of the ‘lines’. He had charm and a way of story telling that I thought was was wasted as a driver in a remote area.

With his charm, the swarthy rugged looks and romantic leanings, Mangra in time acquired for himself, two fetching wives, one Nepali and the other a ‘Madhesia’. The two women lived in the same labour line but in separate huts which faced each other with a dirt road in between. Mangra juggled his time deftly (and by all accounts very successfully) between his wives with six months exclusively devoted to one and the next six to the other.

The women of his life lived in bliss with the time and space that their man had so thoughtfully provided for them. There were no quarrels, rivalry or competition. The three had reached a level of serenity and harmony in their lives that remains so elusive to so many couples (with only one spouse!) today. Perhaps there is a lesson to be learnt here!

The Jaldhaka River (pix by Gowri Mohanakrishnan https://seventhchords.blogspot.com/2009/04/darjeeling-jaldhaka-river.html )

Meanwhile, in this idyllic setting, strong political undercurrents were gradually surfacing to a seething boil in the Dooars. The turbulent politics in West Bengal of the ‘60s, with the entry of the CPM (Communist Party Marxist) supported United Front Government, greatly impacted the labour movement in the Dooars. In many estates, the CPM affiliated labour unions were gathering strength and getting aggressive. Jyoti Basu, then the Deputy Chief Minister as well as Labour Minister of West Bengal’s UF Government, on his first official visit to the Dooars, addressed the tea garden workers at a massive rally organized by the CPM party. 

In his speech Jyoti Basu roused the workers to a mass movement against the management for their ‘tyrannical’ ways and ‘profiteering’ through the sweat, blood and tears of the ‘down trodden’ workers. Following this, reports of gross indiscipline, manhandling of Managers, Assistant Managers, and illegal strikes with demands started pouring in. A new trend began with the belligerent workers surrounding the Management staff for long hours till their demands, often unreasonable, were met. ‘Gherao’, as this new tactic got to be known as, was soon added to the lexicon of the English language.

In this state of labour turmoil, it would seem incredulous that Ghatia should remain unaffected. But that was a fact. The workers of Ghatia believed good and sincere work paid for their livelihood and welfare ever so much more than union movements and strikes. Work, therefore, continued peacefully for us.

 Then, sometime in the month of April of 1968 (if I remember correctly), a state-wide ‘hartal’( strike ) was declared by the CPM unions of the Dooars. Characteristically, the workers of Ghatia were not in favour of the strike. They approached the then manager (Mohan Keswani) with a wish to continue work. We decided to keep the estate open, blissfully unaware that the consequences of this decision would be the cause of a great deal of anxiety bordering on tragedy. 

Amongst other garden jobs, we decided to continue with our crop protection sprays, on the strike declared day, using the usual battery of power sprayers close to the estate entrance. It was a serious lapse and exposed our naïveté; for a squad of fifteen or so motorised sprayers, together in operation, could cause an enormous din and be heard for miles in that tranquil country air. As usual, work started early and peacefully, without an incident. After the morning rounds, I returned to the bungalow at around ten o’clock for a late breakfast laid out in the veranda. The height of the bungalow on stilts allowed a good view into the distance. Looking out casually during the relaxed breakfast, I suddenly noticed six trucks, crammed with men, driving into the estate. The leaders of the mob would have heard the sound of our working sprayers and had thus gathered enough supporters to enter the estate with the intention of stopping work – forcefully if required.

I also noticed, with far greater concern, that Mohan Keswani, the estate manager was walking towards the vicinity of the now parked trucks and the men jumping off their vehicles to surround him. To say the least, the scene appeared ominous. He must not be left alone, I thought and so leaving my half-eaten breakfast, hastened to join him. On reaching the spot, the mob parted menacingly allowing just enough space for me to enter their midst. Swallowed up amongst them, I found myself next to the Mohan surrounded by at least two hundred scruffy men armed with ‘lathis’ , axes, bush knives and even some with their tribal bows and arrows! I looked carefully into the crowd but failed to recognise any of our estate workers in amongst this scruffy lot. All these men were strangers from outside who were now brandishing their weapons threateningly while screaming obscenities with raucous demands to stop all work immediately.

