Indian Tales 2


February 18 2006

"Indian Tales 2" has been created as the original 
Indian Tales has become very large and takes a considerable time to open especially for those with dial up connections. As has been my custom I have placed the most recent stories at the top of the pages.

The following are the stories on this  page

#Hill section of Assam Bengal Railway
#Julie Christie
#Tata in save wildlife pledge
#Mrs Dobson
#The Ink fades on a profession
#Skyplayers/Indamer
#Bruce Almightea
#Strange Sequel
#Farewell Rickshaw
#Drunk Elephants
#Where Land Rovers never die
#Dooars Party 1963
#Ramesh Jaitly visits Aberdeen
#Changing Times (Trade Route)
#An April Day
#Hooking a bird
#Panitola T.E.
#Tea Planters Morning Prayer
#Shillong
#On the March
#Chris Duff from Snowy Canada
#Rob & Jill Andrew Return to India...

March 7 2008

Hill Section of the old Assam Bengal Railway

Revisiting the celebrated Hill Section of the old Assam Bengal Railway, 
one of the few remnants of the metre gauge railroad that once ran from 
Chittagong Port all the way to Tinsukia Jn. Planters working in Upper 
Assam, the Surma Valley and Cachar would have had the choice of 
using this route in journeys from Kolkata from circa 1902 till Independence
 and Partition: train from Sealdah to Goalundo Ghat, steamer down the 
Ganga (Padma) to Chandpur, then another train all the way north and 
east to Assam with a change at Laksam Jn.
 
This particular trip was undertaken during the monsoon of 2005, when 
the jungle cloaked Barail Hills are at their picturesque best (but also 
when the line is frequently closed by landslides).  The journey from 
Lumding Jn to Haflong was by passenger train (mostly on the roof!)
and the return in the caboose of a goods train. 

The editor thanks Bharat Vohra, Samit Roychoudhury and Mohan Bhuyan
for sharing their experience and taking the photos for us all to enjoy. 
Mohan points out that the photo of the the famous Doyang or Diyung Viaduct  
was taken by Alexandre Gillieron.

 

Across the river and into the Trees


And out again


the famous Doyang or Diyung Viaduct  


Bamboo Canopy


Barail Landscape


Boila Bridge


Delicate Tunnels


Burp


Diyung Viaduct from Circuit House


Doyang Viaduct


Jhum


Line through the Jungle


Pot of Gold


Rainbow Reflections


Rainbow Boxcar


View from Haflong Circuit house


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January 19 2008
 An item from the Calcutta Telegraph of January 8 2008-- Our thanks to Ali Zaman

Tata in save-wildlife pledge

A STAFF REPORTER

Free rein

Guwahati, Jan. 7: Tata Tea has formed an eco-development committee in its estate adjoining Kaziranga National Park to convince the forest department of its commitment to protecting wild animals that stray into the plantation.

The forest department was planning to acquire a part of Hathikuli tea estate to save wildlife from entering a zone where they were thought to be exposed to killer pesticides and attacks by humans. The estate came under the scanner after a Royal Bengal tiger cub died there and another was found in a semi-conscious state.

Tata Tea’s general manager (production), S. Sikand, today urged workers of Hathikuli tea estate to help the Kaziranga management protect wildlife, especially those straying into the plantation. He made the appeal during an “awareness meeting” at the estate.

The divisional forest officer of Kaziranga, Bankim Sharma, attended the meeting.

Tata Tea agreed to give the forest department some space in the garden to set up a forest camp. Sikand said the company was aware of its responsibility towards Kaziranga and had decided to convert the entire plantation into an organic one by the end of next month.

“Even Letkujan tea estate will be transformed into an organic plantation,” the Tata executive added.

Sharma said it was a serious crime to kill a Royal Bengal tiger and that the law would take its own course in the cases registered against Hathikuli tea estate. “The persons found guilty of the crime (of poisoning the tiger cub) will be booked,” he added.

A plantation worker who lost cattle in a tiger attack is believed to have laced a half-eaten carcass with pesticides, leading to the cub’s death. A bottle containing pesticides was found at the site.

The divisional forest officer requested the Tata Tea management not to erect any barrier or fencing that might hamper the movements of animals along Rongagora division of Hathikuli tea estate.

The Rongagora division is part of a “critical wildlife area” between Kaziranga in the north and Karbi Anglong in the south. Kaziranga straddles two districts, Golaghat and Nagaon, and is 217km from Guwahati. Although its most famous resident is the one-horned rhino, it is home to several other endangered animal and avian species.

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January 17 2008

We are indebted to Gowri Mohanakrishnan for this interesting and 
amusing story from Birpara Tea Garden  dated the late 1980s --
Thank you Gowri
Editor

Mrs Dobson

She had yellow eyes, black hair and very dark skin. She always wore white and was 
much taller than  the other tribal women; almost five feet five inches. She carried a stout bamboo stick at all times.  Everyone said she was mad. She looked terrifying. We all knew her as 'Mrs. Dobson'. No one knew  what her real name was. One Mr. Dobson had been the 'Burra Saab' of the tea garden many years ago. 
He had presumably found the yellow-eyed woman irresistible. He'd gone back to England around the time when all the British sahibs left tea for good.

Mrs. Dobson lived in a little 'kutcha' house. Her house stood all alone. No one in the garden wanted to live anywhere near her. She left home every single day at around four-thirty in the evening and walked  all the way to the office, tap-tapping her stick on the road, smiling fixedly and with bright eyes. Others  on the road gave her a wide berth. She knew she frightened people, and she was proud of it.

