My memories of Jessie have started to blur over the years. She was a black Labrador Retriever and came to my father when she was about a year old. Mr Allen, my father's 'Burra Sahib' or Manager had decided to leave Jessie with my father while he was preparing to leave India. This was in the January of 1973 when my father, better known as Charlie to his friends, had completed only six months in tea.
So Mrs Allen handed over a list of instructions on pet care and Jessica Joe or Jessie was adopted by my father. Jessie, took an instant liking to her new master and soon she was comfortable in her new home.
We loved her company and my fondness for Labradors could be attributed to her. I am yet to come across a pet with such levels of tolerance as Jessie's. I'm told that she displayed great patience when it came to being around with kids. She would always be the first one to greet my father as he entered the bungalow.
One evening, Jessie went out for her usual after supper rounds. She was gone for quite some time and there was some panic in the bungalow . The bearer, cook and watchman went out in different directions yelling out for her to respond but there was no sign of Jessie. It was dark; the torch lights provided limited vision. With every passing minute, the pangs of separation from her became unbearable. We simply had to find her.
Then, something called from a distance. There was a thud on the ground followed by a rustling of dry leaves. It came from the direction of the forested patch below; the bungalow was on a small hillock. It didn't take us a moment to realize that there was a leopard in the vicinity and in all probability, it may have been sitting on the lower branches of a tree. The thud on the ground could have been an attempt to pounce on Jessie. The rustling sound was an indication of a fierce struggle between the predator and the victim. With the sound of rushing footsteps and human voices coming closer to the spot, the leopard thought it prudent to retreat. The sight we all saw after that is so hard to document on paper; it brings tears to my eyes and fills me with pride, as I recreate that image before you..
Jessie climbed up the hillock in a show of great strength and willpower; blood dripping down her throat. She was determined to live. The garden doctor was present in the bungalow as well and on close examination it was found the the leopard had only got hold of her skin. Labradors have a thick layer of skin and this made it difficult for the leopard to get to her flesh when it jumped on her. Her wound was attended to with great skill- liberal doses of antibiotics, ointments and a few stitches and she was bounding with energy again. This incident made her the 'super girl' in our lives !
A few years prior to this, Jessie had given birth to a litter of six puppies, each of these were adopted by fellow tea planters. Over time, her eyesight and sense of hearing was diminishing. Her end came rather unexpectedly on the eleventh year of her life. A motor car rally was being held in the club. We were then posted in Gingia Tea Estate. Jessie was lying down in a long passage that linked the bungalow to the kitchen. It was quite dark by then. An assistant , while trying to reverse his car, hit the sleeping Jessie, unintentionally. Like before, Jessie stood up again...this time she cantered up to her favorite spot in the lawn- the pink Bougainvillea tree that gave her respite from the Sun after playing with us on the lawn. She sat there and stared at us with her loving eyes that conveyed gratitude, longing and affection ; we couldn't believe that she had left us this time. Her lasting memories have led to the fruition of this piece. The pink Bougainvillea tree of the 'chhota kothi' in Gingia Tea Estate became her final resting place. She sleeps peacefully under that tree, tucked under a sheet of pink Bougainvillea blossoms.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
JUMBOS FOR COMPANY
A life in the estates entailed some extraordinary wildlife experiences. It is with great relish that I choose to embark on this narration. As I mentioned earlier, the location and settings of the estates, fringed by forests and rivers, allowed for some frequent and precious sightings of snakes, peacocks, deer, wild boar,bison, hare, leopards, tigers and the biggest of them all, the elephant.
Often on our way back from the plantation clubs, we would see these creatures ambling across the narrow stretch of tarmac to reach the other side of the forest. The image of a long, winding road, snaking its way through the heart of the forests was quite an impressionable one.
Each sighting was a special one; whether it was the big cat stopping right in the middle of the road to stare back at the headlights with those unforgettable eyes , a glimpse of his striped tail making a statement in the tea bushes or an unperturbed herd of elephants flapping its ears in nonchalance while we contemplated on either of the two options- to give them the right of way or reverse our vehicle with the single minded pursuit of safety!
