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October 12 2015
A Languageof our own
By Sarita DasGupta
Everyone has heard the tale about the bewildered young Tea bride looking in vain for a round room, because the Bearer had told her that a visitor was waiting to meet her in the ‘gol kumra’. Another was taken aback to find the well furnished and nicely decorated guestroom referred to as the ‘faltoo kumra’! A third asked for a bowl (‘katori’) and was horrified to see the Bearer advancing on her carrying a knife (‘kataari’)!
In ‘Tea’ we have a language of our own; it is called Hindi…much to the consternation of people from up North! I remember sharing a bungalow with a couple for a couple of days during a transfer. Their five-year-old son complained that he couldn’t understand a word my little daughter was saying and asked her to speak in Hindi, to which she indignantly replied that she was! She in turn asked him to speak in Hindi! After a couple of misunderstandings, quarrels and a few tears, they understood each other well enough for him to propose marriage!
In our ‘bagaan’ Hindi, ‘hum’ is the singular form of the first person pronoun…which is rather like the Queen of England referring to herself as ‘we’… (as in the famous line, “We are not amused.”) So, we are all numerically and socially equal – no singular or plural. We do not have gender issues either, as everyone and everything belongs to the same gender! So man, woman, group…sab ‘jaata hai’, ‘khaata hai’, ‘peeta hai’!
If this were not bad enough for ‘outsiders’ and newbies, the pronunciation of some words confuses them even more. Imagine the state of a new Memsahab who’s asked if the ‘saalmees’ (sandwich) should be served on a ‘terrel’(tray) or the ‘taally’(trolley)! One can imagine her puzzlement if while eating her soup she hears the Bearer murmur ‘sippit’…(“What? Out of a bowl?” she would be wondering)…only to find croutons being offered to her!
A gentleman from down South scandalized his servants by ordering a eunuch (‘hijra’) instead of breakfast (‘hajri’)! If that was not confusing enough, he found that a wage was known as ‘hajra’…just the change in one vowel making all the difference in meaning! ‘Dharma’ (religion) lost an aitch to become ‘darma’, meaning payment, but sounded the same to him! He was constantly threatening to cut his errant servants’ religion instead of their wages!
Tea Hindi has borrowed liberally from the local language and the dialects spoken by the ‘tea tribes’ who originally hailed from other states of our country – hence, the words and terms alien to ‘proper’ Hindi. My husband once confounded a taxi driver in Kolkata by asking him to take a left from Rashbehari ‘charali’ (crossroads) and drive to Alipore over the Chetla ‘dolong’(bridge)!
I won’t even begin to narrate all my faux pas in Jaipur and Delhi…where I unintentionally changed people’s gender and number…not to mention my own!! (Yes, “Hum abhi jaata hai!”)
As half my cousins grew up in Tea and spoke only ‘bagaan’ Hindi, the other half had to willy-nilly learn the language just to communicate with us. Spouses and children have also picked it up so ‘bagaan’ Hindi is the lingua franca at any gathering of the clan now scattered all around the globe. Oblivious to startled looks and curious stares, everyone slips back into the language of our childhood… and oh, the comfort of it!
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
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September 4 2015
THE TRIALS OF A TEA MEMSAHAB
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
A Visitor was coming,
And wouldn’t you just guess?
That very day, her kitchen
Was an unholy mess!
Her Cook, the ‘prima donna’
Threw a tantrum in the kitchen
Because, he claimed, the Paniwallah
Just wouldn’t listen!
Before this reached the crisis point
She smoothed ruffled feathers
Only to find, her Burra Bearer was
Feeling under-the-weather.
The doctor gave him medicine,
Pronouncing him “fit to work”,
But where’s the second Bearer?
He’s as drunk as a skunk, the jerk!
The Jharuwallah? He’s absent,
His wife has run away.
One can’t blame the poor woman
But did it have to be today?
