Exotic Wild Pets

by Kiran K Mehra 

Hello again, dear readers! Kiran K.Mehra is back with more stories for you, so sit back and enjoy your virtual trip to the Dooars.

Tea plantations in India were put out towards the last two decades of the 19th century; this activity continued well into the 20th century for close to three decades. A vast majority of plantations came up on land that had hitherto been dense tropical ‘jungle’. Human endeavour in these parts brought several species of wild creatures in direct contact with man. Having lived in the tea plantations of North Bengal for over 42 years one was fortunate to be witness to several incidents when colleagues took on unusual, exotic wild creatures as pets. 'Talking' mynahs, peacocks, colourful budgerigars, cockatoos, snakes, monkeys, and even a tortoise are some that I recall. I record some of these for the sheer love that is demonstrated and also for the companionship & pleasure that creatures in the wild are,in turn, capable of giving.

'Tourist' map of the Dooars from http://coochbehar.nic.in/htmfiles/Dooars_next.html
(Just for fun - Editor)

The Python

Sometime in the decade of the nineteen fifties a young man named Mani served as an Assistant at Dumchipara TE in the Dooars. Residents of the estate going about their routine lives were prone to encounters with wild creatures; Dumchipara was close to a thick forest reserve.

The estate in those days, had not as yet planted out its entire plantable area; a large part of the estate was under bamboo and thatch; there was also a big “Sal barrie”.

Walking along the road separating the thatch and Sal “Barries” at dusk one evening Mani came upon what looked like a 4’-5’ long piece of wood. Someone has been cutting the ‘sal’ he thought, from a distance, as he approached. And absent-mindedly nudged ‘ the piece of wood’ with his foot. He was surprised - the ‘wood’ was soft to touch and moved ever so slowly.

Realisation dawned !! this was no piece of wood. Shocked, was Mani, to realise, that he had ‘toed’ a live baby python. Lazy and sluggish, most of the time, this creature was found in the act of crossing over from the ‘Sal barrie’ to the thatch ‘barrie’.

A wild life enthusiast, Mani decided to drag the creature upto his car and then carry it back to the bungalow in the boot.  Once home the bungalow staff took over; the creature was fed a diet of chicken that it sucked in live, once a day. And for the remainder of the time it either remained lazily stuck close to a bedroom wall or curled around the bed post.  ( Note : A fully grown python grows to around 17-18 feet long & can be 6”-8” in diameter ; it feeds on creatures of the forest; bats, frogs, mice, goats, monkeys etc.are all prey that is sucked in & swallowed live.

To digest food the python wraps itself into a tight coil around  a convenient log/post or tree-trunk & breaks down the food. Fully grown pythons have been known to swallow live adult humans and deer).

Communication in a small community has a dynamism all its own; in next to no time the whole sub-district knew about Mani’s new exotic pet. Curiosity drove friends and acquaintances alike to arrive at Mani’s place to see his new pet.

And Mani in turn enjoyed the attention the python - and by default he - got. 

Image from Wikipedia

The snake would be brought out almost ceremoniously whenever there was a visitor ; displayed, touched, caressed, and admired, the creature became a celebrity. And Mani would bask in deflected glory.

A couple of months down the line, however, things quietened down. One evening two couples ( Mani’s friends ) from a neighbouring district visited. After tea the ladies expressed a desire to see the snake. Per routine the creature was brought out ; admired, petted etc. and forgotten. Conversation turned.

In the meantime, habituated, Mani carelessly slung the snake across his shoulders and continued entertaining his guests. Unnoticed, the snake coiled itself around the neck slowly began to squeeze tightening itself around. Mid-sentence,at first, Mani felt odd as if something was amiss, and was soon red in the face, arms flailing & gasping for breath.

Realising his predicament the guests yelled for help ; it was a struggle for two men at either end of the snake to uncoil it. Colour slowly came back to Mani’s face once regular breath was restored.

It had, indeed, been a narrow escape.

 On the day of occurrence the python had just been fed; and the staff forgot to warn Mani.

Tragedy averted!! The snake was released back in the wild .

A deer at Baintgoorie 

Pic sourced from internet

The Southern end of Baintgoorie estate merged into the Chel forest in the Mal sub-district of the Dooars.  During the late seventies/ early eighties Bipin Tandon was Manager of the estate . Bipin and Saneera had two young children Praneeta & Rohan ( aged 3 and 1 respectively ) in 1980 when I saw them . Our son Himanshu had yet to turn 2 when I was posted to the estate.

