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Friday, June 25, 2021

Drama in Real Life

 by Anjan Roy

Hello friends! I'm delighted to welcome Anjan Roy to Indian Chai Stories. His first story is from the Dooars - a paradise on earth? Not quite, as you'll find out! 

The year was 1986 and the foothills of the Himalayan region in West Bengal were literally on fire with government Circuit houses and the Forest Department rest houses of Darjeeling, Kalimpong, Kurseong and adjoining regions torched by vandals as part of the Gorkhaland agitation. The political fire was lit by the separatist sentiments of a large population of Nepalese origin whose forefathers had been brought by the British in 1880s from Nepal to clear the dense forests and establish tea plantations in the hills of Darjeeling and the adjoining foothills of Jalpaiguri district.

The separatists were no secessionists but they wanted to be liberated from the yoke of the Bengali babu administering them from Calcutta or Kolkata, as is known these days, to assert their Nepalese identity, their language and culture . 

Author (in Nepali cap) with the members of his transport department  during the annual picnic ( all pix and captions by author)

It was a beautiful clear autumn day with the bright sun and mild onset of winter in eastern India. Lankapara Tea Estate was nestled in the foothills of Bhutan the Dragon Kingdom where I, a 20 year old, was serving as an Assistant Manager. The estate was owned by Duncans, the erstwhile London based tea conglomerate.

The time was 2pm and I was playing on my bungalow lawn with Zero, my pet Bhutanese sheep dog. It struck me that I was running late to attend the third leaf weighment of my workers in Badribagh division.

Motioning Zero to stay I kick started my 250cc twin cylinder Yezdi which had been sent all the way from Baroda in Gujarat a few months ago where my father Maj Gen B.P. Roy was the Commandant of Electrical & Mechanical Engg. School of the Indian Army. Zooming past Shanti club football ground, I reached the main road in a few minutes, and at the point where I was to turn towards the dirt track I was accosted by a terrified group of women leaf pluckers blocking my way.

Upon questioning their hysterical behaviour I was informed that Abhijit Dutta, my junior colleague, had been killed by two drunken men whilst he was undertaking patti wajan  - weighment of harvested leaf .

Kanchi Tamang, the prettiest of them, reached for the Yezdi key sticking up on the headlight console of the bike and threw it as far as she could in the thicket. The ignition cut off, the engine sputtered to a halt.

Throwing my new bike aside, I frantically sprinted 200 mts on the dirt track. On route I encountered many of my pluckers running in my direction towards the main road screaming murder of Bhogotay saheb ( nickname - meaning pomelo fruit - of the portly Abhijit Dutta ).

Author with Hitu Manger the senior lorry khalasi(crew) who was  perched atop the cabin on the day of the assault, picnicking on the  banks of river Diana a month prior to the incident.

Panting and out of breath, reaching closer, I saw the dilapidated Lankapara garden TMB Tata Mercedes Benz lorry parked in the open space meant for patti wajan and the aged driver Akum Biswakarma and his petrified khalasi crew of Hitu Manger and three others. They were sitting atop the cabin watching two drunken men with long khukris and country-made pistols in hand kicking the lifeless Abhijit, who was lying face down on the dirt.

I recognised one of the assailants to be Dhan Bhadur Tamang, the athletic forward right footballer of Lankapara with whom I had played numerous matches as his center forward. The other was Garbhey Prem Singh Tamang, a known gangster of Sukanti line adjoining the main road where I had dumped my bike.

Dhan Bhadur continued to kick the motionless Abhijit on the face and stomach while Garbhey pointed his pistol - which was earlier aimed at Abhijit, at me. When a firm kick landed on his solar plexus, the lifeless Abhijit let out a low grunt which proved that he was miraculously still alive.

Hearing his moan I bent down and rolled Abhijit over. His swollen face was blood spattered beyond recognition. He managed to painfully open his eye and mumble in a barely audible pitch Anjan saar amake bachao ( Anjan sir please save me )

Unable to budge the dead weight of Bhogotay saheb's over 80kgs I looked up pleadingly at the lorry crew perched atop the cabin but failed to make eye contact as they chose to look away out of fear.

With no help forthcoming, I decided to request my football teammate Dhan Bhadur for help,  'Bhai alik maadat gari deo'. This infuriated DB so much that he now pointed the pistol menacingly between my eyes as he would have seen on-screen in some C grade Hindi films in the ramshackle shed which passed off as cinema hall in Gomtu, Bhutan - a dusty one horse town across Pugli river adjoining Lankapara on the western periphery.

'You @#&! How dare you try to save Bhogotay when we are here to finish him off ?' growled Dhan Bhadur. With my football teammate behaving thus I thought it best not to approach Garbey who was a dreaded cold-blooded killer known to have eliminated many of his political rivals by decapitation, then hanging their touko (heads) at prominent places in the chai bagan to instill fear among the public.

With a great effort I finally managed to prop up Abhijit, hooking my right arm under his left to get him upright. Half carrying, half supporting his weight, the short walk upto the main road was painfully slow. The progress was made further arduous by Dhan Bhadur repeatedly blocking our path and pointing his pistol menacingly at us.

My initial sense of fearlessness was slowly dissipating as I realised that should the pistol fire wilfully or otherwise, it wouldn't have missed the intended target at point blank range.

Hearing footsteps behind us I turned around sharply to find Garbey keeping pace in a drunken stupor, brandishing a huge khukri ominously close behind. Self and Abhijit painfully trudged on the seemingly endless stretch of dirt track.

Upon approaching close to the Lanka-Birpara road I saw a large number of passenger Willys jeeps, Nissan Jongas and sand and boulder laden army-scrapped Shaktiman trucks - stationary, with their passengers perched at vantage points trying to catch a glimpse of Bhogotay saheb who had literally come back from the dead.