She organizes things at last,
Holding her ‘ship’ steady;
She checks the smallest details
And, satisfied, is ready.
The Visitor meets his hostess
Who is gracious and serene,
Showing not an inkling of
What she’s been through in between!
Morning Evening
Thank you Sarita for your amusing bungalow staff story
June 5 2014
In Fond Remembrance… with Gratitude
by Sarita Dasgupta
The members of the household staff have always been an integral part of Tea life; they are essential if one has to maintain the expected standards, whether it be in keeping an immaculate bungalow and compound or entertaining in typical Tea style.
Over the years, there have been certain individuals whom I remember – some fondly, some with respect and some with gratitude.
When I was a little girl, my mother used to take me and my sister to stay with my grandparents at Rungagora T.E. (Jorhat). I still remember the bearer called Birbal, who would escort me majestically up the stairs to the ‘baba kumra’ at bedtime. I would follow him meekly while my mother fed my younger sister her dinner. He would hand me over to ‘mini’ (the temporary ayah), bow gravely, and leave. I truly believed that ‘Burra Bearer’ was quite as great a personage as ‘Burra Sahab’ (my grandfather)!
My parents’ Burra Bearer, Adhari, looked exactly like the late Indian politician, Jagjivan Ram – spectacles, white ‘topi’ et al! My siblings and I were quite in awe of this dignified individual. So much so, in fact, that once, when we saw him out of uniform on his day off – drunk as a skunk, staggering down the road and singing at the top of his voice – we refused to believe it was him…especially when we saw him back at work the next day, sober and as dignified as ever – shining spectacles and spotless white uniform personifying rectitude!
Shashank, my parents’ cook, was a virtuoso in the kitchen. A large part of our excitement at coming home for the vacations was his cooking. After nine months of rather banal hostel food, we looked forward to three months of delicious meals concocted by this culinary magician. Daily prayers included an entreaty to God that Shashank (or Bawarchi Nana, as we called him) would not fall sick, or be absent due to any other reason, throughout the holidays! We loved spending time in the kitchen because he would entertain us with his ‘English’ proverbs and poems, some of which I still remember! ‘Take it the good food; take it the rice’; and, ‘His name is the Radhaghonto Singh and life for that is very, very bad’. He pronounced ‘bad’ as ‘bat’ and only he knew why life for poor Radhaghonto Singh (whoever he may have been!) was so very, very ‘bat’!!
Joga, my parents’ driver, was a man who walked tall with the grace of a Masai tribesman. Once, when my parents couldn’t come to pick us up from school for the Puja holidays, they sent Joga to Shillong, with another trusted person, to bring us home. We were thrilled because we thought we could get him to stop wherever we wanted on the way. No such luck! He was stricter than our father! Another driver we had was Binanda, whom we addressed as ‘mama’ (maternal uncle). He was less than five feet tall and extremely scrawny, but we were terrified of him! He had no qualms about ordering us out of the car if we made too much noise. We neither questioned his right to discipline us nor dreamed of defying him!
Kong Drien was a member of our household for many years. She was essentially my younger brother’s nanny, but stayed on even after he grew out of her care. Her daily routine included climbing up to the tree house with her little cane stool every afternoon and singing hymns in Khasi. (The reason for singing in the tree house was because it was far enough away from my parents’ bedroom not to disturb my father’s afternoon siesta.) We fondly named her Cacofonix after the bard in Asterix comics!
The day I set foot into my new home as a Tea bride, I was bemused to see a cake iced with this message, “Look after your servants and they will serve you well.” Obviously, I passed that test as Jugal, my husband’s cook (who had iced the cake), ‘served us well’ for fifteen years! He had learned to write English on his own but as he spelt words phonetically and, that too, according to his own pronunciation, deciphering his bazaar lists and ‘hisaab’ was quite a task! Since I didn’t want to embarrass him or hurt his feelings I made an effort and, after a while, became pretty adept at decoding words like ‘bainger’ (brinjal) and ‘fainger’ (lady’s finger or ‘bhindi’)!