A tea garden office is a busy place in the evening. The work is centred outdoors during 
the major part  of the day, and the focus shifts to the factory and office in the evening. Burra Saab and his Chhota Saabs  also make themselves available to the workers to listen to their problems and complaints. Mrs. Dobson would head straight for Burra Saab's office and call out in clear tones, 'Pyaare Lal!' Burra Saab's name  was not Pyare Lal. She called him that because it was a term of endearment, meaning, 'Loved One'. 
Since she'd been the beloved of one Burra Saab in the past, she gave herself the right to address all his  successors in equally intimate terms. The Burra Saab was a tough man, but he liked to stay away from 
heckling women if he could. And this one was no ordinary woman. She was completely unpredictable,  and quite menacing. No garden worker would ever tangle with her; no one would step forward to take her  away. One of the Chhotta Saabs would quickly intervene and tell Mrs. Dobson to talk to him instead. 
She'd start off in loving terms with him as well. 'My dear brother-in-law,' she'd say, with her mad smile,  'Make my son a man, wont you?' The youngest Chhota Saab once sniggered at this, deliberately  choosing to misunderstand her request for her son to be given a full adult wage. She turned on him to  ask, 'Oh, you laugh, do you? Had my Pyaara Dobson been 
here you would never have dared to insult me!'  The youngster shut up at once.

Mrs. Dobson was always made out to be a bit of a joke when they told stories about her, 
but everyone  admitted it was scary to be in her presence. There was one Chhotta Saab 
she never could frighten,  though. The fiery Mohan Saab would shout at her and send her back home everyday. She'd go, muttering, 'This Pyare Mohan! Ever since he came here, 
I am made to look like a dog!'

Mrs. Dobson did not work in the garden, but she had a house to live in, and she received her quota of rations, tea and firewood, bamboo or thatch whenever she needed them. This benevolence was nothing  unusual in those days. Mrs. Dobson, for all her madness and wild mutterings, managed to keep house  for herself and her son who was what is called a 'laata' - not too intelligent. They pulled along, somehow.
 It was said that a Postal Order from the U.K. arrived every Christmas in her name. Mrs.Dobson was handed over the money at the office meticulously every year.

One evening, she tap-tapped her way into the bamboo plantation and surprised Burra Saab and the  Visiting Agent or 'Company Saab' from Calcutta who were out on an inspection. Her face lit up when  she saw the two men, while they shrank from her. 'Pyare Lall!' she exclaimed, 'and my dear Company Saab brother-in-law!' She went forward eagerly, but unfortunately for her, Mohan Saab was in attendance.  He ran forward and jumped in her path, and Burra Saab and the Company Saab moved on quickly,  continuing with their tour  while poor Mrs. Dobson, her scene quite ruined, was yelled at, in tones  louder than her own, and actually  threatened with a sound thrashing. She made a quick about turn 
and hurried away, cursing 'Pyare Mohan'  under her breath.

One year at Holi the Burra Saab, Chhota Saabs and all their families had gathered at Beech Bungalow,  the Senior Assistant's place. There was much laughter, and lots of beer, pakoras and tuneless singing.  Suddenly everyone heard that loud familiar voice and looked up to see Mrs. Dobson's face leering at them from over the boundary hedge. This was awful. She'd never turned up at any of the living quarters, ever.  She knew the merry making would stop as soon as she started her performance. 'All yours, Mohan!' said the Senior Assistant under his breath, but Mohan Saab was already off, running at full speed towards the 
menacing woman. Everyone was quiet, waiting to see what would happen. The Holi revelry had had a good effect on Mohan Saab. He was in top form. He reached Mrs. Dobson in no time and roared wordlessly at her.  The silence grew intense around his listeners while he shouted at Mrs. Dobson to clear off. Mrs. Dobson  dropped her plans to disrupt the festivities. She turned around and started hurrying away, while Mohan Saab  continued to shout threats at the top of his voice. The tension was over, and everyone on the verandah 
laughed and laughed - and not only at the defeated would-be party pooper. They were going to rib their  colleague and have him re-enact this performance time and again!

Another time, she followed two of the young Chhota Memsaabs who were out on their evening walk. They  heard her stick tapping behind them and quickened their pace. She was a very strong woman, and outpaced  them in no time. 'Mohan's Radha and Rukmini!' she jeered, turning and looking into their faces. Mohan was  another name for Lord Krishna, and Radha and Rukmini were his two wives. The Chhota Memsaabs were  really embarrassed, since neither of them was the wife of Mohan Saab. 'When my beloved Dobson was 
here, I too would rush to the bungalow as eagerly as you do!' she continued. The girls confined their walks to their bungalow compounds for many days. Mrs. Dobson's evening walks, however, went on as scheduled for many years.

Mrs. Dobson died some years ago. I don't know if the man who once loved her and sent her money at Christmas was informed of her death.
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January 4 2007

We are indebted to Rex Naug for forwarding this article from the New York Times of December 26 2007


The Ink Fades on a Profession 
as India Modernizes


By ANAND GIRIDHARADAS
MUMBAI, India 

 
G. P. Sawant never charged the prostitutes for his letter-writing services.
Not long after the women would descend on this swarming, chaotic city, they would find him at his stall near the post office, this letter writer for the unlettered. They often came hungry, battered and lonely, needing someone to convert their spoken words into handwritten letters to mail back to their home villages.

The letters ferried false reassurances. The women claimed they had steady jobs as shopkeepers and Bollywood stagehands. Saying nothing of the brothels, beatings and rapes they endured, they enclosed money 
orders to remit rupees agonizingly acquired. Many called Mr. Sawant 'brother' and tied a string on his wrist each year in the Hindu tradition.