More often than not, tea garden settlements fall in the elephant corridor, which essentially means that the tract of land was earlier used as a route by the elephants. It is believed that an elephant never forgets or changes its tracks...in which case, the human trespassers were left to defend themselves from the occasional wrath of the rogue elephants and mammoth tusk bearers.
Wild elephants frequented the estates especially during the harvest season as they came in search of crops like maize and paddy and loved indulging in the rice beer that was brewed by the estate workers ! There still are numerous incidents of elephants going on a rampage in workers' colonies and pulverizing tea garden property, until they are herded back to the woods by the forest officials or the garden workers. If you wish to see what an inebriated elephant can do, a long stay in an estate is a must. Whether it is going to be a frightening or an amazing experience depends purely on your luck! At times a herd of elephants ranging from just a few to thirty or more would cross the gardens; but they were destructive only if there was a threat to their young ones.
Victims of elephant depredation, the estates were well equipped to ward off the elephants. Every tea garden office had an elephant squad that patrolled the estates on a tractor, with a monstrous torch called, ' Haathi Batti ' some brave hearts, a few tom toms and several boxes of firecrackers. The usual drill consisted of a display of pyrotechnics, some screaming and shouting and a vigorous beating of the tom tom drums, until the elephant, disgusted with the mad song and dance of the humans, strode back to the calmer forest.
Elephants coming up to the bungalow compounds was not a rarity either. They loved feasting on corn, jack fruit and bananas from our 'maalibari' !!
Contrary to what most people may think, the elephant has great speed and only gifted humans have the ability to escape a chase ! My father recounted a personal experience when he was chased by an unpredictable rogue elephant; he ran with all his fuel and leaped over a huge drain as if with some divine intervention. The image of the charging beast halting abruptly near the large drain and trumpeting furiously at my father, will always be an unnerving one.
One evening when my parents and I were returning from the neighboring estate, our jeep halted as the headlights landed on a jumbo waving its large ears and almost piercing us with its vision. The jeep's engine failed to start and the elephant took a step forward. God was kind yet again and the vehicle started just in time for my father to reverse steadily with the headlights focused on the magnificent creature with huge tusks, till we were at a safe distance.
On another occasion, we were heading to the nearest town for some provisions and it was just after sun down. While crossing a forested area , we saw a man lying helplessly on the road; his legs were mutilated as they were trampled upon by an elephant. It was a test of conscience; we did not have the heart to leave the man there to be torn into shreds by the elephant again. My father decided to get the man some medical help, but for that, he would have to get off the vehicle himself and lift the man up into the rear part of Gypsy. While we prayed fervently and the elephant trumpeted somewhere in the vicinity, my father summoned courage to do the needful. The traumatized man was put into the vehicle and driven to the nearest primary health center. The man's leg had to be amputated but his life was saved by his good fortune and my father's large heartedness. It was a risk taken to save a stranger's life but it gave me a valuable perspective into the dignity of human life.....
Shall be sharing more such adventures that I have witnessed from ground zero.
Often on our way back from the plantation clubs, we would see these creatures ambling across the narrow stretch of tarmac to reach the other side of the forest. The image of a long, winding road, snaking its way through the heart of the forests was quite an impressionable one.
Each sighting was a special one; whether it was the big cat stopping right in the middle of the road to stare back at the headlights with those unforgettable eyes , a glimpse of his striped tail making a statement in the tea bushes or an unperturbed herd of elephants flapping its ears in nonchalance while we contemplated on either of the two options- to give them the right of way or reverse our vehicle with the single minded pursuit of safety!
More often than not, tea garden settlements fall in the elephant corridor, which essentially means that the tract of land was earlier used as a route by the elephants. It is believed that an elephant never forgets or changes its tracks...in which case, the human trespassers were left to defend themselves from the occasional wrath of the rogue elephants and mammoth tusk bearers.