Being on the same estate, the three children were company to each other, and would spend play-time together regularly.  For the children’s amusement BIpin procured a fawn from the nearby forest ; it was kept in a large ( about 40’ x 40’ ) enclosure built behind the bungalow. The children had a great time playing inside the enclosure.

Two years later all three children had dispersed from Baintgoorie ; I wonder if they have memories of it. 

Baintgoorie was also prone to leopard trespass from the forest closeby. The restless-ness of the young fawn inside the enclosure , frantic running around and crashing into the wire-mesh was indicative of leopard presence near the bungalow every time . And a wily leopard aware of the fawn tried to enter the enclosure a few times but mercifully never succeeded.

The little fawn, I daresay, would’ve died a thousand times everytime it sensed the leopards presence. 

 “ MURGI CHOR” - the leopard at Lakhipara

Pix from https://scroll.in/article/965144/indias-leopard-population-declined-by-90-over-two-centuries-suggests-study

This incident occurred a a couple of years before I went to work in tea on an estate called Lakhipara.

The Manager there was John Grimmer, a much respected and loved Scotsman. John and his wife Sheila lived on the estate with their children Shona and Ian.

Lakhipara, located at a fair distance from most forests in the vicinity, is not an estate that sees much animal trespass on a regular basis ; the odd stray incursion does however take place.

The chowkidars in the Lakhipara manager’s bungalow had long complained of noises that emanate from the “Goali” ( cow-shed ) on some nights indicative of the cows getting restless. Fearing a leopard incursion they would ensure that the place was secured properly .

On the night that I am referring to there was noise from the cow shed ; and then quiet as usual . A few minutes later a huge cackling from the “ murgi khana “ ( hen pen-house).

( These were the days when estates were dependant on their own gen-sets for power; to save on oil engines were turned off after 11 at night .)

In the darkness Tul Bahadur, the chowkidar, fearfully crept out of the safety of the verandah where he was ensconced , torch in hand , to investigate . No sooner had he flashed the light he noticed the bright gold and black spots of a leopard ; the hens were all over the place; the leopard had killed a few .

Tul Bahadur darted back into the house to inform the master ; who in turn, marched out in his pyjamas, shot gun in hand. Alerted by the commotion the leopard tried to get out, only to realise that it couldn’t find the opening,in the wire-mesh, that it had come in through .

Aiming carefully, John shot at the leopards head and felled it in two shots. Tragic end to this fully grown handsome creature which had landed up in the murgi-khana driven by hunger & lack of prey in the forest.

The leopard skin & head, fully intact formed a beautiful trophy, that adorned the living room in the Grimmer household when I saw it.

The Grimmers left it to their successor on the estate, when they returned home to Aberdeen in 1975.

( Mrs Sheila Grimmer commented as under upon reading the story : > “ I loved all the stories ; and needless to say , the one about the leopard at Lakhipara brought back many fond memories . > I remember the night that it happened; we had a director from London visiting us and he heard the commotion and thought it was a soda bottle popping it’s cork and went back to sleep again. He got quite a surprise when he saw the leopard stretched out at the side of the bungalow , and so did the servants when they came through the garage to get back to the veranda. > I can’t remember how John managed to get the skin cured etc but I do know that Shona and Ian had great fun when their Dad went down on his haunches , donned the leopard skin and chased them round the dining table . So many thanks for that lovely story . )

The Tortoises

Image sourced from the internet by the author

The manager's bungalow at Dumchipara estate has a wonderfully lit, large verandah with the three open sides covered by wire-mesh. An endless variety of potted plants, beautifully tended, make the place cool and welcoming as one enters the house. My good friend the late Vijay Rawal ( may he rest in peace ) & his wife Suneeta had tastefully done the place up . Apart from the usual wall-hangings and greens, an aviary full of budgerigars, and two large dogs and a huge tortoise all co-existing, without fuss, on the verandah made for an interesting entry to the house every time I visited ( once a month during the course of visits to the estate as part of my job. )

The dogs would welcome the oncoming vehicle with a bark at the gate; then circle around it twice before it stopped at the porch ; & then be ready to escort you in, their excitement demonstrated by sniffing, licking a hand raised to pet and a desperate wagging of tails.

No sooner had one entered the verandah, the far corner would erupt into a crescendo of chirping birds compelling you to walk up to the aviary to admire its occupants. The riot of colour that one saw inside was amazing - bright yellow, sky blue, parrot green, and scarlet coloured birds flitting incessantly around mesmerised the visitor.