Sometimes, suspicious parents boarded a train to Mumbai and turned up at Mr. Sawant's stall, which a daughter had listed as her address. Mr. Sawant greeted them kindly but disclosed nothing about the woman's 
work or whereabouts.

Such is the letter writer's honor code: When you live by writing other people's letters, you die with their secrets.

But now the professional letter writer is confronting the fate of middlemen everywhere: to be cut out. In India, the world's fastest-growing market for cellphones, calling the village or sending a text message has all but supplanted the practice of dictating intimacies to someone else.

And so Mr. Sawant, 61, and by his own guess the author of more than 10,000 letters of others, was sitting idly at his stall on a recent Monday, having earned just 12 cents from an afternoon spent filling out forms, submitting money orders, wrapping parcels, the postal trivialities that have survived the evaporation of his letter-writing trade.

But this is not the familiar story of the artisan flattened by the new economy, because, it turns out, his family has gained more from that economy than it has lost.

Three of Mr. Sawant's four children are riding the Indian economic boom, including a daughter, Suchitra, who works at Infosys, the Indian technology giant.  In the very years that a telecommunications revolution was squashing her father?s business, it was plugging India into the global networks that would allow her industry to explode.  Suchitra now earns $9,000 a year, three times as much as her father did at his peak.

Globalization is said to create winners and losers. For the Sawants, it created both. And that duality reflects the furious pace at which entire professions are being invented and entire professions destroyed in the rush to modernize India.

There is, on one hand, a national quest under way to excise inefficiencies - to cut out middlemen.  As go the letter writers, so go bank tellers as India adopts A.T.M.'s, phone-booth operators as cellphones spread, and rural moneylenders as new Western-style supermarket chains start trading directly with farmers.

But for every occupation that vanishes, another is born. There are now mall attendants in a nation that until lately had no malls, McDonald's cashiers in a country where cows are sacred, and Porsche sales executives in a land where most people still walk. It used to be hard to obtain a computer or telephone line in India; the country now has more software engineers and call-center operators than just about anywhere else.

G. P. Sawant entered the letter-writing trade in 1982 when he won a government contract for a coveted stall inside the post office headquarters. Before long, he earned a reputation among illiterate migrants as a gifted writer of letters.

Many of the letters were instructions from urban breadwinners on how to spend the money they were remitting to the countryside. They included expressions of affection for family members for whom they 
toiled in Mumbai but whom they rarely saw. They warned relatives not to squander money. They asked about the health of the aged and the infirm.

There were some letters Mr. Sawant would not write. He refused, for example, to trade in romantic love. Love is fickle and dangerous, he said. Lovers lie; they cheat; they offer their love and rescind it. He refused to engage in chicanery on other people's behalf.

Though hardly a literary man, with schooling only up to the 10th grade, Mr. Sawant described himself as a fastidious editor. He chopped pitilessly from his customers' dictations, rendering long speeches into short, punchy, to-the-point missives. (His customers were illiterate, so it was not as if he was going to get caught.)

The early years were bliss. But, in 1995, the post office was declared a historical site and the entire letter-writing squad, including Mr. Sawant and four assistants, was relocated across the street to where they are now, at the base of a gnarled tree, under a tarpaulin mat that shields them from the ceaselessly defecating pigeons that flutter among the branches.

As Mr. Sawant remembers it, 1995 happened to be the year when everything began to change.  India was emerging at that time from a long spell of economic self-sufficiency and stagnation, in which one had to reserve long-distance telephone calls as if they were tables at a fancy restaurant, days in advance. With the land-line infrastructure so dreary, the mobile phone was greeted with special enthusiasm when it arrived in India in the 1990s. Cellphone companies, seeking to tap a vast market of 1.1 billion Indians, innovated to drop their prices to as low as 1 cent a minute. It did not take long for the personal letter to become obsolete.

Mr. Sawant mourns the demise of the letter culture. After dropping a letter in the box, he used to imagine its winding journey. Someone far away would open what he had written on someone else?s behalf; the reader would savor its kind words or its little secrets, then maybe file it away in a box, and perhaps revisit it weeks later in a burst of nostalgia.

But Mr. Sawant is not bitter. He said he was happy to stay behind if his country advanced. With mobiles, India wins, he said. For other people, it may be difficult. But I'm happy.  He is happy, of course, because his four children, all of whom he sent to private school using the proceeds from letter writing, have pulled the family into the upper middle class. His son works at a bank; one daughter works as a civil engineer in Denmark; another daughter is studying computers in college; and there is Suchitra, who is currently in New Jersey on assignment for Infosys.

Mr. Sawant's mention of New Jersey prompted a suggestion. A cameraman making a videotape for this article was about to return to New York, not far from where Suchitra is working. Did Mr. Sawant want to scribble a letter to his daughter for him to hand-deliver?

His answer was instantaneous.  'Why would I send her a letter' he asked, perplexed?  'I'll just call her on the phone.'

 

December 29 2007

SKYPLAYERS-- INDAMER FLIGHTS
CALCUTTA TO ASSAM

Some of our readers may well remember the Skyplayers Indamer flights from Calcutta to Assam--they carried provisions to Assam and mainly tea etc on the return journey. The late Karl Popovits was the freight organiser based in Calcutta and the Chief pilot for the Indamer DC3's was Captain John Brinnand. Below are two newspaper cuttings kindly supplied by Ravi Kidwai son of late Mickey, whom I am sure some of you will remember.

Captain K C Tripathy tells the story of the flying "An Elephant by Air", and Engineer Barin De  tells the "Improvising Story". Regretfully the Editor is not sure as to which years the stories were told.