Wild elephants frequented the estates especially during the harvest season as they came in search of crops like maize and paddy and loved indulging in the rice beer that was brewed by the estate workers ! There still are numerous incidents of elephants going on a rampage in workers' colonies and pulverizing tea garden property, until they are herded back to the woods by the forest officials or the garden workers. If you wish to see what an inebriated elephant can do, a long stay in an estate is a must. Whether it is going to be a frightening or an amazing experience depends purely on your luck! At times a herd of elephants ranging from just a few to thirty or more would cross the gardens; but they were destructive only if there was a threat to their young ones.
Victims of elephant depredation, the estates were well equipped to ward off the elephants. Every tea garden office had an elephant squad that patrolled the estates on a tractor, with a monstrous torch called, ' Haathi Batti ' some brave hearts, a few tom toms and several boxes of firecrackers. The usual drill consisted of a display of pyrotechnics, some screaming and shouting and a vigorous beating of the tom tom drums, until the elephant, disgusted with the mad song and dance of the humans, strode back to the calmer forest.
Elephants coming up to the bungalow compounds was not a rarity either. They loved feasting on corn, jack fruit and bananas from our 'maalibari' !!
Contrary to what most people may think, the elephant has great speed and only gifted humans have the ability to escape a chase ! My father recounted a personal experience when he was chased by an unpredictable rogue elephant; he ran with all his fuel and leaped over a huge drain as if with some divine intervention. The image of the charging beast halting abruptly near the large drain and trumpeting furiously at my father, will always be an unnerving one.
One evening when my parents and I were returning from the neighboring estate, our jeep halted as the headlights landed on a jumbo waving its large ears and almost piercing us with its vision. The jeep's engine failed to start and the elephant took a step forward. God was kind yet again and the vehicle started just in time for my father to reverse steadily with the headlights focused on the magnificent creature with huge tusks, till we were at a safe distance.
On another occasion, we were heading to the nearest town for some provisions and it was just after sun down. While crossing a forested area , we saw a man lying helplessly on the road; his legs were mutilated as they were trampled upon by an elephant. It was a test of conscience; we did not have the heart to leave the man there to be torn into shreds by the elephant again. My father decided to get the man some medical help, but for that, he would have to get off the vehicle himself and lift the man up into the rear part of Gypsy. While we prayed fervently and the elephant trumpeted somewhere in the vicinity, my father summoned courage to do the needful. The traumatized man was put into the vehicle and driven to the nearest primary health center. The man's leg had to be amputated but his life was saved by his good fortune and my father's large heartedness. It was a risk taken to save a stranger's life but it gave me a valuable perspective into the dignity of human life.....
Shall be sharing more such adventures that I have witnessed from ground zero.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
On Birdbaths in the Lawn
There's something about the birdbaths that always engaged me in rapture. A common feature of most tea bungalow lawns, the birdbath was always more than a landscaping accessory. It was an escape into fairyland for a shy and passive girl, someone who had a pixie residing in her.
The birdbath occupied a prominent position in our lawns; always whitewashed, to make it visible enough for my feathered friends, whose flight I still fancy. On waking up every morning, I would long to catch a sight of my friends chirping away at the birdbath. I loved to see the dewy grass being warmed up by the happy Sun. In fact, I could sit on the lawn watching the birdbath through the day, and only the honking of a vehicle at the driveway would rein me into the reality of my world.
The lawn was a place of considerable human activity with the Maalees going about their usual chores such as mowing, weeding, planting and watering. One of them would fill up the birdbath with some water from his 'Jhinjri' or watering can while walking dutifully across the length of the lawn. The disciplined tasks of the Maalees would be punctuated with some casual banter that would invariably centre around the elephants coming from the adjoining forest to consume the rice beer made by the workers and the consequences of dealing with an inebriated elephant !!
Then my friends would come and sit at the edge of the birdbath to sip in some cool water and exchange a few notes with each other before resuming their flight. These were the moments I craved to see and never tired of. Every drop of water that trickled down their tiny beaks soothed me and their chirping beckoned me to join them.... they were messengers from Enid Blyton's fairyland. I was ever so eager to trade places with the pixies and fairies.
