Out of the closet

The Chhota memsaabs had gathered close around the dining table, the scent of omelette and toast still clinging to the room. Savita’s face was a careful blank, but her fury showed in the white-knuckled grip on the table’s edge. The others spoke softly, trying to ease her, until she pointed towards the glittering trinkets spread across the polished teak.

“You can ask the burra memsaab tonight,” Sharboni said, her bangles whispering as she reached for Savita’s hand. Sudipta was already nodding, “yes. There’s a party to welcome you - the new bride at the Burra Bungalow.”

20th January was the date that Savita had etched in her memory as the day she and Jitendra Shekhawat tied the knot. Ten days later, the unscripted, wild rituals to welcome her to Sankos T.G. had left her breathless.

Savita as a bride

She could still smell the diesel and crushed marigolds from that morning. They’d seated the couple on chairs draped in silk, perched high on a tractor-trailer turned into a royal chariot. The engine growled low, vibrating through the tea garden into her bones. Jitendra grinned and offered his hand, his palm warm and guiding his bride onto the estate’s rolling throne.

All around the tractor, tribal women moved in white sarees bordered with green, their silver anklets chiming with each step. The January air was thick and misty. The beat of the dholak echoed through the estate with the rhythmic movement of the men's fingers against their instruments. The tractor eased to a stop before a row of three bungalows, its brakes sighing. Sharboni, Savita Biswas, Sudipta, and Bobby waited at the steps of Bungalow No. 16.(C).

The Pooja thali caught the pale morning light. Tilak, cool and damp, bloomed on foreheads of the newlywedded couple. The aarti’s flame flickered, and the smell of camphor and ghee curled into her lungs. They were home... Her first home.

Sankos Bungalow 16 (C) where Savita came as a new bride

But soon, for Savita, the quiet of the bungalow was harder than the fanfare. Savita was still learning the weight and rhythm of this new life. An arranged match, yes, but both she and Jitendra were quite eager to discover each other.

Lounging in the jaali kamra, the lattice threw diamonds of sunlight across her face. The silence pressed in, broken only by the hoot of a distant siren and the rustle of bamboo. Her mind drifted to the engagement — the glint of her husband’s sword to which she had symbolically got engaged, the weight of her lehenga, the traditional folk songs that had shaken the walls.

The young couple

Savita was raised in the vibrant Pink City, Jaipur. Here, the solitude in the tea gardens had edges. It pricked. Then came the oddities. On her first day, rummaging through the Victorian chest of drawers, its wood smelling faintly of naphthalene, her fingers closed around a set of glass bangles. They rang, cold and accusatory. The next morning, worse: a pair of glittering ear danglers and a leaf of bindis, tucked behind her husband 's folded trousers like secrets. By the third day, her calm cracked.

She knew the routine. Tea-garden assistants rode home for breakfast between 9:30 and 10, their kaamjaari long started at dawn. She sat in the veranda, her tea gone cold, listening. Finally, the familiar cough and splutter of Jitendra’s Mobike rolled up the drive, gravel crunching under its tires.

Jitendra had barely finished his breakfast but Savita didn’t waste a breath. She swept the glittering trinkets onto the table. The metal and glass clattered, sharp as her voice.

“What are these?”

“These look like ladies' accessories,” Jitendra said, frowning. Genuine confusion clouded his eyes.

“Yes, I know,” Savita shot back. “But yeh sab hai kiska?” Who do they belong to?

He blinked, more lost than before. “How would I know? Aap ka hi hoga.” It must be yours.

That was it. Savita’s voice cracked, fury and hurt spilling together. The words tasted like iron. “These are not mine. I keep finding them in our wardrobe. Explain, Jitendra, or I want to go back home.” She sniffled, arms crossed, chin trembling.

Panic flashed across his face. He gulped down his tea and bolted to the neighbouring bungalow. He returned with the wives of his colleagues. The ladies circled Savita, murmuring, their hands cool on her arms. They tried to calm her nerves. "Let the past be in the past," they said and urged her to attend the welcome party at the Burra Bungalow, later that evening. Reluctantly, she agreed.

The Sankos Burra Bungalow

Night fell soft on the estate. The air turned sharp, carrying the scent of wood smoke from the bonfire on the vast lawn of Burra Bungalow. The executives and their better halves gathered, glasses catching the bonfire light like trapped fireflies. A toast rose for the newlyweds, the clink of crystal cutting through the crickets’ chorus. Around the bonfire, scotch burned their throats and warmed their palms. The burra memsaab’s galouti kababs dissolved on the tongue, smoky and rich.

“How’s the new bride settling in?” The Burra Saab asked, sipping on ember liquid from his crystal glass.

A nervous expression flashed across Jitendra's face, recalling the tiff over breakfast. Sensing the tension, Lalit called his wife too. She immediately took over the situation.

"What's the matter, Savita? We are your family, and there are no secrets here. Tell me," said Nina.

So Savita took a deep breath and confided in her new family. They all consoled her and put on their most concerned faces. Until... one of them broke and giggled. And then, the cat was out of the bag. It was all a prank!

With a sigh of relief and a sporty grin on his face, Jitendra mumbled, “Mera divorce hote hote bach gaya,” catching Savita's eyes through the flames. Laughter rolled into the dark, startling the bats from the Litchi tree. The burra saab and his assistants clapped him on the back, full of praise for surviving his first marital storm.

Savita, finally in on the joke, smiled shyly. The fire painted her face gold. She bit into her kabab, the spice blooming on her tongue.

That was two decades ago. The bangles are hers now, and the quiet doesn’t have edges anymore. They’re going strong, since the year 2009.

The Shekhawat Family with the Sinhas

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Savita Says:

We were welcomed so warmly by Mr. Lalit Sinha & Mrs. Nina Sinha, Dr. & Mrs. Biswas, and Sudipta Shraboni... When I came as a new bride to Sankos...The tea life was absolutely new to me, but everyone went out of their way to make me comfortable.

After a year and a half, our daughter Lavanya was born. Four years later, when our younger daughter Ajastha was born, we had already been transferred to Danguajhar. During both the complicated pregnancies, in addition to my husband's unwavering support, Mrs. Nina Sinha truly became family, looking after me with so much love, even indulging all my odd food cravings.

Those were special days. Monmee Bora, Amardeep’s wife, Kalpana Sharma, Digvijay’s wife, and I — we three were pregnant at the same time. Sharing that journey made Danguajhar feel like home.

Our journey in tea has been truly tremendous. My journey with Goodricke and the tea fraternity has been wonderful, filled with warmth, support and lifelong bonds.

I am thankful to each one who has walked this path with my family.

Our Gratitude always.

Best wishes

Savita Shekhawat

Savita and Jitendra Shekhawat with their daughters, Lavanya and Ajastha