Some 'Sell Buy' Dates

September is almost done, and Puja is on its way. Tea planters look dourly on early sunsets and pleasant evenings and begin to mumble about ‘autumnal flavours’ and an early end to the plucking season. It is really the beginning of a season of economic activity of another kind. Almost all the tea gardens in the Dooars have made annual bonus payments to their workers. Starting today, the weekly ‘Sunday Haat’ at every little town will be transformed into a ‘Bonus Bazaar’. Every worker in tea waits for the Bonus to make the year’s big purchase – in the old days, they confined themselves to cows and bicycles, but today it could be a washing machine, a motorcycle, a new television, a fridge or a cell phone.


New clothes are a must for Puja. Little stalls like these do brisk business, even in the heat of the afternoon. The poor girl, though, seems to have had enough already!

There are any number of people waiting to relieve the workers of their earnings. The first among them are the ‘Kabuliwalas’ – money lenders – who might have lent them sums at exorbitant rates of interest. There are the unions who want to collect their subscriptions as soon as the workers are paid. Then there are those selling the local brew. ‘Haria’, or rice beer, is available everywhere. Women try to keep the big drinkers away from these stalls, so that they don’t lose the entire bonus in a few merry hours.


A lottery is so tempting! Especially if the big prize is so attractive!




This is also the beginning of what is called the ‘Dacoity Season’. This violent criminal activity is also assigned a season here, and blandly given a name. Criminals who are waiting to loot Puja shoppers begin their own round of economic activity. With the sun setting as early as six p.m., looters waylay people heading for towns located on the highways. Their favourite method of operating is to cut a tree and throw it across the (single lane) highway, forcing vehicles to halt. People rarely venture out on cycles or on foot after dark, because of the fear of elephants. Those who go out in vehicles, hired or personal, have to rely on quick reflexes, a good eye and the ability to reverse for up to one kilometer at top speed to escape attack. The highwaymen are always armed. With the national highways in their present condition, no one can speed away from the scene of a robbery. The local administration and the police do take preemptive action and round up the known hoods for a while. It doesn’t seem to help much, though.

Below: Viswakarma Puja, September 17, is a special day when vehicles are cleaned and decorated, and receive Baba Viswakarma's blessings.

Moraghat Tea Estate: Sunrise, Sunset

Sunrise

The real hero of this piece is the sun. But the splendid creature who dominates our front garden year round is this towering specimen of Albizia Chinensis. We call this tree 'Kala Siris' here. It is a variety of mimosa, and in the months of May and June it produces lovely scented 'shaving brush' flowers which are light green in colour. The species is prone to canker, and a goodish bit of the tree had to be lopped off two years ago. In spite of that, this grand old tree still towers at around 60 ft and hasnt lost its beauty.





My husband and I saw the sky suddenly turning pink on the evening of these pictures and I ran out with the camera. The little white bit to the left of the pillar in Picture 2 is my husband, standing in the porch. Hardly any time passed between shooting Pictures 2 and 3. Someone else who was moving around was quicker than me and managed to turn on the lights outside the bungalow. So they figure in Picture 3.
Please click on the pictures for an enlarged view.

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More on the Dooars

Scrabble - Crossing Borders

Just how far would you go to play a game of Scrabble? When I was in college, my cousin and I played obsessively at home, all afternoon and all evening every day, filling up registers with scores instead of study notes. When exam time came near, we had to stop, most reluctantly. That's when my friend Uma, who ran the college Quiz Club, started a round of Scrabble Championships on the lawns. I would mumble 'library' and stay in college till evening.

As newly weds, my husband and I played our first game together in Birpara Tea Garden on a Sunday evening. The atmosphere became so unpleasant, and the competition so deadly, that we had to decide whether to continue playing or give our marriage a chance. It was quite difficult to work it out because we'd also stopped talking to each other. That board - and the tiles which we'd hurled all over the verandah - went into the bottom of a cupboard and stayed there.

