Ever
since my childhood, tea gardens held a special place in my heart. Maybe it was
the fresh green colour, or maybe it was the undulating hills with velvety tea
plants creating a magical green carpet on both sides of NH 37…
And
then there were the Manager’s bungalows…
It
was the ultimate relic of the Raj. Sprawling bungalows attended by an army of
well-trained servants: vegetable gardens to supply the kitchen with an
uninterrupted supply of fresh greens. I heard my Uncle, who was a manager in a
tea garden in Tezpur, talk about the clubhouse where he went for the evening
"snifter" at the bar, or for a game of tennis or badminton. He
regaled a rapt ‘non-tea’ audience about his stories of weekends spent out in
the jungles for organized shikaar-cum-fishing trips.
As
I grew up, I realized that governing this idyllic life-style was two leaves and
a bud, the ubiquitous symbol of Indian tea (এটি কলি দুটি পাত). Whether in the rolling plains
of Assam, or the Dooars in West Bengal or in the mist-shrouded hills of
Darjeeling, life in the tea gardens seemed suspended in time. As I started
growing up and began reading about these green expanses, I came to know more about
the extended legacy of the hard-living, hard-drinking Scotsmen who first
planted and cultivated the stunted green shrubs that made Indian tea a legacy.
Up
till the late my childhood (read ‘early and mid 1980s’) tea garden labourers
treated managers and assistant managers like minor gods whose every word was a
divine command - labourers referred to managers as “sahaab”. Salaries and
perks for tea planters were far more attractive than comparative appointments
in private sector companies (at least this is what I deduced from their
lifestyles).
Though
social life revolved around the clubs, there was something for everybody. Games
included billiards, golf, tennis, squash, football and cricket. There were movie
shows and regular dances with live bands organized by the wives. Yes, the ‘wives’
were a force to reckon with. Stylish demeanor, backless blouses, rummy, et al..In
most estates, regular weekly charter flights arrived from Calcutta loaded with
foodstuffs and anything else planters wanted to order. Moreover, if sports and socializing
- both synonymous with tea estates - have started fading out it is because of
the kind of people who have started joining the gardens in recent years. Almost
all the professionals who are now getting in belong to middle class
backgrounds: to them the kind of life-style that existed 15 years ago on the
estates is totally alien. Their wives would rather stay at home and watch video
or television whereas in the old days, it was the women who played a major role
in organizing the social life.
But
it was an anachronism, an era that had to end.
Before
Independence, tea companies were almost wholly owned by the British and young
men were brought in to look after the estates all the way from England. Hardly
any planter would miss an evening at the club. Even Indian planters made it a
point to participate because British bosses ensured that their assistants were
active at work, on the playground and in the clubs. Dancing, drinking and
generally living it up were images synonymous with planters.
Today,
for an old planter, the sight at the Dibrugarh District Planters' Club on a
Saturday evening would indeed be heartbreaking. There are normally hardly a
dozen planters at the bar and even less playing any kind of game. But that is
symbolic of the dramatic change that has overtaken tea garden life. By the
early '70s, with even the most die-hard British planter having left, life on
the tea gardens became, almost overnight, a case of paradise lost.
The
change was hastened when British-owned companies sold out to Indian owners,
mainly hard-headed, profit-oriented Marwari businessmen. With the change in
management - and the sudden competition in international markets that Indian
tea faced - the old life-style of the tea planter was doomed.
As
some of my relatives involved in tea garden business now tell me, there is little
time for recreation now. There is too much paper work. In the mid-'40s, there
were nine golf courses maintained by tea clubs in Cachar district alone. Now,
tall grass and weeds have claimed them. Interestingly, even the traditional
afternoon "lie back" has become a memory. A job on the estates today
is a high-pressure one. When the British were in charge, working as a planter
was a way of life. Now, it is just another job.
More
important, they want quick results. Within the last decade, there have been
sweeping changes in the gardens. Most of the new recruits are engineers,
agriculture graduates and computer professionals. Today, companies are only
interested in the quantum of work completed, production figures, rising profit
graphs and projections for the future. Working hours have stretched to
unimaginable levels. Apart from dealing with the labour and filing countless
government returns, more time is taken up by the factories which work longer
hours than before. Moreover, improved agricultural practices have helped
stretch the plucking season to nearly 10 months a year.
The
change in life-style has a lot to do with the pressures of the market-place.
Today not only is international competition intense, even within the country,
consumers have become quality conscious. You can no longer flog any quality of
tea. It has become a buyer's market.
It
isn't as if there aren't profits in the tea business. But employers seem to
feel that the tea planter now need not live the kind of life that his British
predecessors used to. Traditional perks too have been a major casualty. In
numerous cases, owners have moved into the palatial houses that managers
formerly lived in, compelling their own employees to shift to smaller
accommodation. Assistants are now made to share bungalows. And the changes have
started taking their toll. One example; the heavy turnover among new recruits.
Most youngsters who join tea gardens leave even before their probation period
is over. The aura of authority and power that surrounded the managers and
assistant managers has also faded. The boot is now on the other foot. Secluded
as their houses are, a sense of insecurity haunts managers, several of whom
have become targets of dacoities.
The
traditional system of having a 'garden banker' - usually a local money lender -
to conduct transactions has been done away with by some management to save on
commission. They now expect their managers to withdraw huge amounts from the
bank and carry the cash to the garden on salary day. The days are well known
and managers are known to have been waylaid and looted.
But even more than criminals, it is problems of labourer that plague managers. In Assam, until quite recently, the tea garden workers were a peaceful lot. True, they were unionised, but they were fairly well paid. Now, the scene is different - inter-union rivalry, aggressive workers and, for the managers, a major headache. In a tense situation, the manager is the only voice of the owners and predictably, the major target for physical attack.
But even more than criminals, it is problems of labourer that plague managers. In Assam, until quite recently, the tea garden workers were a peaceful lot. True, they were unionised, but they were fairly well paid. Now, the scene is different - inter-union rivalry, aggressive workers and, for the managers, a major headache. In a tense situation, the manager is the only voice of the owners and predictably, the major target for physical attack.
Clearly,
the glamour of the tea estates is gradually fading and, in another few years,
there may be little to distinguish the tea manager's job from that of his
counterparts in the city.