The afternoons were never to be wasted in siesta but to be spent lazing around with a book in my hand, waiting again for the birdbath to come alive. It stood tall and gracefully in the lawn encircled with a bed of dainty flowers. Every time the birds came, I thought they had some interesting news for me. The afternoon Sun drew more birds to their oasis, the birdbath. I wondered if they were actually pixies in disguise, for,I felt an unfathomable connect. Would they have some pixie dust for me, hiding in their little tails ?!
I pondered over the position I'd like to choose for myself between a bird that fancies its flight and a birdbath that gave joy to the birds. I wished that by some druid's potion, I would shrink to the size of a falling leaf, just enough to be able to slip into the birdbath myself ! Yes, that is a child's train of thought, justified from its own standpoint of reason..
The rains made me sad; it took away the joy of meeting my friends at the birdbath. I would sit on the edge of the wrought iron chairs in the veranda, gazing silently at the birdbath, hoping in vain for my friends to show up at our usual rendezvous.
In my years of growing up, I learnt to give, like the birdbath; it has been a companion in my journey so far, making my heart resonate with the joy of giving. A poignant lesson that emerged from my experience was that beauty could only be felt with a heart that is pure and a mind that is uncluttered.
It is raining again, but I am not sad anymore. Haven't I transformed into the birdbath myself, giving and receiving such bliss that one calls ' a family.'
The birdbath occupied a prominent position in our lawns; always whitewashed, to make it visible enough for my feathered friends, whose flight I still fancy. On waking up every morning, I would long to catch a sight of my friends chirping away at the birdbath. I loved to see the dewy grass being warmed up by the happy Sun. In fact, I could sit on the lawn watching the birdbath through the day, and only the honking of a vehicle at the driveway would rein me into the reality of my world.
The lawn was a place of considerable human activity with the Maalees going about their usual chores such as mowing, weeding, planting and watering. One of them would fill up the birdbath with some water from his 'Jhinjri' or watering can while walking dutifully across the length of the lawn. The disciplined tasks of the Maalees would be punctuated with some casual banter that would invariably centre around the elephants coming from the adjoining forest to consume the rice beer made by the workers and the consequences of dealing with an inebriated elephant !!
Then my friends would come and sit at the edge of the birdbath to sip in some cool water and exchange a few notes with each other before resuming their flight. These were the moments I craved to see and never tired of. Every drop of water that trickled down their tiny beaks soothed me and their chirping beckoned me to join them.... they were messengers from Enid Blyton's fairyland. I was ever so eager to trade places with the pixies and fairies.
The afternoons were never to be wasted in siesta but to be spent lazing around with a book in my hand, waiting again for the birdbath to come alive. It stood tall and gracefully in the lawn encircled with a bed of dainty flowers. Every time the birds came, I thought they had some interesting news for me. The afternoon Sun drew more birds to their oasis, the birdbath. I wondered if they were actually pixies in disguise, for,I felt an unfathomable connect. Would they have some pixie dust for me, hiding in their little tails ?!
I pondered over the position I'd like to choose for myself between a bird that fancies its flight and a birdbath that gave joy to the birds. I wished that by some druid's potion, I would shrink to the size of a falling leaf, just enough to be able to slip into the birdbath myself ! Yes, that is a child's train of thought, justified from its own standpoint of reason..
The rains made me sad; it took away the joy of meeting my friends at the birdbath. I would sit on the edge of the wrought iron chairs in the veranda, gazing silently at the birdbath, hoping in vain for my friends to show up at our usual rendezvous.
In my years of growing up, I learnt to give, like the birdbath; it has been a companion in my journey so far, making my heart resonate with the joy of giving. A poignant lesson that emerged from my experience was that beauty could only be felt with a heart that is pure and a mind that is uncluttered.
It is raining again, but I am not sad anymore. Haven't I transformed into the birdbath myself, giving and receiving such bliss that one calls ' a family.'