Jugal’s two daughters, Kamal and Lachmi, and his granddaughter, Sumi, helped bring up our daughter, Ayesha (one taking over when the other left to get married). They were good, responsible, girls and as firm in handling their ‘Baby’ as they were loving.
Lachmi & Jugal with Ayesha (1990)
Boliram (2nd from left) with Mr & Mrs Bailey at Mijicajan T.E.
Boliram, who was the doyen of the Mijicajan Burra Bungalow for several decades, retired five
years ago and decided that he would come and look after us until my husband ‘returned’
(retired). Although I repeatedly tell him not to, he reports for duty at 6.30 am every day. If I’m
going out somewhere and expect to return late for lunch, he will insist that I have an egg and
two pieces of toast for breakfast. He clucks over us like a mother hen and takes all kinds of
\liberties for our own good.
Although most of these good people have gone out of our lives, some forever, we can
never forget their impact on our lives – they have certainly left their mark on the fabric
of our existence.
Phil and Jennifer Bailey sent in this photograph of Boliram and his family taken by them when they lived at Mijikajan T E Sarita was happy to haqve it added to this page
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
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March 7 2015
Thank you Sarita for your amusing observations of Tea and TV
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On a lighter note…
Of Tea & Television
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
There was a time in Tea when the club libraries did brisk business and members eagerly looked forward to the arrival of new books, specially the ‘best sellers’. Reading was a good way for ladies to pass the evening hours before their husbands came home. Then, in the 80s a magical device called Television (soon abbreviated to ‘TV’) came into the homes of a few lucky people. Friends and neighbours dropped in to admire and envy while the owner proudly explained how it worked. (Quite like that old advertisement for Onida TVs – “Neighbour’s envy; Owner’s pride”!)
In due course we all owned a TV and became expert at turning the bamboo pole (with antenna attached) in the direction which gave us the best reception whenever the screen turned ‘snowy’. Everyone had that one servant who was expert at getting the picture and sound back, especially while ‘Chitrahaar’ (a proramme playing popular song sequences from Hindi films) was going on! This was the highlight of TV viewing in those days when Doordarshan was the only channel available, (even the spinning of the Doordarshan logo to its signature tune when telecast started, was thrilling!!) and Salma Sultan, the attractive Hindi news reader, with that rose tucked in her hair and an elusive dimple in her cheek, was the Glamour Girl of TV. Then came the first serial, ‘Hum Log’ and viewers got engrossed in the trials and tribulations of the family members… which now seem rather humdrum compared to the sensational twists and turns in the lives of the people populating today’s Hindi serials!
Once, I overheard a group of ladies hotly denouncing the scheming ‘bhabi’(sister-in-law)/ ‘saas’ (moher-in-law)/ ‘mausi’ (aunt) and sympathizing with the sinned against, pure-as-driven-snow, martyred ‘bahu’(daughter-in-law). I listened in total bewilderment, wondering who all those amazingly fiendish or extremely naïve people were, and rather puzzled to find that everyone seemed to know them except I! On learning that these were the dramatis personæ of a certain serial, I was intrigued and decided to watch it.
One has to admire the imagination of the writers! Evil schemers come and live permanently with hapless relatives, wreak havoc in their lives and end up taking all their money, sometimes their identities or even their lives! (They get hold of drugs, and even poison, as easily as if they were potatoes and onions, administer these with total nonchalance and literally get away with murder!)
Husbands are ‘stolen’ from under the noses of hapless wives (as if the men have no say in the matter!!) by vamps who even sleep in designer sarees, full make-up and blindingly blingy jewellery. A simpering woman (out for revenge because of some complicated issue) declares that she is going to bear someone’s child. The man shouts himself hoarse denying that he even knows the woman but her word is taken against his even by his own family and no one seems to have heard of DNA tests! (The Indian Man should protest at being portrayed as such a wimp! But then, he probably never watches these serials!)
