In the month of August, the earth and the tea bushes were ready for the rains to quench their parched soil. The maalis weeded the flower beds of Chulsa Burra Bungalow under their black umbrellas shielding themselves from the scorching sun rays.
The two sisters pranced around upon the tree house of the compound. Their unswept joy was evident in their grins and giggles.
“Bhaiya, we are going to Lava,” exclaimed Anmol who had started her playschool.
“La la va…” murmured Apoorva, the younger sister, requesting Ayah didi to tie her shoelaces.
Soon, the executives of Chulsa tea garden set out in the sunshine. The wheels of the blue Gypsy and Keshav’s cherry red car floated along effortlessly on the smooth highway. The scenery took an almost meditative quality as the vehicles made steady way uphill amid the infinitely green hills and verdant hues. Above was the mist that sailed onwards.
“Papa! Look at the white rabbit,” said Anmol gleefully catching one of the shapes in the constantly moving clouds. “It’s a polar bear now!” exclaimed Akhil. The kids continued picking out shapes while Akhil concentrated on his driving, working the wiper as it began drizzling.
The glossy fluorescent ferns grew strong in the bountiful rays of the sun. The droplets of the rain trickling down added exuberance to the scene. “Let us get down and click a few pictures,” said Senapati the visiting auditor. Murmurs filled the car as everyone chattered their agreement. Armed with a Yashica35 camera and umbrellas, the adults enjoyed the heavenly view. The kids jumped right into the puddle, whooping and giggling at their silliness. Planned frames, candid ones, group photos, and the scenery were all captured and once satisfied, we resumed our journey.
After another hour of uphill drive, we were at Lava Forest guest house. Set amidst lush green lawns, the wooden bungalow had a welcome vibe around it. At the edge of the compound stood a green-painted gazebo, overlooking the mist-covered valley. The mountain air had an inexplicable charm that cast a magical spell on us. It was an invitation to pause and savour the moment.
Immersed in our surroundings we had forgotten all about our hunger but now our stomachs demanded some sustenance. As fate would have it, no lunch was available at Lava. Nevertheless, the caretaker at the Forest Guest House was kind enough to offer us hot cups of tea and pakoras. Refuelled, we began our descent. Anirban suggested making a stop at the Malbazar Tourist Lodge.
The three-storeyed wooden tourist lodge stood on stilts and was the best of the weathered buildings having stood on that road from the days of the British Raj. It was a favourite amongst planters, though somewhat laidback and underwhelming. The food was simple and décor plain but the planters probably loved it for the routine of seeing the fellow planters and making everlasting bonds.
“Mumma…meetha paani orange wala,” demanded Apoorva. “Time for lunch now beta,” I scolded. The waiter who waited at our table had a unique smile and such a calm way of speaking that he set the ambience for the meal to come. He placed two glasses of orange soft drinks in front of each kid. He then took out a small notepad and pen and began scribbling the order. “Chow chow,” said Anmol and Chinese cuisine was unanimously ordered. “Jaldi karega,” said Parida, the auditor’s colleague. “Thoda time lagega,” said the waiter dusting off his spectacles on his black uniform trousers. The clock on the wall pointed to a quarter past 3, in the afternoon. A few more beers and drinks made their rounds. The children watched the colourful fish in the huge aquarium but gradually became impatient. They were famished and wanted chips when they could not wait any more.
Afreen drove the ladies and the children to Abhinandan Departmental store which was a 2-minute drive across the road. The men were merrily wasted by now. The ladies were happy to have had an opportunity to shop for groceries. The shopkeeper counted each item before packing it into the paper bag.
The kids munched away on the chips when I noticed them talking to someone, “daaju, daaju…”
Afreen and I were taken aback when it dawned upon us that “the daaju” was none other than the waiter on our table. His shopping included soya sauce, Worcestershire sauce, ketchup and so on.
Afreen and I shot each other a quizzical glance and then he asked the waiter, “Will you start cooking now?!”
“Ji sir, abhi ho jayega,” (Yes sir, it will be done right away) he replied. With the clock at the shop displaying 4:30 pm, our sole option was to wait for the meal that was being prepared with utmost freshness.
Glossary:
Maalis: Gardeners
Mumma…meetha paani orange wala: Mom, orange soft drink
Jaldi karega: Hurry up
Thoda time lagega: It will take a little while
Daaju: Bhaiya/ elder brother