Friday, August 16, 2013
The Genies in the Bungalows
Linking it from my last post about the wonderful complement of bungalow staff that served us, this post gives an insight into their efficiency and sense of dedication. I choose to call them genies because of their many problem shooting skills that were tested especially when a guest arrived with very short notice !
Many of the gardens that we lived in were located in remote areas, the nearest town being an hour or two away. With cold storage options in the bungalows, shopping in bulk was usually a monthly affair. We rarely bought dairy and vegetables as most of it was available from the 'maali bari' and the cows in premises. So, during an impending visit towards the end of the month ( with purchased provisions soon depleting), the cook's skills were tested to the hilt. Yet, the team always put up a great show without much difficulty.When a worried Memsaab gasped at the thought of sudden visitors, the genies would use the reassuring words ," aap chinta mat kijiye, hum log kar lega. "
The Maali would collect some fresh vegetables from the kitchen garden and the bearer would cycle to the nearest labour lines to procure some country chicken. Flower arrangements were checked and the grass well weeded , especially near the gates and the portico or the bungalow entrance !!
The other bearers and maids would ensure a change of linen, with embroidered towels, matching bath mats and laced doiley sets in the rest room , starched bedsheets , table linen and tray covers.
A Maali would be posted near the gate to signal any sign of an approaching vehicle that would be relayed at astonishing speed to the rest of the bungalow staff. As soon as the car came in through the driveway, the bearer stood with a glass of water on a tray and greeted the visitor with a prompt " Salaam Saab !"
The hostess came in shortly , ushering the visitor in with a winning smile, irrespective of the situation in the kitchen !! Something told the hostess that it wouldn't be a disaster after all. She could trust her team.
The time that the guest spent for a shower, was utilised dexterously to look into the last minute details. A modest lunch comprised an interestingly decorated salad, a seasonal vegetable , some crisp fries, the humble yellow dal served in a sauce boat, a mildly spiced chicken curry, pulao and chapatis. This would be rounded off with the omnipresent Custard Pudding which could always be relied upon.
Having worked with many Saabs and Memsaabs, these genies were quick to learn and had a unique adaptability. The cooks had mastered their culinary skills and could present Continental, Chinese or Indian cuisine with equal ease.
I remember one of our loving cooks in the garden who would come and ask us- " Baby log nashta mein kya khayega- anda aur saucet (sausages) ? When we asked him which sweet dish he'd serve us, his predictable reply would be - Caashtol pudding (custard) !!
For larger parties, the level of catering can be quite unthinkable for most people now. More on that later.
In my years of growing up, I always found a standard of hospitality that is hard to come by these days. As I recollect all this and more, my heart gleams like the shining silverware on the tables and my senses are still trapped in the freshness of the flowers that surrounded us, bringing unspeakable joy for being a part of that wonderful era.
Many of the gardens that we lived in were located in remote areas, the nearest town being an hour or two away. With cold storage options in the bungalows, shopping in bulk was usually a monthly affair. We rarely bought dairy and vegetables as most of it was available from the 'maali bari' and the cows in premises. So, during an impending visit towards the end of the month ( with purchased provisions soon depleting), the cook's skills were tested to the hilt. Yet, the team always put up a great show without much difficulty.When a worried Memsaab gasped at the thought of sudden visitors, the genies would use the reassuring words ," aap chinta mat kijiye, hum log kar lega. "
The Maali would collect some fresh vegetables from the kitchen garden and the bearer would cycle to the nearest labour lines to procure some country chicken. Flower arrangements were checked and the grass well weeded , especially near the gates and the portico or the bungalow entrance !!
The other bearers and maids would ensure a change of linen, with embroidered towels, matching bath mats and laced doiley sets in the rest room , starched bedsheets , table linen and tray covers.
A Maali would be posted near the gate to signal any sign of an approaching vehicle that would be relayed at astonishing speed to the rest of the bungalow staff. As soon as the car came in through the driveway, the bearer stood with a glass of water on a tray and greeted the visitor with a prompt " Salaam Saab !"
The hostess came in shortly , ushering the visitor in with a winning smile, irrespective of the situation in the kitchen !! Something told the hostess that it wouldn't be a disaster after all. She could trust her team.