A large group of women pluckers led by Kanchi Tamang who had earlier tried to prevent me from rushing head-on into a life threatening situation now themselves came forward to assist in getting Abhijit aboard one of the jeeps going towards Lankahat while some passengers readily disembarked to make space.

Once safely seated I looked back to see Abhijit's assailants staring at us from a distance, undecided if they should debar us from being whisked away. Reached Lankapara garden hospital in less than ten minutes and the nursing staff led by the efficient junior nurse Daimanti Thapa quickly cleaned up Abhijit, providing him first aid by dressing his wounds efficiently.

Abhijit recovered miraculously from his injuries within a month, including healing of his three fractured ribs inflicted by the brutal kicks of Lankapara's star footballer Dhan Bhadur Tamang. 

The author ( 2nd from R ) in Lankapara Tea Garden  Shanti Club grounds in one of the many tournaments  played with Dhan Bhadur Tamang

Looking back at the course of these events of over three decades ago, it is still unclear why Bhogotay saheb had been murderously assaulted - and seemingly without provocation. However, one thing was beyond doubt: that I was successful in rescuing him from a near-death situation. This was probably due to my on-field camaraderie with Dhan Bhadur Tamang: despite being in a position to score a certain goal myself, I had passed the ball to Dhan Bhadur so he could attain glory.

This magnanimous act was possibly not lost on Dhan Bhadur Tamang - even in his drunken stupor, he hesitated to pull the trigger that fateful day. 

Kanchi Tamang ( 2nd from L ) and her co-workers visited the author at his bungalow the following day to enquire about his well being.  

Meet the writer: 

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

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


Thursday, June 17, 2021

Was It A Dream?

 by Nandita Tiwari

Hello again, friends! Here's another story by Nandita Tiwari for you to enjoy. Thanks for the laughs, Nandita. This is a story from her husband Akhil's bachelor days, and the writer narrates it in his voice.   Got your cup of tea ? Read on!

Two colossal pinkish-grey pillars were hit by my Yezdi at midnight at the slopes of Aibheel. A deafening sound followed, piercing the silence of the night. Was it a dream?!

Pix by Akhil Tiwari

A stag party was being hosted by Shashi Menon at his bachelor bungalow in Satkayah division of Aibheel T.G. where the food was rolling and the liquor was flowing. Needless to say, the stags turned wild in due course of the merriment. Mahesh Moktan, Kevin David and Suresh Kartha were among the few party animals. As the party was nearing its end, I thanked my host slurring a bit and that’s when my host offered, “Why don’t you stay the night, Akhil?” But I decided to carry on. So I mounted my bike fully clad and prepared for the chilly December night. 

With the woollen cap covering my ears, bike gloves snug into my palms, my fleece jacket buttoned up to the collar and my practical winter boots, I vroomed my bike, feeling no less than a hero in my tipsy state. The next day happened to be a kaamjaari day, which would begin sharp at six a.m. As I sped on my bike from the warmth of the bonfire party of the bungalow into the cold night air, my breath became visible in foggy wisps. The ice-cold wind went through my jacket like a hot knife cutting through butter.

The blackness of the night made for an eerie uncertainty. I sped along the rugged pathway, meandering, mounting and dismounting through the valleys and the peaks of the hillock. I felt no lesser than an invincible F1 racer. The speeding shadows of the trees and the rustling of the leaves was alluring which added to the surrealism of the night. Suddenly I froze. It was hard to shove aside the worries that something creepy lurked around the corner. Was it my muddled state of mind or the squally weather? I was sozzled after all. Nevertheless, I carried on.

However, the uncanniness of the night magnified when a little away from me, right in the middle of the road there emerged two huge pinkish-grey pillars. I jammed my brakes hard but because of the wet sloping road the mo-bike skid and crashed right into one of the pillars. Screeching, the bike came to a halt and a deafening sound followed, piercing the silence of the night. Was it a dream?! I pinched myself and knew that I was in the middle of the road on a dark night. Bleary-eyed I reversed back wiping the cold sweat dribbling down my chin. I decided to retreat to the safety of one of the nearest bungalows.

I reached the factory bungalow occupied by Mahesh Moktan and called out seeking shelter for the night in his bungalow - narrating the incident of the collision to him. He gaped at me with disbelief! Saying that the cocktail of fire, the windy cold night and lots of booze had fazed me out, he was kind enough to lead me to his guest room and I plonked on the bed, thankful for the warmth of the blanket!

The next morning, a knock at the door woke me up. I drank in my surroundings along with a hot cup of tea, a tad surprised due to my heavy head. I was ready to take the day head on! Yet again I saddled my Yezdi with a different mindset and rode on. Now the same curvy pathways which looked rugged and savage at night were lush and verdant in the lights of the dawn. 

The sky was glowing even though the sun was still below the horizon, getting ready to peak out. The colours of the tea bushes returned to golden green which had been dark and velvety at night. The morning breeze was fresh on my face. Birds twittered on the treetops. As I rode down the path I could hear the rapids of the stream flick against the boulders. The gurgling of water flowing was like music to my ears. Aware of my surroundings, I vroomed on the camel-hump like roads of Aibheel which lead to the highway.

Suddenly my eyes met elephant droppings at three places. So I got off my bike to inspect them- as the incident of my mo-bike colliding into pinkish-grey pillars at midnight seemed rather unnatural. Now as  I looked around lighting a cigarette, everything was fresh and pristine. I also noticed the muddy tyre marks of a bike. But I had to reach my destination so I rode on. Just at the intersection of the crossroads of Aibheel and Indong Tea Estate, a few of the elephant squad Chowkidars huddled, immersed in serious discussion. Yet again I had to stop to enquire what the discussion was all about.

