The past three months had flown like a dream. She recalled the day when they had got down at NJP as a newly-wedded couple in 1982. The chaotic noises filled the platform and her husband lead her past the plethora of travellers, cab drivers, the queue of cabs and auto-rickshaws. Soon they were seated in the white ambassador car and driving through the curvaceous roads of Sevoke.
She soaked in the fog dancing atop the forest in the thin light of the dawn. Sitting in the plush seat, she plaited her hair and threw it back behind her head. Amidst the December breeze, few strands of loose hair flew in artistic swirls. Her husband stole a glance at her now and then. He could sense her deep admiration for nature.
He congratulated himself silently for having chosen this path instead of going through the mundane urban roads of Jalpaiguri. As they crossed the coronation bridge, the rustic hues of submerged boulders beside the emerald green Teesta river was a salve to their minds. The car approached the narrow road leading to the bungalow and she considered it a good omen as the board outside read, “Hope Bungalow.” She was enchanted by the vast open expanses and greenery of Leesh River tea garden.
The winters in the plantation are always full of warm get-togethers with Christmas celebrations, the New years’, many sporting events and the colourful Company Do. She was touched by the warmth of the tea family who went out of their way to make her feel at home. The new way of life and the hectic socializing kept her engaged. She always looked forward to breakfast time, when she would get to spend time with her husband. They would sit on the lawn relishing the fresh orange juice and toast while admiring the sunlit eucalyptus trees that stood their stead with their branches embracing the heaven upwards.
As the days got longer, so did her husband’s kaamjaari timings. The dahlias, gladiolus and the scarlet salvias were giving way to the orchids and lilies. The pruned tea bushes were dressing themselves up with lush foliage. He got busier by the day with the arrival of the post-Phagua flush. Breakfast time still remained her favourite because of the activities in and around the bungalow. The sound of the pluckers merrily plucking on the tea leaves, the boider standing with the haajri-khata to be signed by the saab and the saab enquiring about the daily chores and the mela in certain sections, was a novel experience to her.
She started to settle into the tea life and found a way to express her energy by walking the narrow pathways between the tea bushes, every evening in the serene ambience of the estates. But today she sat in the verandah, her brain construing many plausible reasons for not being herself while watching the sun go down. She needed to own it and find a way to get herself out of it. She realized that she needed an outing away from the daily routine and waited eagerly for her husband to return.
Rajeshwar walked in to see Rita sitting sullen-faced. He inquired, “haven’t you been on a walk today?” Simultaneously noticing that she was dolled up in her fineries. He wondered whether he had forgotten some special occasion. To be on the safer side, he wished her, “many happy returns of the day!”
Contrary to his imagination, he was met with a deadly stare. Had it been any other day, Rajeshwar would have been drawn into the depth of her beautiful kohled eyes. But today, he was caught in her emotional whirlwind. He tried cajoling her and to read her emotions but, in vain. On persisting to know the reasons, she walked away in a huff. He followed her to the room. She pointed towards a pair of his trousers and a crisp shirt. “Get ready,” she stated.
His mind was at sixes and sevens but he complied. He dressed up and walked out to the verandah and gave his better half a puzzled look. “Let’s go,” she remarked.
“But where are we going?” asked Rajeshwar, with his patience somewhat crumbling now.
“You won’t be spared today. You have to take me to the mela,” Rita replied.
“Now?!” he questioned. “They must have gone home. I wasn’t aware that you were interested in it,” he said, promising to take her the next morning.
True to his word, he asked her to hop on the mo-bike after breakfast. Elated, she felt the wind on her face as they vroomed on. But her thoughts were in disarray when she noticed that instead of going towards the highway, they were moving deeper into the garden. Parking their bike, both of them walked towards the section of tea bushes. She was fascinated to see some of the women pluckers busy with their fingers while others sat for lunch. Rita could hear the chattering and nudging among them. Some of them even gave her a welcome giggle.
A little restless, she whispered to her husband, “aren’t we going to the mela?”
Baffled, he said, “I thought this was the mela you wanted to see.”
Perceiving her blank expression, the realization immediately crept in that his wife’s perspective of mela was much different than his. With his arms outstretched towards the tea bushes and the pluckers, he announced, “this is the aurat mela — the women plucking squad.”
Thus began Rita’s journey of learning the tea jargon.
Some Tea Jargon:
Kaamjaari : Daily supervision of work
Phagua : The spring season
Boider : Book-keeper
Hajri khata : Attendance book
Mela : 1. Plucking squads 2. A carnival or festival/ fete
Aurat mela : Women plucking squad