The time that the guest spent for a shower, was utilised dexterously to look into the last minute details. A modest lunch comprised an interestingly decorated salad, a seasonal vegetable , some crisp fries, the humble yellow dal served in a sauce boat, a mildly spiced chicken curry, pulao and chapatis. This would be rounded off with the omnipresent Custard Pudding which could always be relied upon.
Having worked with many Saabs and Memsaabs, these genies were quick to learn and had a unique adaptability. The cooks had mastered their culinary skills and could present Continental, Chinese or Indian cuisine with equal ease.
I remember one of our loving cooks in the garden who would come and ask us- " Baby log nashta mein kya khayega- anda aur saucet (sausages) ? When we asked him which sweet dish he'd serve us, his predictable reply would be - Caashtol pudding (custard) !!
For larger parties, the level of catering can be quite unthinkable for most people now. More on that later.
In my years of growing up, I always found a standard of hospitality that is hard to come by these days. As I recollect all this and more, my heart gleams like the shining silverware on the tables and my senses are still trapped in the freshness of the flowers that surrounded us, bringing unspeakable joy for being a part of that wonderful era.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Life inside the Tea Bungalows
All those who have lived in the tea gardens will have memories of hilarious incidents arising partly out of the worker's ignorance and a propensity to find some favour with his 'Saab' or 'Memsaab'. A friend of ours had some guests staying over at their bungalow. The hosts had to attend to something urgent and therefore instructed the bungalow staff to take good care of the guests in their absence, Dinner was served to the guests and everything seemed to move according to plan. When the guests asked if they'd be served some pudding, the bearer returned with the host's pet dog in his arms. The puzzled silence was broken with -"Saab, Pudding". The pet's name was Pudding ! The horrified guest then needed to specify- " Yeh nahin, khane wala pudding chahiye !"
On one occasion, my father got back from work on a rainy day and asked the bearer to keep his wet shoes in the boiler room. Those days the bungalows had boiler rooms that provided hot water and usually had the old English cooking ovens in the same room. It was an extension of the kitchen and was a good place to dry clothes during monsoons. So my father said to the bearer, " Isko garam mein rakho ". While going out for work again in the evening, my father inquired about the shoes. Confidently, the bearer skipped in with the shoes and placed it in front of his Saab. My father wore them alright and they still felt nice and warm. When he took the first few steps, the shoes felt lighter; the soles had come off with the heat ! Soon , it was understood that the bearer had put them into the oven thinking they'd dry up faster !!!
Most tea bungalows had a steady supply of fresh milk from the Jersey cows kept within the premises. One morning, as my mother sat in the verandah sipping her cup of garden fresh tea, the ' Maali' came to her and reported- " Memsaab, gai garam ho gaya hain ." My mother was still getting used to the terms of reference in the estates as she had grown up in rather cosmopolitan defence cantonments. She replied saying, " uske upar pani dalo." The Maali stood still and repeated the status.Finally, some brain storming with the Ayah revealed that the cow was on heat and so, necessary arrangements had to be made !!
We were always surrounded by a battery of servants, and like I said earlier, one could be thoroughly pampered by it. Yet, I always saw my mother engaging in a host of activities that would surprisingly consume her time in a most fulfilling way. The bungalow maintenance and upkeep was not a mean task. The brass fittings on doors and other artefacts , the wood work and the large glass doors and windows needed polishing and cleaning at least twice a month. The lawn had to look manicured at all times with a decent lay out of seasonal flowers. So, days were assigned for each task and my mother took personal care to see that these were performed meticulously. My mother often went swimming and played tennis at the club. Most Managers' Bungalows have swimming pools. One could call it an active life in an idyllic setting. You had the option to indulge in great sports- soccer, cricket, tennis swimming and golf or, you could just 'stop to smell the roses in your garden.' The lovely flowers and potted plants that were planted and nurtured would make their way to the Flower Shows as priceless exhibits.