They told me in their words, “Gazab ho gaya saab kal raat ko”- (the unbelievable happened last night). From the valley where the squad stood, through their mashalls and flashlights they had seen a single headlight of a noisy motorcycle which had probably hit an elephant. They guessed as much because suddenly there was a loud trumpeting in the silent night. They went on to add that the noisy mo-bike and the collision had made the Ganesh Maharajas anxious. They said that there were eleven Ganesh Maharaj (elephants) out of which eight had gone towards Mattelli (another tea estate in the vicinity) and three towards Aibheel. After the incident, these three Ganeshjis ran towards Indong and trampled their paddy fields.

That’s when it hit me that the pinkish-grey pillars which I had hit at the stroke of midnight were indeed colossal legs of an elephant! The deafening trumpeting which I had heard last night confirmed that they were indeed Grand Maharajas. It wasn’t a dream after all. I thanked my stars that I was safe and alive.

Then I quipped, “Do you know It was me on that motorcycle at midnight”, and the elephant squad retorted “Kyu dillagi kar rahe ho saab?” (Why are you joking around with us saab). Without another word and a wry smile, I continued to ride on gliding along the beautiful Chulsa tea estate!

Pix by Ashish Sanghwan

Pix by Akhil Tiwari

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; maybe long, short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 
 
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

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

Wednesday, June 9, 2021

Fire Fighting in Limbuguri

Hello friends! I'm happy to bring you another story by Indi Khanna -  a story for the season, as it concerns a tea factory, and one that's packed with action, as you'll see. Enjoy your read! Cheers!

by Indi Khanna

In 1986, while managing the Dhoedaam factory, another one of the many and regular altercations with the boss Bahadur Singh, this one about the outlet temperature on one of the eight dryers laid out in a series in that massive factory, ended up with me blowing my top. The upshot was that I ended up literally tossing the factory keys at the boss with a "Since you can manage the temperatures better than I'm able to, have fun. I quit." Storming up to the factory office I had my startled excise babu type out a terse one line resignation letter which was handed over to the office boy to find Bahadur wherever he was and to hand that over to him.

Walking back to my bungalow I was hit by the stark reality that I had a wife and two small kids to support and that, having literally burnt my boat, I was going to find myself up the creek without a paddle. Shoving that fear to the back of my young and impetuous mind, I addressed my immediate need, which was to jump into bed and get a full days sleep. Those who are aware of how a factory assistant in Assam has to slave during peak season, would empathise with me. 8/9 hours of a blissful and undisturbed sleep without having to get up and rush to the factory every couple of hours! Next morning, I was summoned to Bahadur's office. He expressed surprise that I had actually written the letter, accepted that it was written in a fit of temper and wanted to know if he could destroy it. My response was that I needed a day to think about it and that I was not going to go to the factory that day.

Instead of moping around in the bungalow, aware that a couple of propriety tea companies were headquartered there, I made a bee line to Dibrugarh, ending up at the office of the Jalan Tea Company. Walked up to the person furiously hammering away at a typewriter that I wanted to meet the boss and found myself seated in front of Mrigendra Jalan, the M.D. A short discussion with Mrigen ended up with him offering me not just a job but also a remuneration package which blew me away. Having shaken hands on the offer, I was asked whether I would be willing to take on the job of managing the Limbuguri factory. An offer prefaced with me also being told that Limbuguri had probably the most undisciplined and militant labour in the whole of Upper Assam. Which youngster doesn’t like a challenge.

Next morning, much to the surprise and chagrin of Bahadur, I requested him not to tear up my resignation letter please, but to send it ahead to the Central Office. A fortnight later my family and I moved lock, stock and barrel for me to take up my new appointment.

Having relocated from the very well oiled and organised set-up of Dhoedaam, as is the custom in Assam, at midnight I toddled off to the factory where I spent the next five hours literally twiddling my thumbs with the factory workers casually straggling in one by one. It was well past 0600 Hrs before we got the leaf moving from the troughs to the rolling room. The next three days were a repeat of the first with me having to swallow my pride and cool my heels in the factory office from midnight to day break. By day four having had enough, at 2300 Hrs I got hold of the line chowkidar, had him accompany me and drove across to the labour lines. Walking into their houses I physically dragged the factory workers out of their beds and into the jeep so as to get the factory running, as it should have been, at midnight. A fortnight of these nightly kidnapping escapades in the labour lines had the desired effect so that the trickle into the factory gate starting earlier with each passing day. I was, obviously, rather chuffed with myself for getting the factory back on track.

A couple of days after I had set the house in order, on a Tuesday when workers would almost ritualistically arrive either drunk or at best suffering from a hangover, I had managed to get things going with the leaf into the rolling tables a little past midnight. At 0230 hours the fermenting room supervisor walks into my office to tell me while they'd moved the first batch of leaf to the firing room, they were unable to feed the dryers because the dryers had not been fired up. Rushing across to the firing room I found the stoker curled up besides the gas stove, dead to the world. A good shake-up by the collar got the guy up to his unsteady feet. Bleary eyed he gave me what to him was probably the smartest military salute he had ever executed and then turns the knob on for the gas flow. That done he starts patting his various pockets, doesn't find what he is looking for and asks me whether I have a match box. My glare reminding him that I was a non smoker, he scoots off, gets a match box from another worker, sets fire to the cotton wad at the end of the rod used for lighting the stove and sticks the rod into the gas furnace.

With him having turned on the flow before going off on his match-box hunt, gas having accumulated in the furnace, all it needed was a flame. Fortunately I was standing besides the dryer as otherwise the huge explosion that followed would have blown me away. The stoker, however, was in front of the furnace though behind a fire guard which protected him from the thigh up. The moment he stuck the rod into the furnace, there was a huge 'whoosh' sound as the back flow blow-out flame hit him. Parked where I was on the side of the dryer, I saw the skin of the stokers unprotected lower legs immediately charring and turning jet black while next to me the huge cast iron side plate of the dryer bulged out and then collapsed inwards with a very loud crack. The 'explosion' brought down massive amounts of tea dust which had probably accumulated over decades on the rafters and eaves. By the time I recovered my senses, all I could see through all the 'smoke' was workers running around like headless chicken screaming 'fire, fire'. While in actual fact the only fire was the burning wad of cotton wool at the end of the stokers iron rod, all the smoke and general pandemonium had me too convinced that Limbuguri factory was burning down. 


