Badaaa Saab!

Two gigantic boots, as high as pumpkins peeked through the hedge. The earth trembled with each step they took. His head towered so high that he could scrutinize miles and miles at a time. The lawn of his bungalow sprawled till the eyes could see and armed guards flanked the wrought iron gate that lead to the bungalow.

Etva stared in awe, his mind travelling through every minute detail. His expressive eyes told the tale of the place – where time stood still and was forever a paradise of eternal serenity. He was certain that today would be the lucky day he would see the bada saab, but in vain.

Manager's Bungalow - Sessa TE. Photo Courtesy - Mr. Pritam Baruah

“Etva, those are the guards with bandook,” his mother called out, holding out her hand.

“Why are they here?” Etva asked.

“They protect the bada saab from mishaps,” she explained.

“What mishaps? Why does he need protection if he is bada saab? How big is he?” His questions were endless.

Etva’s mother picked him up and fastened him to her back, his head buried in her white and red gamcha. Time and again, Etva would stick out his black hair and stare at the sprawling premises of the bada bungalow.

Photo courtesy - Mrs. Radha Sinha

She settled Etva in the creche house of Sessa T.E. and began plucking the tea leaves in swift synchronicity. The bag that was slung on her back, got heavier by the minute and she was thankful when the siren sounded for lunch.

Photo Courtesy - Mrs. Radha Sinha

Opening her tiffin box, they began to enjoy their meal. Feeding Etva was never difficult. He loved the boiled rice cooked by his mother. Every time he saw the ball of rice on his mother’s palms, he would open his mouth wide and gobble it.

His mother took a swig of the noon-laal-chai from the old monk rum bottle and just then Etva too wanted it. Handing over the bottle, she watched her son enjoying the chai, some of it running down his cheeks. Etva’s eyes travelled to the estate roads, his eyes mesmerized by the sight of the Gypsy he had seen many times in the bada bungalow, rolling towards them.

The guards disembarked from the gypsy and then he saw a man, dressed in a pair of shorts, T-shirt and sneakers. He donned a white cap on his head. Etva noticed that all his mother’s friends and other acquaintances were wishing this man with folded hands. As he approached Etva, his mother too coaxed him, “salaam karo, bada saab ko” (greet the bada saab.)

But Etva was at a loss to process the enormity of what met his eyes – he looked at Mr S.N. Baruah from head to toe and then toe to head with his hands on his hips.

In his mind, Etva had conjured bada saab to be as tall as the badh gaachh which grew in the backyard of his cottage. He had often heard his parents and friends refer to the bada saab as kind and helpful, always willing to solve their problems.

But what met his eyes, did not quite match his perception. The “bada saab” was just about a head taller than his father. He stood still, the look on his face giving away his disconcerted state of mind. His mother urged him again. “Bada saab ko salaam karo.” However, her plea fell on deaf ears.

Etva was transported back to the moment when he realised that the "bada saab" was addressing him, "Bhaat khaala na ki?" (have you had your meal?) while placing a hand on his head. "Tumar ki naam?" (what is your name?) he added.

But Etva's reaction was the least expected. "Ethu bada saab?" (is he the bada saab?)

"Eytu manuhor nisena dekhise." (but he looks like any other human being.)

The pluckers gaped at Etva open-mouthed unsure of what to make of the situation. They were relieved when the amused bada saab broke into a hearty laugh.

Late Mr. S.N. Baruah

Everything about Mr S.N. Baruah inspired zeal. Not only the pluckers but also the tea bushes greeted him joyously on his kaamjaari rounds. Under his guidance, many went on to be better parents, assistants and bosses, for he was a bada saab with a bada heart.

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Glossary:

Bada saab: Estate Manager

Bandook: Gun

Gamcha: Traditional towel

Noon-laal-chai: Salted black tea

Badh gachh: Banyan tree

Kaamjaari: Daily supervision of work