In the end, to everyone’s satisfaction, the villains and vamps are exposed and punished, and the hero and heroine live happily ever after.
These are the ‘desi’ avatars of serials such as ‘Santa Barbara’ and ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’ which showed the amazingly convoluted relationships and (rather immoral!) lives of the American rich and fascinated us when the tall antenna was, in due course, replaced by the Star TV dish. Then there was ‘Baywatch’, popularly, and certainly more aptly, known as ‘Babewatch’ with all those lissome, leggy, beautiful lifeguards running on the beach in slow motion or diving into the sea… not to forget David Hasselhof! Doordarshan certainly paled in comparison! (Had we really watched even ‘Krishi Darshan’ with such eagerness??)
Then came the DTH connection and we in Tea were at par with our city cousins! We are en current with the news in any part of the world now (so there’s no problem if the newspaper arrives a day or two late); we can watch a sporting event as it happens, catch up with the latest films, get absorbed in crime dramas or romances, laugh at comedies, enjoy cartoons, sing the latest chartbusters and even improve our knowledge thanks to educational programmes.
There’s something to suit everyone’s taste… and, if, on that odd day, there’s nothing worth watching, there’s always that book waiting to be read! Written by Sarita Dasgupta
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January 18 2015
A WHIMSICAL ODE TO POTTED PLANTS
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
To potted plants the Flower Show is
An opportunity not to be missed.
That day they preen, they’re at their best;
Showing off, ready for the test.
Leaves polished clean and shining bright,
Not a speck of dirt in sight!
To a Palm I hear an Ivy say,
“My dear, you do look smart today!”
An Adiantum waves its fronds
To greet its friend the old Staghorn.
A Rex Begonia’s leaves are tossed
In greeting to an Iron Cross.
A Violet that is standing close
To a fat succulent looking gross
Seems to shudder in distaste
And shrinks away in sudden haste
Towards Dieffenbachia, standing tall,
Who beams benignly at them all.
While a little Bonsai bends
Towards a Cactus to make friends,
The flowering creepers and the shrubs
Are looking pretty in their tubs.
The rarer plants are standing proud.
“We’re sure to win!” they say aloud.
Win or lose, be as that may,
The Flower Show is their special day.
They’ve been admired by everyone
But now their special day is done.
One tells the other, “Goodbye, dear,
I’ll see you in another year.”
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
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October 5 2014
ACTINGS’ AND MURPHY’S LAW
~ Sarita Dasgupta
Until a couple of years ago, the Acting Manager had to occupy the Burra Bungalow whenever the Burra Sahab was away on annual leave. That stage of my husband’s career was the least enjoyable for me because not only was looking after someone else’s home, belongings and livestock for six weeks at a time such a great responsibility, but Murphy’s Law invariably came into play…
For those who aren’t familiar with Murphy’s Law, it says, “If anything can go wrong…it will!” I am speaking, of course, from the lady’s point of view.
I have had the most unbelievable experiences, involving the most incredible conversations with poker-faced ‘bagaals’ (cowherds) and extremely dignified Burra Bearers, all related to cows, and specifically their breeding problems. Of course, cows had to come on heat during an ‘Acting’ and on the very day when no transport was available to take the cow to the bull or vice versa. If transport was somehow organized, and the needful done, the well-deserved sigh of relief was cut short by the respectful report that the ‘deed’ wasn’t! Either the cow was scared or acting coy for some reason, or the bull was patently uninterested! Try telling your poor, harassed husband that it had all been in vain!