While still at it, attention would be drawn to the two large aquariums with shiny lights and several multi-coloured fish in various shapes and sizes that beckoned you . A minute or two spent admiring these loveliest of God’s creatures was mandatory . The black & orange big one with a pout, and White plumage like gills was my favourite ; I imagine that one would be able to spend hours, idly watching the goings-on,in the aquarium and the aviary without knowing how time went by. What a delight !!!  And as one settled down to a glass of nimbu/paani the big tortoise would emerge ever so shyly from its hiding place among the potted plants and waddle slowly across only to tell the master of the house “ I am there “.

It was a big fellow, this tortoise; the half-moon shaped shell on its back was about 12 inches across ; and underneath one saw a tiny black head with small bead-like eyes and four tiny feet . It would crawl right up to where one sat and look up almost as if to greet you .

 Tortoises - II

A couple of years later, after a change of management at Dumchipara when Mr. Vikram Malik was the Manager of the estate, I was once again priveleged to see a tortoise in the same bungalow. Only this creature was a much smaller species; barely 4- 5 inches across and a lot more nimble this creature behaved in much the same way as the earlier one. Only its size never failed to amaze the onlooker .

Image from https://www.flickr.com/photos/37373154@N08/4744258472

The Maliks also had a lovely aviary adorning the far corner of their Verandah; and likewise the cackle from the blue and yellow budgerigars reached a crescendo of excitement every time anyone entered the house .

On one of my visits I found a pair of lemon yellow & green colored parrots 🦜 coyly peeking out from behind the flower pots in the verandah - not yet capable of taking flight.

Curious about the new additions when I asked my host I was informed that the pair had been poached off a nest, high in the hollow, of a ‘sal’ tree in the estates Salbari .

Meet the writer: 

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/

The Wynaad Story

by Jaswant

Hello again, dear friends! Jaswant is back with Part III of his saga, just as he'd promised. Sit back and enjoy it over a cup of tea - I just did!!

Talapoya Bungalow

From Anamallais to Wynaad was a sea change for us. Unlike the Anamallais, the topography was totally different. After going up the Vythiri ghats the landscape changes totally. We drive through long stretches of valleys with many villages and towns on the way. There are hundreds of small private properties where almost everything is grown. There is coffee, pepper, cocoa, jackfruit, mangoes, nutmeg, plantains, coconuts and even long stretches of paddy cultivation. 

Tea is grown only by large companies. The companies in Wynaad was Harisson and Crossfield, E&S, Elstone, Cottanaad, Chembra Peak, A.V.Thomas & Co. Cocoa was grown by Cadbury India Ltd on a large scale. Somewhere in the 80s Cadbury India realized that it was not a viable project and had to close down their operations in Wynaad.

Wynaad comprised of North & South. North was in Cannanore district & South was in Calicut district. Both were merged on Nov 1st 1980 and the Wynaad district was formed with Kalpetta as its headquarters. My father took charge of Talapoya estate as group manager in 1964. The other estates in this group are Cherakara, Jessie and Tatamala. The bungalow was an imposing structure close to 12,500 sq.feet. It is now a tourist resort belonging to Parisons Tea Company. Google 'Talapoya bungalow' and you will find it. Manandhawadi is the nearest town. 

Social life wasn't anything compared to the Annamalais. North Wyannad club was a quaint little club near Cherakara factory. The club house had a lounge with an attached library, a card room and a small bar tucked away. Jogi the caretaker was all in all. He was the marker for the terracotta tennis court, the barman, the cook and the butler. Jogi's signature dish was french fries. Cherakara had a natural swimming pool from where I learnt swimming.The managers wer Mr Janakiram of Jessie estate,Mr Unni of Cherakara estate and Mr A.P. Rao of Tatamala estate.

My sisters and I were in Cannanore studying in Anglo Indian High schools, staying with our grandparents. These schools were under the University of Madras and were run by the American and Italian parish priests and nuns. Every holiday whether long or short we headed to North Wynaad. Swimming, fishing and trekking were my pastimes during these holidays. We had a gardener from the Kuruchia tribe who presented me with a real bow and arrows and also taught me archery and swimming too. I was very lean during my school days and the estate contractor Mr Dcruz said he was getting me an Aryuvedic medication to make me gain some extra weight. Well as promised by him when I went home for the holidays there were two Horlicks bottles of medicines which looked like chyawanprash. I was asked to have 1 tablespoon twice a day. 