 

 

 

December 17 2007
|
These pictures are from an article titled Bruce Almightea and printed in the Scotsman on November 24th 2007

Click here to see the articles

 

 

May 30 2007

The story of Second Lieutenant Arun Khetrapal
(as told by Brig Pt Hangadharan)


     Strange Sequel


My son goes to Sanawar, a school up in the Himalayas. It used to be a Military school (154 years old) and like any old school, Sanawar has its fair share of heroes amongst its old students.

One such hero from that school that I want to write about is 2nd Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal, son of Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal. He was born on 14 October 1950, in Pune, Maharashtra. He was commissioned in the 17 Poona Horse on 13 June 1971, just a few months before the Indo- Pakistan 1971 war. The story of his heroism is as follows.

During the 1971 Indo-Pak War, the 47 Infantry Brigade, with the 17 Poona Horse under command, was ordered to establish a bridge-head across the Basantar river in Shakargarh sector. The 47 Inf. Bde. completed the task by 2100 hours on December 15th. It was now for the engineers to breach the Pakistani mine-fields and make a safe lane for the induction of the 17 Poona Horse in support of the bridge-head. While the engineers were half way through their task, the Indian troops at the bridge-head reported alarming activity of the Pakistani armour.

They requested immediate tank support. But the mine-field had been cleared only partially by that time. At this critical juncture, the 17 Poona Horse decided to push through the mine-field come what may. By first light on December 16th, the regiment established a link-up between the armour and the infantry at the bridge-head.

At 0800 hours, the Pakistanis made a counter-attack with an armour regiment, under the cover of a smoke-screen. The target was the regimental pivot at Jarpal. As the Indians troops were heavily outnumbered, the Commander of 'B' Squadron requested reinforcement. At that time, 2nd Lt. Khetarpal was positioned close to the squadron with his troops in two tanks. He answered the call and moved out to face the Pakistani attack. On the way, his troops came under fire from Pakistani strong points and recoilless gun nests, in the bridge-head zone.

2nd Lt. Khetarpal fiercely attacked these strong-points, over-ran Pakistani defences and captured many Pakistani soldiers and recoilless guns at gun point. During one of these attacks, the commander of his second tank was killed on the spot leaving him alone. But he continued attack on the Pakistani strongholds single-handed, until all the Pakistani positions were overwhelmed. He then raced to the 'B' Squadron position. By the time he reached there, the Pakistani tanks were on the retreat. He pursued and destroyed one of these tanks. The 'B' Squadron Commander could persuade him to fall back in line after great difficulty.

The Pakistanis soon reformed for a second attack. This time they chose the sector held by 2nd Lt. Arun Khetarpal and two other Officers, for the main attack. The Pakistani employed a complete armoured squadron against these three tanks in order to achieve a breakthrough. A fierce tank battle followed. As many as ten Pakistani tanks were destroyed and of these 2nd Lieutenant Khetarpal alone destroyed four. In the thick of the battle, two of the three Indian tanks became casualties - one was hit and another suffered mechanical failure.

The third tank, which was 2nd Lt. Khetarpal's tank, also received a shot and burst into flames. The Commander of the tank troops ordered 2nd Lt. Khetarpal to abandon the burning tank. But realising the useful role of his tank in preventing a breakthrough he communicated the following message to his Commander: "No Sir, I will not abandon my tank. My gun is still working and I will get these guys."

Then he set about destroying the remaining Pakistani tanks. The last Pakistani tank which he shot was barely 100 metres from his position. At this stage his tank received a second hit. The brave Officer met his death denying the Pakistani the intended breakthrough. For his conspicuous gallantry in the face of the Pakistani, 2nd Lt. Arun Khetarpal was honoured with the highest wartime gallantry medal, the Param Vir Chakra, posthumously.

He was the youngest Indian to win this highest award. The Indo �Pakistan war of 1971, nearly 33 years ago is history for most of us.

However a strange sequel was to follow for the Khetarpal family.

Many years later, India and Pakistan established 'people to people' contacts between both the nations. This was also known as 'Twin Track Diplomacy'.

Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal, father of 2nd Lt. Khetarpal started receiving messages that a certain Brigadier from the Pakistani army was keen to meet him. However since he did not know this particular Brigadier, Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal did not do anything to encourage the meeting.

In 2001, Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal now 81 years old felt a strong desire to visit his birthplace, at Sargodha, now in Pakistan. It was a wish that he thought that would never materialize, but when he voiced it to some friends engaged in the Twin Track Diplomacy, they arranged all his papers, visas, travel and staying arrangements in Pakistan so that he could go for the visit.

At Lahore airport, Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal was met by Brigadier Khawja Mohammad Naser, who took it upon himself to be Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal host and guide. Brigadier Naser really went out of way to ensure that Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal had a satisfying and nostalgic visit to his old house in Sargodha. Upon his return to Lahore he was once again the guest of Brigadier Naser for three days.

Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal was overwhelmed by the extreme kindness, deference, courtesy and respect bestowed upon him by Brigadier Naser, all the members of his family and his many servants. As the countdown for the departure progressed, the bonds of friendship between the guests and the host grew stronger and stronger. However Brigadier Khetarpal felt that something was amiss but could not make out what it was. Was it the long silences that punctuated their animated conversation or was it the look of compassion in the eyes of the women in the family. He could not make out.

However what was certain was that he would always remember the hospitality, warmth and affection of this Pakistani family who treated him as someone very very special.