 

Grabbing hold of one of the headless chicken workers, I shouted to him to run and get the fire extinguisher from the bank on the factory main entrance. Back he comes with the extinguisher and then, to my utter astonishment, lifts the cylinder up above his head and taking aim with one eye closed, tosses this onto the only flame visible, the cotton wad! It was only then that it struck me that while we had the equipment, not one of the workers or staff had a clue on how that equipment was to be used when required.

Postscripts:

The stoker, despite the very severe burns on his lower legs, recovered fully and was back at work within a fortnight.

Unable to get a replacement for the cast iron side panel of the ancient Britannia dryer, we ended up patching it up with rivets and metal caulking. The dryer was very much in operation when I left Limbuguri four years later.

After a shutdown of 10 days to put the house back in order, Limbuguri factory restarted; immediately after which I instituted a fire and safety drill for all the workers.

The one positive fallout of the accident was that the workers and I bonded with their belligerent attitude towards me evaporating.

Within a couple of months of that crazy night, I was promoted and handed over the reins of Limbuguri Estate. Managed that property for four very successful years till I finally relocated from Assam in 1990.

Meet the writer:

Indi Khanna with Xerox

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

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

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

My life has been and continues to be blessed.

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

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

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

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

 

Sunday, May 23, 2021

Taming the wild: Incidents that leave one a little in awe

I'm delighted to welcome Kiran K Mehra ( better known as KK ) to Indian Chai Stories. You will enjoy these tales that KK has chosen to share with all of us.

North East India - mainly Assam and West Bengal - is home to large tracts of tea. The region produces more than 900 million kilograms of tea annually amounting to eighty percent of national production. As a geographical location, the region produces, perhaps, more tea than any other place in the world.

Tea, which is native to China, wasn’t always cultivated in these parts. The earliest known incidents of tea cultivation were when 1) Charles Bruce cultivated an indigenous variety of tea, native to Assam, discovered at Sadiya circa 1837 and 2) Archibald Campbell introduced the Chinese variety of tea via Kumaon to Darjeeling in 1841.

Prior to that the entire area that houses the tea industry in North East India was dense tropical and sub-tropical forest. The establishment of tea plantations meant that vast tracts of forest were cleared. In so doing natural habitats of wild life were severely disturbed, resulting in man/wild-life conflict that manifests to this day.

At the same time several incidents of man befriending beasts in the wild, and taking them as pets, are known; poignant and often interesting relationships developed. I will try and narrate a few that I’ve heard. Names of people involved may not always be authentic as my account, too, is hearsay. And sometimes memory has a habit of playing tricks.

Betsy: the elephant

Young Ted, recently arrived from “Blighty, is the protagonist of my first story. Young and eager for adventure he had set out. to make a life for himself in the tea plantations of North East India, some of which were owned by his family.

Ted was also the nephew of a revered Director in the Company’s Offices in Glasgow. And therefore he ended up being treated with kid-gloves by everyone in the Company. The Calcutta office where he arrived after travelling cross-country from Bombay took due care. And eventually after a period of acclimatisation to India, he was posted to Kumargram, an estate in the Jainti Sankos sub-district of the Dooars; so chosen because of its proximity to dense forests, remoteness and difficult access that would enable Ted to engage in the adventure he yearned for.

Travel to Kumargram after reaching North Bengal in those days involved several river crossings by ferry – bridges on the Himalayan rivers/streams that flow in the region were yet to come up. The Teesta needed to be crossed at Jalpaiguri; followed by the Dudhwa, the Torsa and the Rydak in that order before reaching Kumargram. The estate lay in the Eastern Dooars close to the foothills of Bhutan, not far from the banks of the Sankos which formed the border with Assam.

Upon arrival, Ted loved his surroundings. The estate was a carpet of green with a view of the blue hills in Bhutan. In close proximity were the Rydak and Buxa forests which were teeming with wild life. And there was the attraction of angling in the fresh waters of the swift Rydak. The Sankos, too, afforded fishing but in deeper waters. So all in all Ted settled in quickly and went about exploring his neighbourhood.

Months went by; young Ted was having a whale of a time indulging in activity that at home he had had little opportunity to. In time, he became particularly fond of wildlife and acquired a few unusual pets; apart from the usual dogs and cats, his menagerie included parakeets, mynahs, a couple of rhesus monkeys, and a prize elephant which was named Betsy.

Time and energy spent on looking after his pets left him too busy to attend to his duties as the Assistant on Kumargram. He got away with it because of connections in Glasgow ; but eventually the lack of attention at the work-site began to show.

The Manager of the estate doubled up for his not so attentive Assistant for a while, but eventually asked the Calcutta office for a replacement.

Calcutta in its wisdom decided in turn, to transfer Ted to the Hantapara estate. Situated a 60 odd miles to the West, Hantapara lay close to the Bhutan border and on the edges of the lovely Titi forest. The usual mode of transport for members of staff on transfer within the Company’s estates was by lorry sent by the estate where the staff was to be posted. On a scheduled day a lorry would arrive collect the chota sahib and his "jiti miti" – colloquial for belongings.

Given the state of his menagerie, young Ted refused to travel by lorry – he was loath to leave any of his pets behind. Instead he decided to travel on elephant back with his jiti miti in tow.

And thus one fine day Ted left on posting, astride Betty, for his new destination. The journey west was through dense forest and involved several river crossings; Ted was confident that he would make it . The journey of 60 odd miles, considering that he was on elephant back - with a servant in tow - should ordinarily have taken three to four days. Yet a week later, there was no sign of the young man at Hantapara. A search party was sent out only to return empty handed; two weeks later the same situation prevailed . A worried Calcutta office now informed the uncle in Glasgow. More searches availed no result. It was as if the forest had swallowed young Ted.