This medicine was truly magical. I was like a skinny superman. I could trek and swim tirelessly and even chop firewood for the bungalow. The energy level was stupendous.I was told that they had shot a black monkey and with the help of an Ayurvedic physician they had brewed this rasayan. My health and stamina levels improved but I never gained any weight.

Parties always comprised of a mixed crowd and were never an exclusive planters' get together. They had the likes of some top govt officials, parish priests from a church, building contractors and real estate developers too. The parish priest, Father Braganza, a Manglorean by birth, was a connoisseur of food. He loved the plantation bungalow parties. The church was located along the boundary of Talapoya Estate. There were a lot of Catholics in and around Talapoya and Manandhawadi . Father Braganza was busy with social and religious events through the week. He had an assistant who was a master brewer of arrack which was as good as vodka. Paddy was boiled and fermented for a few days and finally distilled and brewed in vats that were set up at the church cemetery This drink was so potent that two pegs could make anybody tipsy. This was the most sought after drink at parties.

The top brass in the police and forest department used to organise shikar on elephant backs and also boating and fishing on the huge lakes in and around Manandhawadi.

My dad had two assistants and one of them was Bob Drew, an expat who was on Thavinjal division. Here, there were one or two mines built by the expats who were prospecting for gold. Nobody found any gold and therefore these mines were abandoned.

My dad's Indian assistant fell in love with my sister. Feb 1st, 1967 the wedding was conducted at Alakapuri hotel Calicut and the reception at The Beach Hotel, also in Calicut. My brother in law was transferred to Ripon estate in Audathode division. 

Mr.T. Ramachandran was the superintendent of Ripon. Audothode bungalow was huge and just above that was a family graveyard of Winterbotham and family. The story goes that Winterbotham shot his wife,two daughters, butler, their dog and the nanny and then shot himself. We really don't know what prompted him to carry out such a gruesome act. It was said the bungalow was haunted by Winterbotham's ghost.

One night we heard footsteps on the verandah outside the bedroom. I gathered some courage to part the curtains and peep into the moonlit verandah. The foot steps we heard were of two cows walking on the verandah. Mr. K.T .Ramakrishnan who had a long stint in the same bungalow as an assistant manager was instructed by D.A.Cook the GM of the company to clean and maintain the graveyard. 

The main chef Sebasi came from Mysore Maharaja's palace...my father had to hand over one bottle of rum everyday in order to motivate him to churn out real delicious dishes!

There were number of cricket matches with teams coming from Cannanore and from South Wynaad. The greatest event was the visit of the company directors from London. Three of them visited India once in two years. Two of them stayed with us. All the bungalows go through a makeover at this time. 

The walls, doors and windows were painted and polished. The floors were made to sparkle and even the roof scrubbed and painted. Refrigerators from Assistant managers and some staff were brought to the bungalow to store the meat, fish, veggies and all the goodies. All the booze was from Karnataka and the main chef Sebasi came from Mysore Maharaja's palace.

Sebasi used to work for Bob Drew who was my dad's assistant. Bob Drew had to leave as he met with a bike accident and was critically ill. After recovery, he decided to go back to U.K. Sebasi was an amazing chef who churned out delectable cuisines for breakfast, lunch and dinner. His five course dinner from soups to desserts was awesome. My father had to hand over one bottle of rum everyday in order to motivate him to churn out real delicious dishes.

From 1968 this group of estates had perpetual labour problems instigated by the Union leaders and also the Naxalites. Wynaad those days was the hub for Naxalites and they even had a woman named Ajitha heading the outfit. There were gheraos and lock out and even life threats for the managers. Most of the managers were transferred and the properties were put up for sale. We went back to Annamalais to Murugalli estate.

After three years of rollicking times in the Anamallais my dad decided to quit the plantations . Coimbatore was chosen to be the place to settle down. I have been in Coimbatore since 1971. In 1973 had a short stint at J Thomas and company, and thereafter worked in an agro-chemical company and by 1978 started a distribution network under Growel banner and was back in the tea plantations in South India peddling agro-chemicals being manufactured by the Indian and multinational companies until 2007.

Meet the writer :

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

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

 

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

 

My name is Gowri Mohanakrishnan and I'm a tea planter's wife. I started this blog because one of the things that I wouldn't want us to lose in a fast changing world is the tea story - a story always told with great seriousness, no matter how funny - always true (always), maybe a tall tale; 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/

An Evening in the Bungalow

by R.K.Ghosh

I'm delighted to welcome another storyteller to our group! R.K.Ghosh offers us a mixed bag of anecdotes and recollections. You can sit back and imagine that you are in the jaali kamra in a tea bungalow, listening to the flow of talk. Got your cup of tea/ a sundowner? Read on!