So the next time Scrabble was played in the house in a big way was after several years. My brother visited from Chicago for the first time, and three generations - the girls, their grandmother, their uncle and mother - father joining in when work permitted - played Scrabble in earnest. We built up a whole lot of rituals that added to the fun. We'd put on rock and roll CDs, eat pista nuts and Cadbury's Nutties, and play like fiends in the February mid-morning sun, every day that he was here.

My friend Jayati, who lives in a tea garden quite far away, talked about her love of Scrabble some days ago. When she was newly married, she said, she found a Scrabble playing friend in the same garden. A tea garden is such a lonely place for a young girl, and this is about as lucky as anyone can get.

The next time Jayati was in the district she dropped in, and we decided we'd have a quick game. We had a great time and managed to play two boards. Now we just had to meet and play again! The distance between our two gardens is considerable. So we decided we'd meet at a halfway point. That would be a drive of about an hour and a half for each of us, and it just happens to be Phuntsholing, a border town in Bhutan. Sounds strange? It's true! The geography of the Dooars is quite interesting. All along the North you have the Bhutan hills. Bhutan, except for the border towns, is all mountains, and the Dooars is almost all plains. When people from Bhutan commute between the border towns of Phuntsholing and Samtse, they have to do it entirely via India.

Jayati and I enjoy the game!
We met at the Druk Hotel in Phuntsholing, which has a peaceful and cosy atmosphere, and a welcoming and cheerful staff who take great care of you. We played two most enjoyable games, drank tea, and ate the kind of delicious snacky lunch that only women know how to order.

Salman In High Places

Salman, we all know by now, doesn't like being ignored. You have to give him constant attention. That’s the price you pay for just being with Salman. He was restless all afternoon yesterday. It was a raining a flood and he didn't like being indoors. I know he would have hated the rain even more. I'm sure he didn’t arrange his thoughts logically or think sensibly about what was good for him and what was not. He always wants action and excitement, and he didn’t like being stuck at home. Me, I am happy with a book or a soppy movie on a rainy day. With a little masala chai once in two or three hours.

While I was drinking tea and making rather contented noises, Salman strutted around and stood before me striking poses. To give him his due, he did all this without making a sound. He was looking particularly good yesterday, and I couldn’t help stealing a peek at his dreamy eyes now and then. He gazed back deeply and seemed to be urging me to stop reading and to provide him with some amusement.

I put my book down and turned to him. 'Now listen, Salman', and he looked at me with that intent gaze. 'You are very sweet and I love you, but I will not let you bully me.' He walked away haughtily, and he too seemed to have decided to change tactics, because now he resorted to being noisy - all to grab my attention, of course. So typically male. I turned my back on him and ignored all the sounds he was making. But not for long. Whatever he was doing sounded really strange. He was making scratching, scrabbling noises and I couldn’t imagine what he'd got up to. At first, I couldn’t see him at all.

Kittens!! They really are wicked things and love to hide, just to annoy us. Then I spotted Goni, who'd been playing under a footstool all the time that Salman had been strutting. The kittens became a part of our family when the IPL craze was at its peak, and our younger daughter named them for two of her favourite batsmen: Salman Butt, and Manpreet Singh Goni. Little Goni had come out to watch his brother's antics. He was looking at the curtains, and sure enough, there was a bulge in them. Only, the bulge was right on top - near the pelmet, and then it emerged as a defined form: Salman, of course! He jumped casually on to the pelmet. The wretch had climbed the curtains as easily as gymnasts go up ropes! He was so excited, and he couldnt wait to explore his new world! He prowled the length of the pelmet and back, twice. Then he looked down - oh, big mistake - and completely lost his nerve.

He turned back and did a slow crawl down the length of the pelmet, and turned at right angles where the pelmet turns to the top of the door in the opposite wall. To the side of that door, and just two feet below the pelmet, was the top of a cupboard. A safe landing in sight! Salman looked at it, but walked back and away.