With the mood of the mob turning uglier by the minute, I realised (and no doubt so did my manager) prudence was the need of the hour. I whispered this to Mohan who quickly agreed and immediately thereafter, announced loudly enough for all to hear that work would be stopped forthwith and the estate shut down. However, even while making this announcement, we began to receive the first body blows from their (thankfully only) lathis. To say I was not scared would be untrue. I shielded myself with my hands with morbid thoughts flashing through my mind that this was our end and that we would soon be consigned to memory.

And we would have surely been, a mere thought today, if it was not for the courage and quick thinking of our moustachioed Mangra Driver who suddenly appeared in our midst like manna from heaven. Towering above all, he stood unflinchingly in front of us and with his personality and persuasive talk succeeded in pacifying the crowd and stemming the physical blows.

As with most mobs in a similar situation, confusion followed Manga Oraon’s intervention. Loud arguments for and against lynching us could now be heard all around. In this ensuing melee Mangra furtively succeeded in opening up a way to escort us out from the centre. He turned to me and whispered that I should now follow him, very quietly – no rush, no heroics! I passed this message on to Mohan Keswani and got him to move ahead of me. With Mangra leading and our heads lowered, we walked very slowly out of the unruly gathering. Still busy with their feisty arguments, no one seemed to notice our quiet exit. The factory being just around the corner, we managed to reach safety within its high fencing and locked gates.

Thus ended an incident which would have certainly resulted in tragedy had our flamboyant bigamist truck driver, Mangra Oraon, not appeared at that dangerously critical moment. I shall always remember him with a great deal of respect and affection that a brave and loyal person deserves.

During my usual field duties, the following day, every single worker of the estate I came across expressed his or her anguish over our harrowing experience. I could sense their genuine concern as also of their relief and happiness on seeing us unharmed. Their kind words were touching enough to remain forever etched in my memory.

My stint of five continuous years in Ghatia as an assistant manager was a unique experience. The workers there deserve the best.

*For those of the younger generation not aware of the yesteryear Hollywood celebrities, Errol Flynn was a dashing and swashbuckling hero stealing the hearts of countless - off and onscreen - maidens of the time! 

PS: It gives me much pleasure to know that Ghatia today is amongst the very best estates in the Dooars for its high yields and quality teas.  

 
Meet the writer: Aloke Mookerjee

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

Aloke has published a book, The Jazz Bug, which 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, long, or short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. There are over 120 stories of tea life here, all written by people who have lived in tea gardens. 

Add this link to your favourites: https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/ 

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

 

Assistant Manager- The Best Days

by Manjit Singh

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

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

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

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

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

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

Appa Vandachi!!!

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

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

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

Meet the writer: 

Manjit Singh

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

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

 Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! 

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

https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/

Dreams Do Come True

by Radhika Tandon 

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, loved every minute of it.

Meet the writer:

Radhika Tandon

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

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories! 
ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/Indian Chai Stories
There are over a hundred stories here, and they are all from the tea gardens! Our storytellers are tea planters and their memsaabs, baby and baba log. Each of our contributors has a really good story to tell - don't lose any time before you start reading them! 

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

 

A Lucky Escape

by Larry Brown 

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

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

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

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

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

The Teesta River near Gangtok. All pix by the author

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So where's the lucky escape?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 We had a very lucky escape indeed.

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

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

Meet the writer:

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

At Namdang Factory Bungalow steps, 1960

 

 

 

Larry revisits Namdang, 2014

Is this your first visit here? Welcome to Indian Chai Stories!

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

Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

ADD THIS LINK TO YOUR FAVOURITES : https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/

Ingenui-tea!

by Sarita Dasgupta

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

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

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

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

Amenla plucking tea leaves

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

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

AKAA Tea Estate

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

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

The Aboshu Akhumu for hand pounding tea

 

Handpound tea

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

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

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

A 'hands on' Ahuka

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

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

The factory

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

AKAA products

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

Amenla with her workers

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

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

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

Amenla and Ahuka at the Hornbill Festival

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

Meet the writer: Sarita Dasgupta

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

Read about it here

 

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

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

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

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

https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/