Distant Drums

While visiting Corramore T.E. I observed the labour lines were at two places, one near the factory and the other about 2.5 km. away. On inquiry I was told that originally all the labour lines were close to the factory. The group of labourers now staying at Shangrila line ( as it was named ) belonged to a different tribe and they had the habit of playing drums in the night thereby disturbing the other labourers. This caused a lot of resentment and finally the management decided to shift this group and provide about 30 houses. Peace prevailed for some time. But after sometime the beating of drums invited elephants and so, the drums fell silent.

Corramore Tea Estate pix from https://traveltriangle.com/blog/tea-estates-in-assam/

An Experience at Nonaipara T.G.

The year was 1986, when I was traveling to Nonaipara & OJ tea gardens with the late Mr. Raja Durgaprassad, the Visiting Agent of the company. Since the assignment given to me was for water supply to the labour lines, he requested that the work be expanded to include irrigation for those two gardens. During that period, the irrigation in Goodricke Group gardens was at a nascent stage. This was because the then Managing Director did not like the idea, in the absence of quantification of returns from irrigation in tea.

Mr. Durgaprassad was totally convinced that if the crop was to be increased, irrigation was one of the main inputs.

With this view at the back of my mind I reached Nonaipara one December evening.

On inspection, I found that the main source of water, be it for domestic needs or for irrigation, was from Bhutan through a 12"dia RCC hume pipe line about 20,000 ft long and the water was being discharged in a masonry tank of 85x85'x5 ft deep in section 19 at the northern end of garden.

On checking the level difference and hydraulics, it was concluded that the pipe should bring down one lakh gallon per hour whereas the actual receipt was only 20,000 gallons per hour.

We opened up some portion of the 12”dia pipe line and found that the roots of trees from the forest had entered the collar in their quest for water and had choked the pipe joints at several places. The pipes were lifted, the joints cleaned and as per our experience we packed the collar with bitumen, a chemical which roots do not like and avoid. On relaying the pipes after rectification the flow was restored to one lakh gallons per hour. We added a presettling chamber with filtration system so that the water coming to the no. 19 tank was reasonably clean. Since the volume had increased we provided two overflow pipes to lead the excess water into the irrigation flume.

During the execution of the work two interesting and amusing events came up.

The first was an earthen mound near no. 19 tank, which when cleaned revealed a well designed sluice gate which could divert water from a small rivulet (Chinai Nala) to increase inflow into the irrigation canal over and above the water received from the 12 dia pipe. This was built during the tenure of Mr. Gilchrist the Manager, ably assisted by Mr. Asim Barooah.

The vision that tea will need irrigation in the seventies and to cater for it is the hallmark of some of the old planters.

The second episode was quite amusing, as you will read below.

Elephant Tales, Nonaipara

I was staying with Senior Assistant Manager, Mr. Ravi Singh.

One morning the Chowkidar came running at 6 AM to report that in the tank that we had built, an elephant cub had fallen and needed  an emergency operation to save.

I rushed out with my team, but on reaching a spot about 250 mtrs away we observed that some 60 elephants had congregated to carryout the rescue operation.

Standing at a safe distance we observed their activity which was like a military operation. The first step they took was to kick out the last hume pipe to ensure that no further water came into the tank. Next all the elephants stood surrounding the tank, and with their trunks started drawing water out and throwing it away. It was a typical dewatering job.

Once the tank was emptied upto a certain level they took out the cub, gave a combined yell of victory and walked off. 

Pix of Orangajuli from the Goodricke group website http://www.goodricke.com/tea-garden/assam/orangajuli

Orangajuli

Once I was standing in front of the exotic grocery shop in Loudon street owned and run by Mrs Kapur, wife of the late Mr. M. M. Kapur. I met Mr. Kapur, who had just retired from Goodricke Group as Managing Director, and asked him to narrate some interesting story involving tea planters. He narrated the following story but was not sure about exact date, which I later established from the tombstone of Richard Gary Simpson at Pannery TE.

On 22nd October 1968, one Mr. Dick Simpson, Deputy Manager of Orangajuli TE, was returning to the garden with his wife and just born son. The car in which they were traveling met with head on collision which resulted in the instant death of the child, and profuse bleeding from both husband and wife.