After doing another couple of lengths, he decided he could do it, and leapt. I was proud of our brave boy. Now all I had to do was to reach out and pick him off the top of the cupboard. I praised him and cuddled him like he wanted - but only for a bit, because he jumped out of my arms at once. For some more action.

Close of Day's Play : Bhutan and Dooars

Watching the Torsa River run
My mother taught me, when I was quite young, to look out for 'special effects sunsets' at the end of the monsoon every year. As the monsoon clouds begin to gather up and withdraw before giving way to a new season, the evening sky becomes dramatic, while the weather turns milder.


A Little Heaven


Panning for Gold?


Sea of Tranquility


A Volcanic Cloud?


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Carpe Diem!

News of the Big Bang experiment taking place today in far away Switzerland arrived here with - well, a bang. And a twist. The world, everyone in the tea gardens says, will come to a sudden and complete end today. A local girls' school declared a holiday. Dozens of workers in our garden stayed away from work. They've been busy at home slaughtering all their poultry and livestock in preparation for one last, grand, chicken and mutton lunch. Liquour shops have done brisk business as well. Way to go!

Partha on the Phone!

Our friend Partha Dey went to Kalimpong recently, and these lovely pictures were clicked on that amazing phone camera of his!

A River Called Diana

The first time I saw the river Diana was in 1986, and after all these years, I still don't know for whom it was named. That Sunday, in 1986, we were four young and happy people on the river bank. My newly married husband held my hand and helped me descend to the river while his bachelor friends looked away discreetly. 'Mohan, the married man!' they must have been wanting to yell, like a character in V.S.Naipul's A House For Mr. Biswas, but they were too sweet to rib him in front of me.

Sandeep Ghosh was new in the Dooars, like me, but he and Saumitro Sen were old friends, as were Saumitro and Mohan, my husband. Soon we were all talking like old friends, that day at the riverside, and we all sang together in the car on our way back. The song, 'Yeh Dil Na Hota Bechaara' by Kishore Kumar.

The reason for singing that song : we had just started getting Doordarshan in the Dooars, and were happily looking forward to watching the film 'Jewel Theif ', which features the song, that night.

High Tea?

A Tea Board of India promotional poster with Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay endorsing Indian Chai

Dooars Sunset

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On the Road, Again?

Where are we heading?

On the topic of roads once again - it seems to be a pet peeve now. These days, the PH -- Pot Hole -- factor plays a big role in determining whether we go out at all. The roads in our area have not been repaired for months. In some places, they haven't been maintained for years. Why remains a mystery. Another monsoon has us in its grip, and the rain-fed rivers are washing away what remains of them.  These roads are National Highway 31 and National Highway 31 C, which pass through Siliguri, and then go east through the Dooars, including Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar districts, to connect the North Eastern states to the rest of the country. I’m talking here about stretches of road that measure over 100 kms. These pictures were taken on NH 31C, between Banarhat and Mal Bazar (a distance of around 45 kms). I have yet to recover from this ride to go on to NH 31, where greater horrors await. One road bridge there seems to be hanging in there by sheer cussedness. 

This one over the River Diana doesn't look too sturdy, either. 

The drive to Mal Bazar used to take us around thirty-five minutes each way in the good old days (two years ago). It took us an hour and ten minutes yesterday. When we returned home, shaken (and stirred), we were happy that we hadn’t been hurt, or even lost our tempers. It isn't a very smooth ride, you see. It is difficult to remain calm when you're being bounced and tilted dangerously into craters, and when every bone in your body is rattled about. 

Craters, Banarhat

The picture below shows a stretch of a road  near Nagrakata leading to a culvert that was washed away by a stream more than six years ago. 

The crumbling 'wall' of boulders is supposed to serve as a barricade.

There is no warning sign, either about the missing culvert, or about the diversion. Our friends' son crashed into the boulders one foggy January night and was lucky to be alive - after six months in hospital.  