One afternoon more than a month later, there was sudden excitement on the edges of the forest bordering Hantapara; a deeply dishevelled young man emerged on elephant back, his menagerie intact!

Two men astride an elephant along with a few suitcases, a pair of monkeys, several parakeets and talking mynahs was, even in those days, a curiously strange sight. And novelties draw people !

A crowd led by an elephant with people astride greeted the Manager of Hantapara when he stepped out of his office upon hearing the commotion .

Realising that finally the missing Ted had arrived, he greeted the young man, feeling relieved at the sight of him, and enquired, “What happened ?”

"I decided to pitch camp deep in the forest when Betsy went into labour and stayed put till she had recovered sufficiently," was the simple explanation.

A little calf following the mother playfully had, hitherto, gone unnoticed !!

Sheroo in the 1960s

Image from dreamstime

Dumchipara is an estate neighbouring Hantapara – the two estates share a boundary. Towards the east, Hantapara is bound by the Titi river, across which lies the dense Titi forest. On its Southern fringes Dumchipara shares a boundary with the dense Rahimabad Forest Reserve.

Forests apart, both estates were well-endowed with afforested areas of their own. Large ‘Saal’, bamboo & thatch 'Barrie's ( a Barrie is colloquial for ‘house of’ ) were maintained by the management to take care of their own needs of such produce as well as to address environmental concerns. And of course, the tea cover at both the estates was luscious.

In such an environment, as prevailing in the 1960s, both the estates abounded in a rich diversity of flora and fauna. It was not uncommon to encounter rare bird species like hornbills, bald-headed eagles, flocks of myriad coloured parakeets, mynahs and spotted doves whilst going round the estate during the day. Excursions at night would invariably result in sightings of owls, giant sized bats, pachyderms, deer, wild boar and on not so rare occasions carnivorous cats.

A planter, during the course of a work day, apart from supervising gangs of labour is required occasionally to visit the afforested areas of the estate. Our protagonist, a young man named Mani, while holding charge of one of Dumchipara’s three divisions, would go around routinely doing his work. He had a flair for wildlife and considered himself fortunate to be working in idyllic surroundings.

Going around the estate's Bamboo Barrie one day, Mani was taken aback when a pair of leopard cubs darted in front, just as he approached a dense thicket. He hesitated, nay almost retreated entirely, fearing that the mother would be close by. But before he could, one of the cubs came back and looked up curiously, its big round eyes innocently trusting! In one sweeping movement, overcome by a surge of emotion, wildlife enthusiast that he was, Mani grabbed the cub & dashed out; not once looking back for fear that the enraged mother would attack. He stopped only after reaching his bungalow, the Beech Kothi or middle bungalow.

To rear the cub, Mani, helped by staff at home, bottle fed the creature which took to it after some hesitation. Duly acclimatised in human surroundings, “Sheru” as it was named, the leopard started to do well; graduating from cow’s milk to buffalo meat. In time he began to grow and soon outgrew the largest dog in the vicinity; a good two and a half feet tall and weighing a 100 lbs., Sheru had a presence !!

But for all intents and purposes Mani treated him as a house pet; free to roam around the front and back-yard during the day and kept securely inside at night.

One evening returning home late, after dinner with a friend, a slightly inebriated Mani was more than a little surprised then, to see Sheru sitting on the verandah, as he parked the car in the porch. Getting out he casually walked up to the animal, kicked his rump and said “ Ay saala tum yahan kya karta hai “ meaning “You silly mutt, what are you doing here ?”

With that he opened the front door, walked past the living room and. into the bedroom.

Dumb-struck, he was, when it dawned on him that Sheru was fast asleep on the couch!!

Realisation dawned in a flash – moments ago, the leopard he had seen on the verandah, was in fact, not Sheru at all! A trembling Mani, by now perfectly sober, fainted !!

Dhan Singh, the bungalow chowkidar ( watchman) explained in the morning that a wild leopard often sat on the verandah in the wee hours, awaiting, perhaps, the return of a sibling !!

Sherru at Lankapara - the 1980s

Pic above is representative only

The Northern boundaries of Lankapara Tea Estate forms the international boundary between Bhutan and India. The Titi Khola (river) with its source in Bhutan, a few kilometres upstream, forms the Eastern boundary of the estate; on the other bank of the river is the massive Titi Khola forest which merges into the larger Hollong Forest Sanctuary. The forest is rich in wild life; monkeys, lemurs, jackals, deer, elephants, leopards, wild boar, bison and even the rhinoceros ( only towards its Southern side ) form part of the fauna that make this wilderness its home.

Tea gardens that lie in close proximity are often witness to the shy creatures of the forest that cross over sometimes: looking for food, shelter or just because tea happens to have come up in their habitat.

Residents of Lankapara’s East line being closest to the forest had become accustomed to wild creatures as part of their lives; they, for instance, knew that a certain part of the sprawling tea area in their neighbourhood, resplendent in ground cover, was used by a leopardess to litter every year. This, whenever it happened was a time to be cautious - both because the animal felt threatened easily; and also because it hunted for food in the nearby labour lines - making livestock ( dogs,goats, cattle etc.) its prey.

By experience villagers in East Line had learnt that 1) attacks occur when they ventured close to the litter site; so that was to be avoided. And 2) the leopardess would forage for a kill at dusk when life in the village was lulled by laziness at day's end; and a straggler amongst goat or cattle, was easy pickings. To minimise the possibility, villagers found the tactic of bursting crackers at dusk close to the labour line useful. This kept the beast at bay most often.

In 1985 a young assistant named SK Santosh , a novice in tea , was posted to Lankapara on probation. The East division or Sarani division as it was also called became his charge.