 
I’ve had cows going off their food (Why, for heaven’s sake? It’s the same old food!), cows falling sick just when the vet is unavailable, cows dying for no apparent reason and cows calving at odd hours. I have even played mid-wife to a cow! The glow of satisfaction after this achievement was somewhat dimmed when I saw my spotted face in the mirror. Horrified, I realized I had been royally bitten by midges and mosquitoes during the delivery. No prizes for guessing what comes next…yes, a visitor was expected for breakfast. I slapped on the Calamine lotion, then washed it off and camouflaged the spots as best as I could. The guest left in rather a hurry.
I thought he had a plane to catch, but my husband said the poor man must have thought I had measles or some other infectious disease!
 
Some Burra Bungalow servants seem to think that ‘Acting’ time is ‘Acting Up’ time! I have been on tenterhooks on many occasions, because the Head Bearer would be drunk while serving the meal. Just twenty minutes back, he had been all right, but in the interim, he had nipped across to his quarters just behind the bungalow, and taken a mighty swig! His dignified demeanour would be in total contrast to the dangerous angle of the tray, ready to drop everything into the guest’s lap, or the symphony played by the crockery and cutlery as his hands shook with the DTs or whatever! The excuses they thought up for their absentism would make a scriptwriter applaud with admiration. I never knew one person could have so many grandparents or that they could die so many times!
 
During one ‘Acting’, I had to count the chickens each evening once they returned to the coop, because the servants were in the habit of helping themselves whenever they had ‘Gotia’(guests). Believe me, they led hectic social lives! Then there was the ‘bagaal’ who drank up half the milk and added water to make up the difference. I knew Jersey cows’ milk was thin, but this was ridiculous! The worst occasion was when none of the cows got ‘enciente’, but the unmarried ayah did!
One Burra Memsahib kept a beautiful compound. Most do, of course, but this compound looked absolutely fabulous with its profusion of flowers and shrubs. Early one morning, even before my morning ‘cuppa’, I was aghast to find a group of strangers armed with cameras strolling around and taking photographs! One young couple were even posing for rather nauseatingly coy pictures, which was a bit much to take on an empty stomach! The Mali was happily showing everyone around! (This was before the advent of security personnel on the estates.) I sent the Bearer to find out who these people were. Apparently, they had been travelling by bus on the highway,
when they happened to notice this beautiful garden. So, they had decided to break journey and take a closer look! Luckily, they had not plucked any flowers or done any other damage. Tactfully, I sent them on their way. I suppose they were a change from those who broke journey at that particular bungalow to use the amenities! Many a time had I quickly changed into something decent to greet the ‘guests’, only to find that they had already ‘been’ and left.
 
Going back to Murphy’s Law, anything marked ‘unbreakable’ or which has adorned the same niche for months on end and been dusted by the very same servants, will be broken during an ‘Acting’. How that happens is one of Life’s mysteries. A beloved pet will fall critically ill, or die during an ‘Acting’, leaving the Acting Manager and his
wife feeling distinctly guilty, even though they know it is not their fault, and that they have done all they can for the animal.
I could go on and on… I can see many of you nodding! Living in someone else’s house and looking after someone else’s animals and belongings can be a daunting prospect, especially if one isn’t closely acquainted with the incumbents. Having experienced Murphy’s Law first hand, I can sympathize with all my fellow sufferers. Thank goodness that particular Tea ‘dastoor’ has been discontinued …in this Company at least!
Sarita Dasgupta Written by Sarita Dasgupta
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August 22 2014
OF TEA MEMSAHABS, CREEPY CRAWLIES AND OTHER CREATURES….
~ Sarita Dasgupta
When my friend in the city had hysterics over a lizard which had wandered into her flat, I realized what a different attitude most of us Tea ladies have towards ‘creepy crawlies’ and other creatures. I, for one, have a ‘live and let live’ attitude towards lizards. In fact, I think they’re very useful creatures to have in the house, as they gobble up all the pesky insects they can curl their tongue around! They are otherwise quite harmless. The only time I took exception to a lizard was when it fell ‘phlat’ on the back of my neck early one morning as I lay sleeping. It was like being slapped with a cold, cold hand! Not the best of wake-up calls! However, before the advent of phones, TVs and other mod cons, I’m sure many a memsahib welcomed the friendly ‘tik-tik’ greeting of the gecko each evening!