We don’t need any politicians calling for blockades on our roads - our roads themselves don’t allow people to move around in anything like comfort. What is the solution? The sustained neglect of these highways by the authorities is alarming. The public isn't making any effective protest. We all complain, all the time, but nothing has come of it. Traders, schoolchildren, shopkeepers, tea garden workers - every resident of the region is affected. It was amusing to see that our daily newspapers, published from Kolkata, brought out coloured supplements last week on North Bengal to attract tourists during the Puja season. Tourists? I wouldn’t put my enemies through travel on these highways!  

The bridge over Jaldhaka River. The cows aren't affected - perhaps, like them,we'll become completely placid, too, and travel only on foot.

Delhi : Jammin'

I spent most of my time in Delhi on BRTC. 'Bread, Rice, Coffee and Tomatoes?' asked a friend. You wish.
BRTC is Delhi's Bus Rapid Transport Corridor. A good plan, but badly executed. It covers an almost 6km long stretch of road in densely populated South Delhi. It is supposed to be on trial. It is a trial - to commuters. Unfortunately for us, who are visitors to Delhi, it covered the distance between where we stay when we visit, and where our children live.
The idea of a dedicated bus corridor with well-built, comfortable buses that provide a regular service should have been put into practice long ago.See how good the new buses look?.
Delhi's public transport system has been in need of improvement since the 1970s, at least. Its buses have always been over-crowded, ramshackle, and irregular. Not to mention the horror stories of women commuters, or the number of people on the roads who are killed by rash bus drivers.

The BRTC is carved up into three lanes on either side of the central divider. 'These are as ugly as Kolkata's tramlines', said our friend Saumitro, 'but at least you can cut across those!' Cars far outnumber buses and two-wheelers in Delhi. They should have been provided with wider lanes for smoother and faster movement. Take a look at these deserted lanes. These are the lanes for buses and two-wheelers.

The BRTC idea is far better suited to Delhi than the Metro, says my brother.
'But how many years will it take us to learn discipline?' he adds. We still have a long way to go.

What’s worse than being stuck on the BRTC?
Listening to the bad jokes about BRTC.
However, when we saw this sign, that said, Delhi's Smart New Way to Travel' I couldn’t help adding 'Is To Stay in One Place'.
The driver of our auto rickshaw threw his head back and laughed in appreciation. He gave me a smiling salute at the end of our ride. Another day, we were saying how it would be realistic to celebrate one's birthday on the road, since no one could reach the party on time. At which that day's auto driver turned around to ask, 'Aaj aapka birthday hai?' (Is it your birthday today?) The husband said, 'Nahi, lekin aise baithhne se ho bhi jaayega' (If we sit long enough it will be my birthday soon). We were all fellow sufferers. The best crack came from one of the drivers himself. BRTC, he said, stood for 'Bahut Ruk ke Traffic Chalti hai' (I guess that would translate to But Really, Traffic Crawls. For us, who neither work nor live in Delhi, it was merely tedious. I felt for the cheerful three-wheeler drivers, who lost a lot of time - and fares - everyday. And almost forgave the surly ones who refused to take us.

Blogged On The Tracks

Mohan Checks It Out  - It Works! 
It is about 10.00 a.m. on another typical July morning, all grey skies and rain-splashed windows. What's interesting is that I'm reporting all this from the Guwahati Rajdhani Express, somewhere near Moghulsarai and on the way to Delhi. Technology, Indian Railways : you've come a long way! Someone's playing the Beatles' 'In My Life' on FM Radio. Train journeys have always been fun, but this is too good!

Flying

Pretty (and) Sturdy

That's what these plants are, having survived a month of the monsoon. Gallardia is an ugly-sounding name for this really pretty flower, which I have never seen in this shade of yellow before.

                                        The 'standard' colour is orangey red - like this one, here.

Gomphrena -- Another awful name for these bright and unpretentious 'Bachelors' Buttons'. They are tough plants, and they're nicely filling up the bed where the zinnias died out.