Finally at the last night before Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal's departure, Brigadier Naser said 'Sir there is something that I wanted to tell you for many years but I did not know how to get through to you. Finally fate has intervened and sent you to me as an honoured guest. The last few days we have become close to one another and that has made my task even more difficult. It is regarding your son who is of course a national hero in India. However on that fateful day, your son and I were soldiers, unknown to one another, fighting for the respect and safety of our respective countries. I regret to tell you that your son died in my hands. Arun's courage was exemplary and he moved his tank with fearless courage and daring, totally unconcerned about his safety. Tank casualties were very high till finally there were just two of us left facing one another. We both fired simultaneously� it was destined that I was to live and he was to die.

It is only later that I got to know how young he was and who he was. We are trained to fight and kill without mercy or remorse. We do in war what we have to without thinking too much about it. However we are humans too and sometimes war takes a personal turn and makes an impact on the inner self.

I had all along thought that I would ask your forgiveness, but in telling the story I realize that there is nothing to forgive. Instead I salute your son for what he did at such a young age and I salute you too, because I know how he grew into such a young man. In the end it is character and values that matter."

Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal was silent as he did not know how to react. To be faced with the person who killed his son, and also to be enjoying his hospitality and being his guest is a confusing feeling. However Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal immediately realized that Brigadier Naser was genuinely wanting, in some way to compensate for something that he did only in the line of duty. The soldier must do what he has been trained to do unhesitatingly, and with full resolve and determination.

Both the Brigadiers retired for the night deep in thought. There are never any victors in war, both sides lose and it is the families that have to pay the price and suffer the most. As someone once said ' Wars are created by politicians, compounded by bureaucrats and fought by soldiers.

The next day photographs were taken and Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal returned back to Delhi. Later the photos reached Delhi along with a note from Brigadier Naser that said:

With Warmest regards and utmost sincerity,

To:
Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal, father of Shaheed Second Lieutenant Arun. Khetarpal, PVC,who stood like an unsurmountable rock, between the victory and failure, of the counter attack by the 'SPEARHEADS' 13 LANCERS
on 16 December 1971 in the battle of "Bara Pind' as we call it
and battle of "Basantar' as 17 Poona Horse remembers.

Khawja Mohammad Naser, 13 Lancers
02 March 2001
Lahore, Pakistan

January 25 2007

Farewell rickshaw

KOLKATA: Bengal lawmakers on Monday voted out and bade farewell to a friend of Kolkatans' through thick and thin — the hand-pulled rickshaw. The Calcutta Hackney-Carriage (Amendment) Bill, 2006, to phase out hand-pulled rickshaws sailed through the state Assembly easily, courtesy a boycott by Trinamul MLAs.

The bill, when enacted, will undo what Chinese traders did for Kolkata's transportation in the late 19th century by introducing this eco-friendly transport. That was years after Shimla boasted of it in 1888. Incidentally, the first hand-pulled rickshaws that plied on Kolkata's streets were freight carriers. Only later did they become the much-chastised man-carrying-man vehicles of today.

Though the government insists the bill will be signed into law immediately, it will have to seek legal advice on pending applications for licences which Calcutta High Court has ruled must be accepted. Monday's legislative action is the culmination of over 15 months of debate set off by an unprecedented chief ministerial press conference last year to announce that hand-pulled rickshaws would be off Kolkata streets. The bill amending the Calcutta Hackney Carriage Act, 1919 was introduced in the Assembly on July 20 this year and referred to a select committee.

While piloting the bill, CM Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee reiterated what he had said earlier. "We must agree on one point that in the 21st century it is not right for a human being to pull another human being. Wherever I go, be it
Delhi , Mumbai or abroad, people ask me how long Kolkata will have hand-pulled rickshaws? This is a shame for our city. We should have done this much earlier."

All that was needed to put an end to hand-pulled rickshaws, was to remove the words "and palanquins and to make certain provisions with regard to rickshaws" from the original act. The MLAs agreed to it.

The CM promised rehabilitation for rickshaw-pullers. "Rehabilitation will go along with removal. It isn't that we will remove the rickshaws and give the rehabilitation package later on," he said and claimed that rickshaw-pullers' unions had accepted the alternative vocations the government had proposed.

"I have talked with the Kolkata mayor about setting up cooperatives to run car parking lots. This way they will earn more than what they used to earn. The number of cars is going up and we need more parking lots. At least 2,000 people will be involved here," Bhattacharjee said.

For rehabilitation, the first task is to find out the exact number of hand-pulled rickshaw wallahs . The number of licensed hand-pulled rickshaws is 5,937. "We assume there are as many rickshaw-pullers as there are licensed rickshaws. We are also talking with NGOs about helping some of them set up small trading units. Those who cannot do anything will be given financial compensation," he said.

 

 

 

 

 


         November 17 2006
Rex Naug kindly sent us this copy from the Australian

Thanks Rex



Drunk elephants trample three to death
Jeremy Page
16nov06

A HERD of elephants drunk on rice beer trampled to death three people, including a four-year-old boy, on a rampage through a village in the northeastern Indian state of Assam.

Residents of Teok Kathoni tried to scare the
animals off using drums and firecrackers, but the elephants drank the remote village's stock of rice beer, then charged through huts, killing the boy and injuring his brother, 8. It was the latest in a string of incidents over the past fortnight, which wildlife experts have attributed to human encroachment on the elephants' natural habitat.
Until recently, they lived in relative seclusion in the dense forest that covers the region near India's borders with Bangladesh, Burma, Bhutan and China.
But as the forests have shrunk, the elephants have strayed into nearby villages.
Villagers have often killed elephants by electrocuting them, shooting them with poison-tipped arrows or leaving out poisoned food spikes.
In the past five years, elephants have killed 239 people in Assam. Wildlife experts have blamed the
rampage on an influx of settlers over the past five years.
The settlers are estimated to inhabit up to 18,000ha illegally in 10 national parks and game sanctuaries.
Ravi Singh, of WWF India, said the elephants have a sharp sense of smell, so they are attracted by the pungency of the rice beer. "It's not the alcohol, it's the smell from the fermentation process that attracts them."
The Times


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August 12 2006

This item was taken from the BBC NEWS

Where Land Rovers never die
 
By Alastair Lawson  BBC News 


The north-eastern Indian hill area
of  Darjeeling is renowned throughout the world for the quality of its tea.