Life was wonderful and never for a moment, dull. As a child, I was showered with much of love and care. Today, I can only express my gratitude to all the people who played a role in raising me. I don't know how many of those caregivers and helpers are still alive, but I'd like to express my thanks for the happiness they brought to me and my family.
On one occasion, my father got back from work on a rainy day and asked the bearer to keep his wet shoes in the boiler room. Those days the bungalows had boiler rooms that provided hot water and usually had the old English cooking ovens in the same room. It was an extension of the kitchen and was a good place to dry clothes during monsoons. So my father said to the bearer, " Isko garam mein rakho ". While going out for work again in the evening, my father inquired about the shoes. Confidently, the bearer skipped in with the shoes and placed it in front of his Saab. My father wore them alright and they still felt nice and warm. When he took the first few steps, the shoes felt lighter; the soles had come off with the heat ! Soon , it was understood that the bearer had put them into the oven thinking they'd dry up faster !!!
Most tea bungalows had a steady supply of fresh milk from the Jersey cows kept within the premises. One morning, as my mother sat in the verandah sipping her cup of garden fresh tea, the ' Maali' came to her and reported- " Memsaab, gai garam ho gaya hain ." My mother was still getting used to the terms of reference in the estates as she had grown up in rather cosmopolitan defence cantonments. She replied saying, " uske upar pani dalo." The Maali stood still and repeated the status.Finally, some brain storming with the Ayah revealed that the cow was on heat and so, necessary arrangements had to be made !!
We were always surrounded by a battery of servants, and like I said earlier, one could be thoroughly pampered by it. Yet, I always saw my mother engaging in a host of activities that would surprisingly consume her time in a most fulfilling way. The bungalow maintenance and upkeep was not a mean task. The brass fittings on doors and other artefacts , the wood work and the large glass doors and windows needed polishing and cleaning at least twice a month. The lawn had to look manicured at all times with a decent lay out of seasonal flowers. So, days were assigned for each task and my mother took personal care to see that these were performed meticulously. My mother often went swimming and played tennis at the club. Most Managers' Bungalows have swimming pools. One could call it an active life in an idyllic setting. You had the option to indulge in great sports- soccer, cricket, tennis swimming and golf or, you could just 'stop to smell the roses in your garden.' The lovely flowers and potted plants that were planted and nurtured would make their way to the Flower Shows as priceless exhibits.
Life was wonderful and never for a moment, dull. As a child, I was showered with much of love and care. Today, I can only express my gratitude to all the people who played a role in raising me. I don't know how many of those caregivers and helpers are still alive, but I'd like to express my thanks for the happiness they brought to me and my family.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Growing up in the Tea Plantations
My journey into this world began on the 2nd of February, 1977. I was born to Ashok and Mallika Sen in Woodlands Nursing home in Kolkata. Dr Tarun ( Scissor) Bannerjee - as he was usually called, showed me the first ray of light..
After that, my parents flew back to Assam, cradling me along, for a life in the tea estates. I was surrounded by many caregivers who were always around in the bungalows we lived in. They were an integral part of my growing up years. Most importantly, I always found myself in my parents' arms . So many mornings were spent basking in the Sun while the Nanny wheeled me around in the pram (called Chakka Gaadi in the estates) within the premises of the large and sprawling lawns. Giggling, playing, being amused at things new, my babyhood kept family and friends enthralled.
My father had very long working hours; he would wake up at 5am, change into his shorts and sneakers, sip a quick cuppa and be out by 6am for his 'KaamJaari' ( rounds of the estate) in a Willy's Jeep. During winters, the Jeep refused to start and finally would, after several rounds of coughing and choking. There were times when it had to be pushed to and fro by the cook, bearers and gardeners till the engine came alive ! Well, I got used to this as a routine affair. Daddy would be back from his 'KaamJaari' by 9am for breakfast ( Haajri/ Naashta). Some beans, toast and eggs and off again he'd go to work. Back again for lunch and a short rest.Out again at 3pm. So you see, I only saw him in flashes..dashing in and out of the house ! His day's work would end by 6 or 7pm. Yet, there were days when he'd be at the factory almost all night, and do the morning rounds as well. How he managed to endure such a routine, is a question I won't find an answer to. His colleagues pull his leg even today , saying that they had seen him sleep walking !!