White crocuses spread like a rumour, outnumbering my favourite pink and yellow. They're bordered by portulacas, (below)which only peep out in the early morning.

They close up tight after 10 a.m. There are two varieties: single and multi- layered. Again, the common name, Moss Rose, is so much prettier than the 'nursery' name. They did very well in our Delhi home in the early eighties.
We grew them in two old kitchen sinks. When my nephews came home for the summer holidays, these flowers were beautiful in the cool early hours of the morning. They looked like fragile little roses, and the colours included magenta, bright orange, white and yellow. An image comes to mind - of my father smiling as he watched his eldest grandson sitting and watering each tiny plant gently.




 

 I love the shape of this ixora bush

Below: A pot-pourri by Mithoo the flower artist - an arrangement combining bamboo orchids, heliconia, some geraniums that bloomed by mistake, bachelors' buttons and foliage.

                                                                                                                                                                   

Monsoon : Rath and Wrath

For many years, I thought the Jagannath Rath Yatra – Chariot Festival -- was something that only took place in Puri, Orissa. It is held in cities all over the world. There is a Jagannath temple in Banarhat town, which is close to our tea garden, and a Rath Yatra takes place there every year. The deities of the temple are taken out on a carriage, which is pulled through the main street. After a short ride, they are installed in the grounds of the Banarhat Bengali High School. Seven or eight days later, the 'Ulta Rath' or return journey takes place. It is believed that the act of helping to pull the carriage, or even of touching the ropes, brings great blessings. There are Rath ‘Melas’ - fairs - at several places in the Dooars. They’re not as big as the traveling fairs that move from town to town during Durga Puja and Diwali, but they create a lot of excitement and activity.

Yesterday in Banarhat, I caught a glimpse of the Rath as it went ahead of several vehicles and large scattered crowds of people. Little children were out on their way to the fair, smartly dressed, and all of them had hair that looked as if it had been combed very fiercely by their mothers.

For my husband, and for all the tea planters in the area, the Rath Yatra is a very important date. The saying goes, 'Rath Brings Rain'. Sure enough, we recorded over 18cms of rain on the night before the Rath Yatra, and almost half as much on the day of the festival. For the next few days, until the 'Ulta Rath', the planters have their faith to keep them going.

I wonder why the rainy season has so many religious dates associated with it. In an earlier age, the monsoon weather was celebrated in art and song. There are a number of classical ragas in Hindustani music based on the moods of the monsoon. The Raag Kafi sings of thunder, lightning and sharp showers, while Raag Des is the raga of gentle drizzles. We all look forward to a good monsoon because rainfall continues to determine the fate of food crops every year in our country. Undoubtedly, the first rains cool the earth and bring happiness everywhere.

What follows is weeks of humidity, spells of heat, water logging, blocked roads, damaged railway lines, and cancelled trains. Buildings collapse after prolonged spells of rain. We see television images of people stranded for hours on rooftops in flooded villages or in vehicles on city roads. The news channels could use the same footage every year, and we wouldn’t even notice. It’s as if the phrase regular as rain has acquired another meaning.

Virulent fevers and water-borne diseases spread rapidly. The monsoon is the season of epidemics. We’ve already seen fetid puddles of water in potholes on the National Highway here. The open-air food-stalls at the Rath Mela couldn’t possibly serve food that is prepared hygienically. Not really a good time to celebrate?

Waiting for the rains in Mumbai with niece Deepa

Last year, we were in Mumbai just as the monsoon hit the city. It was incredibly beautiful; the rain clouds formed shifting pictures over the sea at Marine Drive. My sister Viji was disappointed not to find her favourite Bhel-Puri wala at his usual place. We’d all been keen on tasting that Bhel-Puri! When we learnt why he was gone, we felt quite good, really. The city’s health authorities had closed down all open-air food stalls - a very sensible and necessary precaution.