But now Darjeeling is being noted for the quality of another of its enduring assets: a collection of Land Rovers driven by locals for the last 50 years.

Many of the vehicles have been used and abused for the last half-century without locals being aware of their value in the West.

Experts say that some used as taxis could be worth in excess of $38,000.

Taxis

"Darjeeling is a Land Rover lover's dream," says expert Les Roberts.

"Some of the long-wheel base models being driven around the streets of the town are series one vehicles manufactured in the UK in between 1956 and 1958.

"Only around 100 or so exist in Britain, and only around 500 worldwide. Of these only a few are in working order, which is why they would be worth so much money in the West."

We did not realise our Land Rovers may well be valuable collectors' items  Darjeeling Land Rover driver Suman Gorkha Yet it seems the owners of the Darjeeling Land Rovers may be unaware just how valuable their vehicles may be.

"We use them as taxis to earn a living," said driver Suman Gorkha.

"Obviously we keep them well-maintained because they provide us with a living, but it has never occurred to us that outside of Darjeeling they could be worth a lot of money."

Experts say that the vehicles were exported to Darjeeling throughout the late 1950s.

Mr Roberts - who writes for Land Rover Monthly - says that they are not seen much in India apart from the hilly areas of the north-east.

'Consumer society'

Old foreign vehicles are a rare sight in India because of import restrictions imposed by successive governments in the years following independence.

Land Rovers were allowed to be imported because they were classified as commercial vehicles rather than cars.

Mr Roberts says that the explanation for their longevity is because they are well maintained by capable local mechanics.

Many have new engines and some have been specially adapted to take fuels other than diesel and petrol.

"In India the consumer society culture is not so strong, so the vehicles are not discarded as soon as they break down as perhaps they would have been in the West," he said.

"Another important factor is the lack of road salt and agricultural chemicals which damages the bodywork of so many of the vehicles in the West.

"It is often said that 75% of Land Rovers manufactured are still on the road," Mr Roberts said.

"In India they are kept going by a combination of knife and fork mechanics using Land Rover spare parts - or pattern parts - which are copied and are therefore far cheaper.

"There is no reason why these vehicles cannot go on for ever."

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July 18 2006
Dooars Party 1963
In the picture are 
Standing: Dudley Robert, Alan Gordon, Amrita Bogra, unknown, Martin Hall, Chris Doutre, 
Sitting Margie Robert, Jean  Gordon, Narendra Pal, 
Behind: Mike Dean and Nandan Kilpadi

Roger Pal writes: I am pleased to attach this  old photograph taken by Vinod Bogra Acting Manager at New Dooars T.E. Binnaguore Manager's Bungalow
Mr Alan Gordon was Superintendent. All were with Andrew Yule except Nandan Kilpadi who was from Gillanders. Through koi-hai I have been in touch with Martin Hall, Chris Doutre, and Mrs Roberts all old friends and I know they will enjoy the photograph
(
Roger is now based in Houston Texas as Executive VP of WSI Services-if anyone wishes to get in touch with Roger please contact the Editor)

July 17 2006
Ramesh Jaitly visits Aberdeen

From the "Aberdeen & District Independent" Aberdeen, Scotland Thursday September 3rd 1998

City's tea time

Ramesh flies in to join planters at their annual Aberdeen reunion

The granite city is famous for it's links with oil, fish and paper, but Aberdeen also has roots firmly embedded in another industry. Scots played a leading role in the opening up of the forests in Assam and planting and manufacturing of tea.

And there are still retired tea planters in Aberdeen - many of whom will be brought together to reminisce times past at a reunion dinner being held at the Amatola Hotel on September 11.

Ramesh Jaitly, a retired Indian tea Planter who joined the Badlipar Tea Company in the 50's has travelled all the way from his home country to meet old friends at the reunion. He says the tombstones of cemeteries in Assam are full of Scottish surnames.

"In the early days of tea planting the average expectation of life was said to be six months. If malaria did not take you, a tiger or snake would. Here they were, the Scots, thousands of miles away from home in totally alien surroundings, in complete charge of tea estates." said Mr. Jaitly.

He remembers many idiosyncrasies of the Scots planters, but one from Stonehaven, Henry Crabb, holds a very special place in his heart. "Crabbie, as he was popularly known, was not only a knowledgeable and competent planter, but extremely perceptive with an immense understanding of not only his management team but also tribal labour and their ways" explained Mr. Jaitly. He had a phenomenal capacity to remember the names of most of the two thousand plus workers on the two Tea Estates of which he was Superintendent. The workers also understood and respected him." he added. Mr. Jaitly says he remember meeting Crabb one afternoon at his bungalow office.

"His bearer had just brought in some tea, when a worker rushed in breathless and agitated: 'Come quickly Sahib, the Kamjari babu (field clerk) is going to hang himself'. I shot up from my chair expecting Crabb to do the same, 'Sit down and finish your tea,' he told me." Mr. Jaitly says he was confused by Crabb's action and thought what kind of man could he be to ignore this sort of emergency.