The situation was so critical that the local doctors insisted that they be shifted to Calcutta immediately, if their lives were to be saved. In those days there were no flights to or from Assam after sunset and the nearest airport at Guwahati was a good 5 hours away, The garden management contacted HO at Duncan House Calcutta, and Mr. Kapur who was leading the HR had to rush to Jamair to request them to help in the rescue operations.

Jamair agreed to take up the job provided a football field of a certain size, rows of lanterns to light the runway and the ATC clearance to fly to Assam after sunset were arranged.

These were arranged, and the plane landed at about 6.30 PM. The couple was air lifted to Calcutta and saved. The tombstone of Richard Gary Simpson at Pannery bears testimony to the events.

 "RICHARD GARY SIMPSON 22-10-1968 BORN & DIED"  

Bagracote Burra Bunglaow - pix from Shona Patel's collection 'Tea Garden Bungalows of Colonial India' 

https://br.pinterest.com/teabuddy/tea-garden-bungalows-of-colonial-india/

 Uniformity

The year was 1983. Duncans had sought my advice to design the Titikhola Scheme and also to improve water supply in group gardens.

I was accompanying Mr. Ramesh Punshi, General Manager Engineering, Duncans. We were traveling together from Bagdogra and the first stoppage was at Bagracote TE. Those were the days when Duncans were marketing packet tea under their Double Diamond Brand. Mr. Punshi naturally prided himself about the uniformity in quality of tea in the packets irrespective of which garden the produce came from.

At Bagracote we stayed with Manager Mr. Sudesh Kumar, extremely hospitable. His family constituted of him, his wife, and three daughters: two older, and one born after a few years' gap.

From Bagrakote, we went to Lankapara, the host being Mr. Brij Malhotra - equally hospitable, and he had a family of the same size i.e two older daughters and one more, born after a few years! Next morning, I asked Mr. Punshi if the standardization of Duncans Tea extended to the family size. 

The talk of product standardization was never discussed again.

Camaraderie

M/s. Assam Brooks at one time had purchased four gardens in South India in north Wayanad District of Kerala, the Manantudy group of four gardens. Cherkara was the headquarters, where the Superintending Manager Mr. Amar Paul Shaw was stationed.

I was put up with him on 27th March, 1992. He belongs to the famous NAIN family with deep footprints on the tea industry. On the second day of my arrival he excused himself from having dinner with me as he mentioned he had an important meeting to attend and left at about 8.00 p.m. I had my dinner and went to sleep. At about 3.00 AM In the night I could hear some vehicles coming. Next morning I met Mr. Amar Paul Shaw and he mentioned that the remittance from Kolkata had not arrived and he had to meet the deadline for salary payment! He was in an awkward situation before the labour.

He travelled to the Harrison Malayalam tea gardens, which was about a two hours' run and met their General Manager, who opined that he had the money but he could not release it till the same was approved by their M.D. Mr. Ahmedullah who stayed in Cochin. He contacted Mr. Ahmedullah, who made it very clear that the amount should be handed over to Mr. Amar Paul Shaw because as per the dictum he had propagated in the company, as long as Harrison Malayalam operated under him, they would not allow any manager of any adjoining garden to be heckled by the labour and they (Harrison Malayalam) should come to their rescue. 

Mr. Amar Paul Shaw collected the money and returned at 3.00 a.m. Such camaraderie is a rare phenomenon in today’s industry.

Meer the writer:

A Civil Engineering Graduate from IIT, Kharagpur, Mr. R.K. Ghosh started his professional career in 1962. He has worked for construction majors Gamon India and AFCONS (erstwhile Rodio Hazarat) and has been involved in construction projects like the Modernization of Rourkela Steel Plant, Mangalore Outer Harbour, Paradip Port Outer Harbour Container Berth. His involvement in the field of Water Management started in late 60s while he was working for Bird & Co. for their various Water Treatment Projects spread over the country. Subsequently during his stint with Scott & Saxby, the leading tubewell drillers, in the 70s he would delve into the technical aspects and environmental consideration related to ground water and its extractions. During this period he was also a member of the Indian Standards Sub-committee on Tubewell Drilling. It was during this period that Mr. Ghosh was exposed to the Tea Industry and has since been continuously associated with tea gardens. Realising that the sources of the God-given resource, water, was finite and needed to be efficiently managed, Mr. Ghosh and his company has been immersed in the field of Water Resource Management for the last four decades. In between, along with his alma mater IIT, he has been instrumental in sponsoring Doctoral Thesis on Irrigation and Water Management in the Tea Industry.   

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/

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/

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/

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/