Hailing from Kerala and new to tea, Santosh had served in the Indian Army for five years before tea ; an officer with the 4th Gorkha Rifles, Capt. SK Santosh was at home immediately with Lankapara’s mainly Nepali speaking labour force. The language skills that he displayed along with the the aura of having served in one of the crack regiments of the army made him instantly at home with the labour.

So it was that one day when workers stumbled upon a leopard cub lost in the tea they realised that the commotion caused by bursting crackers had somehow separated the cub from its mother. Not knowing what to do they took the little thing to Capt. Santosh (remember this was 1985; all sorts of curbs under the Wild Life Act were in place; penalties were heavy and Santosh a new-found hero. )

Having come into possession of this helpless creature quite by accident, Santosh, an amateur wild life enthusiast, fell immediately in love with it and decided to rear it as a pet. He was either ignorant of prevalent wildlife laws, or in his eagerness he decided to ignore them.

And so it was that Sherru, as the leopard was called , became a part of Santosh’s household. At this stage, no bigger than a small kitten, Sherru was a cuddly little ball of fur, grey in colour, that would happily roam all over the living and bed-rooms of the house making a mess of rugs, shoes and anything that came its way. It had teeth which were more like sharp fish bones and tongue that was like soft sand-paper. It couldn’t feed itself and had to be trained to bottle feed.

A couple weeks later spots appeared and the coat turned a bright yellow. It also displayed an amazing ability to catch any thing that was thrown up in the air: friends of Santosh would make a game out of tossing a paper ball four to five feet high ; the kitten sized Sherru would catch the ball mid-air in a flash giving proof of its natural hunting instincts.

With time, a growing Sherru made transition to solid foods. The hat bazaar in Lankapara ( weekly market ) was the source of buffalo meat for Sherru . A large quantity was purchased on  hat day and refrigerated for the weeks consumption. There was no room for anything else that Santosh may have wanted to store for himself.

Growing rapidly Sherru soon became about two feet high; at this stage the front paws had become strong with curled claws developing, which when open, could slice through human flesh like a blade. For the paper-ball trick Santosh would place a ball of paper 10 feet high on the shelf meant for music speakers . A leap from a stationary Sherru was all it took to get it down . With a little more time Santosh’s two bedroom bungalow was too small for Sherru despite removing furniture from the living, dining and spare bed-rooms. It was hence time for Sherru to be let out in the bungalow compound while Santosh was at work. It would happily prance around making itself a spectacle for passers by . But then came a stage that the mere sight of the animal would scare people.

And not content with its new found freedom in the confines of the bungalow Sherru began to cross the fence into the tea area outside where it would be camouflaged. Yet totally incapable of a kill or survival on its own it would return at meal times or as soon as it heard Santosh’s motor bike return from work. The animal was totally loyal to its master and obeyed every command. Santosh and Sherru ( now much bigger ) would wrestle on the carpet with gay abandon play fully . And yet a Sherru that was hardly a cub anymore was scary to every body around.

Somewhere around this time Sherru took to following Santosh to work. It was amazing to see Santosh riding a ‘Bullet’ motorcycle on ‘kutcha’ roads in the estate and Sherru following; not on the road, but inside the tea, protected by the cover that bushes provided. Its head would pop up , every few meters – to check bearings, perhaps, till it broke cover right next to where the motorbike rider had reached. Sherru’s instinctive behaviour to be able to follow, at great speed, unobtrusively, gives an insight into how leopards in the wild follow and hunt prey with speed, cunning, and unmatched agility!!

It was not long after that the forest department got wind of Sherru ! And they wanted to take possession of the animal to retrain and eventually release it to the wild. 

Both Santosh and Sherru were upset; but there was little choice.

But when the forest vehicle rolled in with the cage Sherru, smelling foul play, ran away into the tea. A lot of coaxing and Santosh himself getting into the cage convinced Sherru that it was safe. And then too Santosh had to ride all the way to Madarihat leopard rescue centre in the cage to keep the animal quiet.

Life possibly settled for Sherru at the rescue center for a while; Santosh would visit the place every day after work. A few months later, another twist to the tale occurred, when Santosh got transferred to Bagracote - an estate which was a couple of hours away from Madarihat . His visits to the leopard rescue centre became weekly . At the same time Sherru was now kept in a large enclosure with a few others of his kind. Santosh, during visits, got access to this enclosure; he would happily spend time with Sherru even as the other cats accepted this man/feline inter-action.

Life had settled into a pattern for both Santosh and Sherru, for a while, till one fine day an attendant manning the enclosure left the entrance unlocked. Overnight all the felines ( Sherru included ) escaped into the nearby forest. That was the last that was heard or seen of Sherru .

Amazingly, while all the other cats that escaped that night were eventually recovered; there was never any trace of Sherru. Santosh was approached by the wildlife authorities to help them retrieve the cat ; and even though sure that Sherru would return if he joined the search, Santosh declined - giving way to a sense, within himself, that Sheru deserved to roam the forests, that it was born to, emancipated and free.

One would never know whether Sherru survived his escape; & eventually learnt to live on his own in the wild ; and was able to find a mate to sire offspring or he became a victim of circumstances soon after escape.

I would like to think it was the former; either way a creature brought up with unending care and dedication by its master was lost. In the short spell of life that it shared with man, Sherru educated us about wild life behaviour in captivity, its ability to learn and in turn, demonstrate its natural in-born skills. Memories of that experience would be unique and incomparable. !!!

In closing the story of Sheru’s life l believe firmly that wild creatures are best left on their own, in their own environment & habitat to live and breathe free. A constant reiteration of the spirit of “BORN FREE” - 1966 film on the life of Elsa the Lioness, an orphaned lion cub raised to adulthood and released into the wilderness by Joy and George Adamson .

KKM.

Acknowledgments

1)Help received in the narration of events as above from my good friend and colleague Mr. J Varghese is gratefully acknowledged.

2). Post publication of this tale Capt. SK Santosh , the main protagonist , contacted me; interesting facets of Sheru’s life were pointed out by him. I have made corrections to the original, accordingly. And remain both indebted and grateful for his clarifications.