"Crabb calmy continued the discussion, finished his cup of tea, picked up his cane, and we walked to the hospital where the suicide was allegedly taking place," he said. The pair found the Kamjari Babu perched on a tree with a rope round his neck, and a crowd of 400 onlookers pleading with him not to hang himself.

"But Crabb appeared to be totally unmoved by the whole proceedings," said Mr. Jaitly. "He just stood there looking at the Babu, with an occasional glance at his own watch. After a few minutes he called out to the Babu 'Hurry up and finish what you are doing, I have to get back to my tea'. The crowd was aghast at these heartless words. The Babu, however, climbed down from his perch, came up to Crabb and shouted 'I WILL DIE' . And die he did, many years later, of cancer."

Mr. Jaitly explained: "Crabb later told me that if the Babu had wanted to commit suicide he would have done so even before the messenger had reached us, and if he hadn't by then, he wouldn't at all."

During his visit to Aberdeen Mr. Jaitly plans to visit the grave of Henry Crabb and drink a toast with old friends to memories of times past.

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July 7 2006

This item of considerable interest was sent in by Venk Shenoi and we thank him

Changing Times --Trade Route
 
for those who remember the Chinese invasion of 1962
which affected the planter communities in Assam and Doaars.
 
There was a round up of ethnic Chinese from the tea districts out
of sheer prejudice and ignorance of the Indian authorities.
(same as the Japanese community in California during WW2?)
 
These same people had previously escaped from civil strife in China
following the fall of Chiang Kai Shek and trekked into India through Tibet.
Many skilled fitters, carpenters and other trades found ready employment
in the tea estates. Many had also set up dry-cleaning outlets in Calcutta
competing with the likes of Band Box.
 
The tea estates lamented the loss of their skilled tradesmen. 
 
Venk
 
 
Historic India-China link opens

Nathu La has been closed since China and India went to war in 1962

 

 

China and India have opened a historic trade route that had been closed for nearly half a century.

The Himalayan pass of Nathu La, 4,000m (14,000 feet) above sea level, was once part of the ancient Silk Road.

The opening ceremony took place at the windswept border between India's Sikkim state and the Chinese region of Tibet.

Nathu La has been closed since China and India went to war in 1962

Nathu La has opened just a few days after the first train service was launched from eastern China to Tibet.

The pass wore a festive look with Chinese and Indian flags fluttering and military bands playing.

China's ambassador to India and local officials from Sikkim and Tibet attended the opening ceremony at the border post in driving rain and bitter cold.

But the BBC's Subir Bhaumik, who was at the opening, says despite the poor weather conditions there was no shortage of enthusiasm among the hundreds of Indian and Chinese traders who had gathered there.

Our lives are going to change once trade gets going
Sonar Bhutia
Sikkim trader

"We hope the reopening of the silk route will improve relations between the two countries," China's ambassador to India Sun Yuxi told the AFP news agency.

"Today the border is open for traders and we hope very soon it will be open for tourists. We are excited and feeling very good."

The BBC's South Asia correspondent, Navdip Dhariwal, says the reopening of the route signifies a huge leap forward in diplomacy and trade between both countries.

Local traders have welcomed the opening and say it will have a major impact on the regional economy.

"Our lives are going to change once trade gets going," a grocery supplier, Sonar Bhutia, is quoted as saying by the AFP news agency.

"We're hoping to profit by it."

But correspondents say the opening is more symbolic than substantive, with trade confined to some local goods.

India will import 15 items from China, including goat and sheep skins, yak tails and raw silk.

China, for its part, will import 29 items including tea, rice and spices.

"Trading will take place four days a week, Monday to Thursday," says Sikkim director of industries, Saman Prasad Subba.

Diplomatic triumph

Some analysts believe that trade through the land route could generate millions of dollars in trade eventually.

But at the moment most agree that there are more immediate political benefits rather than economic.

"This resumption of border trade is more significant for Indian diplomacy, not for trade," says Jayantanuja Bandopadhyay, professor of international relations in Calcutta's Jadavpur University.

 

Sikkim is a former Buddhist kingdom that merged with India in 1975, a move that was opposed by China which lay claim to the state.

"By allowing trade through Nathu La, China has accepted Sikkim as part of India that it refused to do earlier," Mr Bandopadhyay says.

The Nathu La pass was closed in 1962 after war broke out between China and India.

The famed Silk Road was an ancient trading route that once connected China with India, West Asia and Europe.

 

June 14 2006

Gowri Mohanakrishnan of Moraghat Tea Estate, Binnaguri West Bengal who writes regularly for the Camellia Magazine has kindly sent us an interesting 
  article and we thank her for taking the time and trouble to share her very well written stories with us -
Gowri has a fascinating website and I suggest a visit to it http://seventhchords.blogspot.com/

 

An April Day

The weather plays a very important part in our lives on a tea plantation. After a long, dry spell, and some weeks to go before the monsoon, we are waiting for rain. But it's a brilliant morning. The sunlight is blinding at even 8.00 a.m. and the heat and glare are harsh upon the malis who work on my lawn. The tea bushes shimmer in the heat haze outside.

I finish off with my instructions to the mali very quickly, and postpone my inspection of the vegetable garden to a later,and I hope cooler--hour. That is one area where we never see eye to eye, but today he and I have formed a brief alliance; our common enemy is the heat. I ask him why none of the malis has carried an umbrella to work. The pluckers out in the tea area do. He doesn't have a theory to offer. Time was when you couldn't part the tea garden worker from his umbrella. He wore it crooked into the back of his collar, rain or shine.

