Love All…Advantage to?

A few days back, a headline of one of the leading newspapers read “A golden sporting Sunday to make Britain appreciate its better self”. That was the Sunday as you may recall, of sporting events- the Wimbledon finals, the F1 finals and the ICC Cricket World Cup finals. Earlier that week, as I sat comfortably on the sofa, sipping a cup of lemon tea whilst enjoying a game of mixed doubles, where Serena Williams and Andy Murray had formed a formidable team, I made a trip down memory lane.

It was the early 90s. I had come as a new bride to Danguajhar Tea Estate and was welcomed by one and all. The ladies of the garden took me under their wings and taught me the tea ways of life. The senior ladies would always make sure that the new brides kept busy with new recipes, embroidery, gardening or games. So I was informed that there was going to be a tennis tournament the coming Sunday and I was to participate in that. It was a mixed doubles event in the fixture of DLGU (Dooars Ladies Games Union) where the husbands were invited to play with their wives as partners. My dear husband encouraged me to play this tournament with him. Even all the ladies coaxed me into it. “There’s a first time for everything…You’re a novice so you will get a handicap…” and so it was decided. The car was out of the garage for me to practice against the wall, my Burra Mem-sahib sent over a set of three balls and I was all set. Or so I thought. A new racquet was procured for me and I got practising.

After three days of practice, both of us set out in our huge Ambassador car to CPC or Chulsa Polo Club. It was a drive of about 65 km, across the Lataguri forest which was then at its virgin best. One could spot a few wild elephants, rhinos or wild bison if you had a keen forest eye. Despite that, to me the drive was never-ending. The fear of being in the tennis tournament would not evade mind. At long last, we reached the Club.

My nervous eyes met all the players in white outfits, some warming up and stretching. Even the spectators were all dressed in hats and sunglasses. Although, we hadn’t quite caught up with the style and elegance as was shown by Kate Middleton’s powder blue dress this season quite yet, nonetheless I was overwhelmed, to say the least. On the umpire-high chair sat a very stylish lady with a huge sun hat. The ladies were in charge of everything from the start to the end. This was in the 90s when the term ‘women-empowerment’ was not even in vogue.

As our names were announced, we took our positions. My partner would guide me all the way through the game. I was to receive the first serve. “Grip the racquet well, as a firm hand-shake” he urged me. The crowd glared at me. My throat was parched. Still, I was keen. The opponent served and I swung the racquet as hard as I could. Instead, the racquet swirled and landed on the court. Embarrassed, I looked at my partner. He asked me to stand near the net. “Just shield the balls with the racquet” he said.

The tradition continues many years later

So I walked up to the net and stood there. My eyes were now fixed on the ball as the opponent bounced it against the ground, once, twice, thrice and then flung it up into the air. I tried to forget my embarrassment and focus on the game. With a loud thud the ball came in contact with the opponent’s racquet. Despite the speed, my partner returned the shot with ease. The ball was in their court. The next shot came up to me and remembering the advice given to me I shielded it with my racquet. The spinning ball landed on the opponent’s side and my joy knew no bounds. I scored a point for us. The crowd cheered and applauded for the underdog for which I remain grateful to this day. As the match continued, I missed a lot of the shots. So my partner told me to call “yours” or “mine” while trying to get the ball. By now I was starting to get a hang of the strategy of the game. The next ball that came, I stood by and called “yours darling!” and then did the same for each and every ball that came. My partner ran helter-skelter on the courts and did his best. The lady of the opponent team was without a doubt better than me and they emerged winners. That is when I came to know that the tournament was called “Darling Cup”. The name was so apt and I completely justified it.

“With Wimbledon over for another year, it’s time to think about what the abiding memories will be” and I look back at these few years gone by with nostalgia and love and know the advantage is mine- for this rosy tea life full of flavours and growing in love with every sip of tea ever since.

So long! Until next time!