In his own words when he recently contacted me “ thank you very much for publishing this poignant true story which brought me to tears”.

Meet the writer: 

Kiran K Mehra

Retired planter living in Delhi ; interested in nature, travelling , gardening & golf . Dabble in poetry ; also write occasionally, narrating long forgotten incidents picked up/ experienced over a life-time in the plantations of North Bengal. 

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, 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/

 

Sunday, May 16, 2021

The Annual Inspection

by Manjit Singh

Hello again, friends! Here's something to make you smile this Sunday evening, thanks to Manjit Singh! Over to Manjit, who tells us what kept everyone at Yellapatty ( Munnar ) on their toes on the 14th and 15th of May, 1979. Cheers!  

Pix of Yellapatty from the website https://www.onmanorama.com/travel/kerala/2019/03/22/yellappetty-yellapatty-tamil-nadu-kerala-border-travel-destination.html


The buzz on the estate in April was the annual inspection. The annual inspection of all estates by the Visiting Agent ( a very senior official of the company) took place between April and June. The performance of the estate during the previous financial year was appraised and targets set for the new financial year. There was an aura which was built around this inspection which translated into something surreal.

The dates for the inspection at Yellapatty estate were announced in a crisply worded letter received from the Regional Office. The annual inspection was to be conducted on the 14th and 15th of May 1979. That gave us three weeks time to prepare. There was a palpable nervousness visible on the faces of the staff and supervisors who had to ensure that everything went off well.

A meeting was convened by the Manager where he briefed everyone on the works to be undertaken before the inspection – there also was a veiled threat that any adverse comments from the Visiting Agent would not be accepted!

There was a flurry of activity for the next three weeks; fields were weeded to look clean, roads repaired, fencing tightened,and estate boards painted. All buildings were whitewashed and labour line surroundings cleaned. The estate was slowly getting a new look.

On the 14th morning the VA drove into the estate in his jeep, accompanied by a staff member from his department. After a brief meeting with the manager, the visit commenced. I sat in the rear of the jeep and listened to a serious conversation on the crisis in the tea industry due to the increasing cost of production and low price realization. I was most impressed -- only to realize later that this was the usual topic of discussion in the industry from time immemorial and even to this day!

We covered a large section of the estate in the forenoon ,with frequent stops to inspect plucking standards, heights of fields pruned and so on while engaging in polite conversations the with staff and supervisors whom we met.

We then went to the Manager's bungalow for lunch. There was gin and tonic which was consumed generously and the conversation drifted from the performance of our club cricket team in the last match to the maintenance of the Kundaly golf course. Lunch was a big spread and a gourmet's delight and I wondered what work would be done in the afternoon.

My hunch was right ; a unanimous decision was taken to complete the inspection of the factory in the afternoon. The factory was in immaculately clean condition and the teas that the factory officer produced for tasting were of excellent quality – especially manufactured for the visit! The VA was impressed and complimented the factory officer who accepted all the accolades with grace, knowing that the teas shown would never reach the market and that his factory's brief tryst with discipline would be over after the visit!

On the second day of the visit we covered all the remaining areas of the estate and the nursery in the forenoon, to settle down for another sumptuous lunch.The hostess was thanked profusely for her hospitality and we went to the office for a final discussion. The staff from the VA's office was called in and he confirmed with a benign smile that the accounts and other figures pertaining estate were in order. Then there was a discussion on the observations made during the visit and setting of targets , and concluded with the VA remarking that the estate was in ‘good condition’. We all went to see him off and while getting into his jeep he pointed towards me and told my Manager, ‘The boy requires a ‘Weekend'’. It sounded like incarceration in solitary confinement over the weekend; but to my pleasant surprise it meant a weekend's leave to go to Cochin!

The annual inspection had gone off well and the word spread around the estate very quickly. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief as it would be another year before the frenzy of the annual inspection is built up again!

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 with 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 have 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, maybe long, short, impossible, scary, funny or exciting but never dull. You will find yourself transported to another world! 
 
Happy reading! Cheers to the spirit of Indian Tea!

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

Sunday, May 9, 2021

Monkey Mail

 by Gowri Mohanakrishnan

Hello again, dear readers! Tea garden life has a flavour of its own. And some things just drive you up the wall. I have been waiting for a parcel which some dear friends despatched around two weeks ago. To think of all the trouble they took, not to mention the expense! I hope it wasn't all for nothing. That's why I decided to share this particular story with you today. Hope you'll enjoy it!

Sunset over the Torsa river. All pix by author

When I married my tea planter husband in 1986, I had never heard of the Dooars. I’d had visions of living on some green hillside with chilly mists swirling around our little red roofed house: a tea garden scene from a Hindi film!! That dream bubble went ‘pop!’ soon after we got off the train at New Jalpaiguri Railway Station. There were hills on the horizon, blue in the morning light, but Mohan and I got into a car and went off in the opposite direction! The first tea garden I ever saw was on flat land, and it was dotted all over with trees.

Pretty soon I realised my life had changed for ever. There was no telephone, to start with. There was no way I was going to be able to hear my parents' voices, for who knew how many months! Newspapers reached us three days old and a letter from Delhi took a week to arrive. 

We didn't even have what seemed like a proper postal address. In all these years, we've never had an  address with a house number or a street name. Instead, it's always been 'c/o' my husband, followed by the name of a tea garden, a Post Office, and a district name.

A bit like Phantom comics, where a man goes to collect 'any mail for Mr. Walker', a tea garden has a 'dak wallah' who goes to the nearest post office to drop off and pick up letters and parcels. Couriers don't deliver at our door either, but leave their dak or mail and packages at the nearest town.  