I escape into my cool room. The curtains are drawn, and there's soothing music playing. The rhythms sound like ice tinkling in a glass of something refreshing. My husband comes back for his lunch break, and tells me what a hot day it is. The heat has slowed the pluckers down. It's rain he wants, and quickly too. I leave him to his 'afternoon lie-back', that great tradition established by planters of old. At about three thirty or so, we come out to find everything changed.

The hills had disappeared in the morning's heat haze, but now I see a mass of black clouds in the direction where they lie. Overhead, there are clouds of different structures and shapes. It's as if an artist had gone on a binge in a grey period. Surely we're in for what is called 'hawa-pani' by the garden folk, literally, wind and water, a most inappropriately mild label for what is to follow! In some places, the clouds are already swirling, as if they're forming a whirlpool in the sky. That is something we only see in this season. And soon, the wind starts off. I say wind, but it is like a cyclone. The bungalow servants rush into the verandah, to clear away everything that is in there, from potted plants to chairs and cushions. We're all laughing, now that it's cool and beautiful. It isn't advisable to stand outside any longer. The trees are thrashing about wildly and at any time one may fall. Suddenly a loud crack of thunder is heard and our dog howls in fear. The lights go off at once. Somehow, the electricity just dies with the appearance of a storm.

Then we hear it, a rushing sound, as if something very huge is moving towards us. It's the rain, which we can see, like a moving wall of water, before it actually is with us. The verandah is open in three directions and now it seems to be pouring in from everywhere. Strong gusts of wind lift up and carry the water droplets. It's crashing down on the tin roof. We shout to make each other heard. Lightning rips the sky apart in blinding flashes and thunder applauds loudly, often after a stunned pause. I send up a prayer of thanks that there is no hail, only rain. When there's hail, it rips through the tea bush and seals the fate of a garden for the season.

Later in the evening, my husband tells me there's been an inch of rain. Is he happy, I ask, to which I get an inscrutable shrug. Planters are a superstitious lot. He doesn't want the weather gods to think he's complacent!

Gowri
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April 2 2006

Alan Wood kindly sent in this fishing story which is DIFFERENT--thanks Alan

"Hooking a Bird"

Here is a true story of me catching a small Swift (bird) with a fishing lure.

On 29th March 2006, my brother, James and I, (on one boat) and Colin Lamare & Mark Lynrah( on another ) were rafting and fishing the Bhorelli River in Assam. We reached an area known as Upor Dikhorai at about 3.45 PM. A lot of Swifts were flying over the river catching small insects or whatever. I casted a Mepps 4 Spinner towards the middle of the river and almost immediately I saw a Swift plunging into the water close to where the spinner had dropped. I saw the bird disappear under the water. I told my brother and the boatmen about it. As I was reeling in and at about 25 to 30 feet the bird surfaced at the end of my line(spinner). At about 15 ft it disentangled or unhooked itself and fluttered to the bank. Kali and Suresh, the boatmen, retrieved the bird which was looking very wet and sorry for itself but did not appear to have been injured. After taking a few snaps, I put the bird on a branch by the banks. I can't think what made it go for the spinner. It could be that it mistook the spinner for an insect of some kind and it's wing or feather got entangled with the hook or line.

The two snaps were taken by my brother,James(Jimmy) .


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  April 2 2006

Panitola T.E. 1964
Cathie Campbell kindly passed on Mick Garnett's photograph with notes, thank you Mick and Cathie--an interesting piece of memorabilia

Mick writes:
Whilst clearing out a lot of rubbish I came across this photograph which you may wish to place on your website. It was the out-garden (Babus & Sirdars) at Panitola T.E. February 1964 which means I was 25 at the time. The two out -gardens involved were Depot Line and Majbari for which I was responsible --I think the Manager at the time was Peter Castle and the Superintendent was Stew Campbell

Just a little bit of trivia, I recall that "Majbari" was named after a Marjorie who was related to Guy (and Pam) Henson, he being the Manager of a nearby garden. Guy I think was the brother of Lesley Henson, a well known English actor
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March 26th 2006

                  TEA  PLANTER'S  MORNING  PRAYER.
 
                    Our Lager
                    Which art in barrels,
                    Hallowed be thy drink.
                    I will be drunk,
                    At home as in the tavern.
                    Give us this day our foamy head,
                    And forgive us our spillages
                    As we forgive those who spill against us.
                    And lead us not into incarceration
                    But deliver us from hangovers.
                    For thine is the beer
                    The bitter and the lager
                    Forever and ever  
                    BARMEN.
 

  Contributed by  Danny  Pariat  ex WM's 
and we thank him

  -Danny  writes -alas I do not know the composer but perhaps someone can help out?? but whoever he is hallowed be his name for composing such a wonderful 'prayer'. It should be familiar to many a tea planter who had imbibed of the water of life!!   I had picked this up some years ago and thought I should put it up for all to see ____________

March 24 2006

We are indebted to Alan Wood for sending us
the photographs and the story below written 
by Dr Imdad Hussain

Below are some old photographs from Shillong  from about 1900

 Ward's lake (sometime in  early 1900)    Photo courtesy:-  Dr Imdad Hussain.

  Biver's Chateau (was situated at the same site as the present Governor's House).Photo courtesy:- Pitts Rivers Museum.

Golf Club House.   Photo courtesy:-  Imdad Hussain

 

Shillong: No longer a chip off England

by  Imdad Hussain MA, PhD

When I first arrived there on my posting in Assam in 1942, I was enchanted, transported:” recalled Nari Rustomji of the ICS on his maiden visit to Shillong. Fresh from Cambridge, he found in Assam’s capital in the Khasi Hills