Moving on to snakes, most of us know that some are non-poisonous, and
thus, harmless. Even the poisonous ones are left alone by us as long as
they do the same! I’m reminded of the occasion when a young reporter
from Mumbai was visiting our estate many years ago. We were all
invited to the Burra Bungalow for tea. At that time, I was having trouble
over baby snakes sneaking into our bedroom through cracks in the floor.
The Burra Memsahab enquired solicitously whether I had had to get rid
of any more baby snakes recently, while I politely asked her if she had
found any more families of snakes under her bath tub. I turned to offer
some sandwiches to the guest, only to see him staring at us as if we
were creatures from another planet! He must have thought we were
either mad – talking about such dangerous creatures as if they were a
minor menace – or pulling his leg!
One evening, after football tea at our bungalow, the men were inside,
indulging in some serious elbow-lifting while the ladies sat in the open
verandah. Suddenly, gatecrashers to the party in the form of large
crickets were all over the verandah! They climbed up ladies’ legs,
causing consternation and rather interesting dance steps! Some
ladies ran inside, but the rest started kicking the crickets off the
verandah on to the lawn, thus playing some football of their own!
Let me assure all you insect-rights activists out there – no harm
was done to the crickets who happily went on to make holes in
my lawn!
Another creature that can cause involuntary dancing is the leech.
No one likes to have such a cold, creepy bloodsucker attached to
her person! A friend of mine once inadvertently afforded sundry
people quite an eyeful of her shapely legs, while trying to get rid
of a particularly clingy leech. I suppose ‘Modesty’ can go to the
‘Blaizes’ when a leech is stuck to your leg! Still and all, in an
encounter between a Memsahab and a leech, it’s the latter which
curls up and dies!
That scourge of the household – the cockroach! As clean as one
keeps the bungalow, one will come across this nocturnal visitor
at least once! So, what does the Memsahab do? She picks up a
slipper, and, wham! What about ‘Hit’, you ask? Well, since
cockroaches are not regular visitors in the bedroom or bathroom,
one doesn’t usually keep that handy.
Talking about bathrooms, I once had a Peeping Tom there…only,
he was blind! It was a mole. What a time I had trying to chase
it out of the back door! My husband slept on, oblivious. The next
day, however, he did mention the peculiar squealing sounds that
had emanated from the loo the previous night! I said,
nonchalantly, “I chased away a Peeping Tom….”
Old bungalows usually have rats or mice nesting in the ceiling.
They probably have a long genealogy, going back to The Good Old
Days! When one of these crosses our path, we calmly jump on to
the nearest piece of furniture, and call the Bearer! From our
vantage point, we watch the ‘alarums and excursions’ on the
part of both mouse and man, sometimes issuing directions or
offering suggestions, but not budging till the rodent is out of
the way!
Come summer and armies of ants in all shapes and sizes…black
or red…march in long lines all over the bungalow. If one doesn’t
take the precaution of keeping the sugar pot, jam jar or a bottle
of honey in water, one should be ready for an invasion of
massive proportions!
A mass of wriggling worms may be a disgusting sight to some,
but to us Tea ladies, their vermi-compost is a good source of
nutrition to the soil of our flower beds and vegetable gardens,
so, “you worm!” may just be a compliment, coming from us!