The evenings were spent with their friends either at the Clubs or in the Bungalows. My parents had a lively circle of friends and they loved entertaining their guests. My mother, an accomplished hostess and a singer of some repute, would lay out the best of her linen and crockery when it came to hospitality. I have grown up seeing her as the perfectionist that she was.
The rooms in the bungalows were named such- Palang kamra/ bedroom , Baba Kamra/ children's room, Faltu Kamra/ guest room, Gusal kamra/ bathroom, Gol Kamra/ Drawing room, Jaali Kamra ( where breakfast was usually served) / Verandah, Khana kamra/ Dining room and so on. Fresh flower arrangements in all the rooms including the baths were kept on a regular basis. Life in the tea gardens is jokingly called the ' Ghanti culture' because when you need something, all you do is ring the bell for the bearer to arrive. The Bungalow staff included a Bawarchi, Bearers, Paniwala, Jharuwala, Ayahs, Maalis and the Chowkidaar. Contrary to popular belief that the life in the estates is lonely, I have seen it as a very busy one. The smell of fresh tea, the sounds of the gongs and sirens , the sight of a carpet of green tea bushes all around and pluckers moving through the bushes with their baskets- all this and much more has remained a treasured part of my life . 
After that, my parents flew back to Assam, cradling me along, for a life in the tea estates. I was surrounded by many caregivers who were always around in the bungalows we lived in. They were an integral part of my growing up years. Most importantly, I always found myself in my parents' arms . So many mornings were spent basking in the Sun while the Nanny wheeled me around in the pram (called Chakka Gaadi in the estates) within the premises of the large and sprawling lawns. Giggling, playing, being amused at things new, my babyhood kept family and friends enthralled.
My father had very long working hours; he would wake up at 5am, change into his shorts and sneakers, sip a quick cuppa and be out by 6am for his 'KaamJaari' ( rounds of the estate) in a Willy's Jeep. During winters, the Jeep refused to start and finally would, after several rounds of coughing and choking. There were times when it had to be pushed to and fro by the cook, bearers and gardeners till the engine came alive ! Well, I got used to this as a routine affair. Daddy would be back from his 'KaamJaari' by 9am for breakfast ( Haajri/ Naashta). Some beans, toast and eggs and off again he'd go to work. Back again for lunch and a short rest.Out again at 3pm. So you see, I only saw him in flashes..dashing in and out of the house ! His day's work would end by 6 or 7pm. Yet, there were days when he'd be at the factory almost all night, and do the morning rounds as well. How he managed to endure such a routine, is a question I won't find an answer to. His colleagues pull his leg even today , saying that they had seen him sleep walking !!
The evenings were spent with their friends either at the Clubs or in the Bungalows. My parents had a lively circle of friends and they loved entertaining their guests. My mother, an accomplished hostess and a singer of some repute, would lay out the best of her linen and crockery when it came to hospitality. I have grown up seeing her as the perfectionist that she was.
The rooms in the bungalows were named such- Palang kamra/ bedroom , Baba Kamra/ children's room, Faltu Kamra/ guest room, Gusal kamra/ bathroom, Gol Kamra/ Drawing room, Jaali Kamra ( where breakfast was usually served) / Verandah, Khana kamra/ Dining room and so on. Fresh flower arrangements in all the rooms including the baths were kept on a regular basis. Life in the tea gardens is jokingly called the ' Ghanti culture' because when you need something, all you do is ring the bell for the bearer to arrive. The Bungalow staff included a Bawarchi, Bearers, Paniwala, Jharuwala, Ayahs, Maalis and the Chowkidaar. Contrary to popular belief that the life in the estates is lonely, I have seen it as a very busy one. The smell of fresh tea, the sounds of the gongs and sirens , the sight of a carpet of green tea bushes all around and pluckers moving through the bushes with their baskets- all this and much more has remained a treasured part of my life .
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