Some years ago - long before Amazon and Flipkart started operations -  my sister Viji sent me a package from Mumbai with some things that our brother Bala had handed over to her in the U.S. Naturally, she was worried when she didn't hear from me. She called me on the 28th of the month and said the courier office had informed her that the parcel had been collected from Hamiltonganj. Yes, it had been collected on the 25th, by one 'Surit Nandi'. 

'Surit Nandi?' That was not our dak wallah's name. Surit turned out to be the driver of the school bus that conveyed the workers' children to various schools in the towns nearby. Mohan spoke to him, but he denied (stoutly? perhaps) that he had picked up any parcel from anywhere. Viji called with more news. The parcel was on its way back to Mumbai, according to the courier, DHL. This was terrible. 

The garden Bara Babu told Mohan he would do what he could. He spoke to his friend, the proprietor of Sree Krishna Stores in Hamiltonganj. Sree Krishna's son swung into action. He stormed into the DHL outpost in Hamiltonganj, thumped on the desk and hollered at the clerk there. 

Why, he asked, had they not alerted Sree Krishna Stores when a package arrived for Mr. Mohanakrishnan?  That was all they'd had to do. Sree Krishna - and Son - would have taken all responsibility from then on. The clerk apologised. It was a terrible mistake, he agreed. He promised to make enquiries.

A further call from Viji said the courier was not DHL, but DHC. Right. After we had - well someone had, on our behalf - made such a ruckus at DHL.  I felt sorry for the chap who'd been threatened. But he hadn't protested! He'd apologised for a mistake he'd never made. It must be a tough life out there in Hamiltonganj.

Hamilton's 'Human Laboratory'!

I asked Viji what DHC had to say. Once again, the "suspect's" name cropped up. Surit Nandi. He had signed for the package on the 28th, not the 25th.

I decided to go to the DHC office in town. It was a little shop, not an office, which turned out to be in Kalchini, not Hamiltonganj. Oh boy. More confusion.

'DHC?' I asked in a chilly voice. 'No, Madam, this is Jaycee courier service'. Silly me. I felt even sillier when the man behind the desk stood up and directed me to the right place in a polite voice. I went outside in a hurry. Our driver brought someone to the car. A sweet-faced plump chap who smiled and gave me a 'Namastey'.

'Memsaab, this is Surit ', said the driver. What! This man? But he didn't look like a badmash at all!  He was still smiling. One thing was clear. I wasn't going to let him disappear before this mess was sorted out. I asked him if he could come to the DHC desk with us.

This time I made sure I saw a sign that said DHC before opening my mouth. I took out a piece of paper on which I'd scribbled the docket number that Viji'd called out on the phone.

'Do you have this package?' I asked the man at the desk, putting the piece of paper in front of him. Very business-like.

He had no smiles for me either, but matched my aggression with a 'So what?' kind of defensiveness. Here's how it went:

Man at desk:'Yes, I received it.'

I:'Where is it now?'

Man at desk: 'I made so many calls to the telephone number on the packet. That person said he would come. I rang up five or six times. He kept saying he would come, and he never came.'

I:(dripping with sarcasm) 'Oh! Is that so? Let's talk to him now.' (I called Mohan from my phone)

Man at desk:(quickly) 'But he was in Alipurduar'. (I cut the call)

I :'Who was in Alipurduar?'

Man at desk: 'My brother! Actually it was my brother who rang him up from Alipurduar. My brother isn't here now.'

I: 'I want to check when your brother called my husband's number.' 

Man at desk: 'He should have come to collect it.'

I: 'I am his wife, and I have come to collect it. Where is it?'

Man at desk: 'Company rules say that if a package is not picked up in three days it has to go back to the place where it came from. But I know you are from a tea garden, and not from town. That's why I asked him ( pointing at Surit ) to sign for it.'

I:'What! You gave him the package!'

( Immediately Surit piped up, 'I don't have any package! I didn't take anyone's package!' )

I:(frantic) 'Then where is the package? When will it reach Mumbai? What did they say?'

Man at desk:'I have it.'

I: 'WHAT!! You have it here??'

Man at desk:'I didn't want it to go back to Mumbai. But I couldn't break the rules. That's why I took Surit's signature and informed the company in Mumbai that it had been collected.'

(Short silence)

I :'Will you give it to me?'

Man at desk: 'Yes.'

He went in and came out with a parcel. I couldn't believe it. It had my name on it. It had Viji's name on the other side, spelt Vigi. I smiled. He smiled. I said thank you. He asked me what my name was, and wrote it in his receipt book which I signed. I asked him what his name was. Ajit, he said. He smiled and said thank you, and I smiled and said thank you. 

Oh, the joy of coming home with the package! I unpacked the wedding video and we all watched it as soon as we could. At dinner time, Mohan had something to report.  'Halla has broken out among the garden workers that Surit is a badmash and that he stole your parcel.'

 Oh, oh, oh. 

The Torsa river and Jaigaon town
*Dooars is an old name for the long "chicken-neck" that is part of present day North Bengal. It has a border with Bhutan in the north and Bangladesh to the south. A truly beautiful land, the Dooars, with its forests, rivers and mountains. 

Meet The Writer/Editor: Gowri Mohanakrishnan  

 I was teaching English at Indraprashta College in Delhi when I met and married my tea planter husband in 1986. He brought me to the tea gardens - a completely different world from the one I knew! Life in tea continues to be unique, and I began writing about ours many years ago.

Early in 2018, I started Indian Chai Stories to collect and preserve other people's stories from tea.

The first chai stories I ever wrote were for a magazine called 'Reach Out' which Joyshri Lobo started in the mid eighties for the Dooars planters. Some years later, Shalini Mehra started 'The Camellia' and I started writing there regularly. Shalini put me in touch with David Air, the editor of Koi-Hai, who gave me a page there.  My family has always believed that I can write, and that is what keeps me going, whether I agree with them or not.

Here is the link to all the stories I have written at Indian Chai Stories - https://teastorytellers.blogspot.com/search/label/Gowri%20Mohanakrishnan 



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

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