Furry caterpillars, little land crabs, slugs, snails, small four-legged
‘critters’ and strange insects that even an entomologist may not
recognize…. these are some of the inhabitants of our world. Not
all are pests, though. Some, like the colourful butterflies flitting
from flower to flower, the bright little ‘ladybirds’ landing gently
on your hand, gossamer-winged dragonflies and the
phosphorescent fireflies flashing through the dusk, help us to
appreciate Nature’s “infinite variety” and, on a more philosophical
note, ponder over what our very own Nobel Laureate, poet
Rabindranath Tagore once observed, “The butterfly counts not
months but moments, and has time
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
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July 11 2014
THE LOST SOUNDS OF ‘TEA’
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
“I hear the sounds, of distant drums…
Far away, far away…”
I remembered these words from an old Jim Reeves song and thought nostalgically about the
rhythmic, hypnotizing sound of the drums that would waft to our bungalow from the workers’
Lines every evening, borne gently by the breeze. It was an integral part of an evening in the
tea estates of Assam during my childhood. In those days of simpler living on the estates
sans such things as TVs, the workers would sing and dance to the beat of the drum after a
hard day in the field. Now, the drums come out on special occasions only. Whenever I hear
them, I’m taken straight back to the halcyon days of my childhood.
Speaking of drums and music, we had a sweeper once, who tied his hair in a small bun at the
nape of his neck. This was sufficiently out of the norm to intrigue us. He was a taciturn man, so
we didn’t have the courage to ask him the reason. One day, a party of musicians and dancers
came to the bungalow to entertain us and lo and behold, if it wasn’t old Budhu, with hair down to
his shoulders, playing the ‘ektara’ (one-stringed instrument) and singing folk songs! My excited
brother kept calling out to him, but he completely ignored us. The next day, the old, taciturn,
Budhu was back, wielding the broom instead of the ‘ektara’! But, my little brother perceived him
with new eyes. It was rather like having a Pop Star working ‘incognito’ in one’s house !
Another sound one hardly hears nowadays is the howl of the foxes. One of
my younger sister’s favourite words, (‘sounds’, rather) was ‘hukkahuwaa’ -
this being her take on the foxes’ cry. I must say, it was a fair imitation! We
were taken out for a walk every evening, and it was the first call of the fox
which told the ayah that it was time to take us back home. First, one fwould
call, then another and another, from deep within the Section, till there was
quite a chorus going on, happily joined by my sister! I wondered where all
the foxes had gone, till I saw one on the garden road the other evening. My
husband was surprised at my excitement, which, to him, must have seemed
rather excessive. But, to me, it was like seeing an old friend after a long,
long time. My only regret - the fox hadn’t howled!
Before watches and clocks became common on the estates, the factory ‘chowkidar’ would
beat a gong on the hour, every hour. Other strategically placed gongs would follow suit, till
everyone quite forgotten this, till some time ago, when I spent the night at an estate that
still follows this practice. At first, I was happy to hear this lost sound from my childhood, but,
I must confess, it seemed less and less enchanting as the night wore on… my sleepiness
wore off… and my nerves wore thin! However, now that I’ve recovered from the experience,
I’m nostalgic about the gongs all over again!
The other sounds I miss are the sounds of words no longer heard on the estates. Everyone
says ‘factory’ nowadays, but when my father was a ‘mistry sahab’, his duty lay in the
‘kol-ghar’! In those days, we had someone called a ‘din-chowkidar’, who came on duty in
the afternoon when the other bungalow servants went home for lunch. One rarely hears of
a ‘maliani’ (female ‘mali’) these days , or the ‘gobar-buri’, who used to come to the bungalow
everyday to make fuel cakes out of dried cow dung and coal dust for that huge cooking range!
Gone are those ranges. In fact, gone are those kitchens, separated from the rest of the
bungalow by a long passageway. Now, the kitchen and pantry are one entity, and so, the
word, ‘botol-khana’ is going out of the ‘bagaan’ lexicon too.
Change is inevitable, and most changes take place for the better. However, like scents,
sounds are also evocative, and these lost sounds, if heard unexpectedly, take one back to
certain times or places in one’s childhood, where one dwells, in spirit, for that infinitesimal
moment, and comes out smiling.
Sarita Dasgupta
Written by Sarita Dasgupta
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