Special Issue: Part 5 

 (Un)Common Landscapes and Ruptured Memories: Auto-ethnographies of North Bengal

Memoirs of my childhood in Marionbari T.E.

 by Rekha Nandy

I

Does the past speak? Can it really speak for itself? It does for me. It crowds my mind and in my memories. I have come a long way from my childhood; after all I am now 73 with grand children who are also grown up. Often, when I sit and watch the world go by, I open the door to my past and like a disheveled cupboard, my memories peep out wanting to come tumbling out and find their way into the present.

My father Mrinal Kanti Roy Chowdhury was a doctor who in the late 40s (1949 to be the exact) around November or December took up a position in a tea garden – in Marionbari or Garidhura tea estate. It was close to Kurseong and in the foothills of the Himalayas on the way to Darjeeling on Pankhabari Road. We were three siblings with my youngest sister, Mantu only a few months old, my brother Kalyan was seven and I was around nine year old. Our home in the tea gardens gave away to the majestic Himalayas and its snow capped mountains, dense forest and crystal clear skies. I had read about the Himalayas but to see it this close was another experience. It almost felt as if I could touch it and if I ran, I could start climbing. Imagine my excitement! But I could not do so. My father told me that the mountains were not as near as it seemed. Naturally I felt disappointed.

Fig.1: My father- Dr. Mrinal Kanti Roy Chowdhury

Fig.2: My family in Merionbari T. E.

Fig.3: The Himalayas

At the back of our home ran a mountain stream. We could not see but hear it at a distance. Also at the back was a vegetable garden and in its midst standing tall in one corner was the Madari tree, covered with its bright red flowers. On the ground the fallen flowers almost created a red carpet. Sitting underneath the tree, I would spend hours watching the many birds – wild hen, woodpeckers, parrots – that made the Madari tree their home. Once I even saw a peacock dancing in its full glory with wings spread wide out. In my excitement I ran inside to call my mother.

Soon after we arrived, a young adivasi boy named Theba came to help my mother and do small errands. With time, Theba became friends with Kalyan, my younger brother and my playmate. With Theba we played and roamed around the tea garden discovering many flowers, fruits, trees, vegetables and animals. Theba also had a catapult and even taught us how to use it. He rather skillfully could catch any bird with it and many a times we cooked and ate our catch with no one knowing the better.

Fig.4: The Tea Estates

Fig.5: A typical neighbourhood near the Tea Estates in Kurseong

Fig.6: Women Tea Pluckers

Speaking of birds, I recollect having Myna and Salikha as pet birds. Though I really cared for them but none seem to survive. My father on the other hand had several pets; among them a cat named Mini. Whenever we were out she would stroll towards the front gate and wait for our return. On returning she would stealthily; as if by magic, immediately sit on my father’s lap. Strangely, one fine day she left us never to return. We searched but could not find her. Not even her dead body. I remember my father also had a Bhutanese dog. In fact, he looked so big and ferocious that he was named Bagha.

II

There was a huge playground at front of our house. And at times we heard tigers roaring in the darkness of the night. The following morning, we would rush to find the pug marks. Often, in the early mornings a group of Dhanus Pakhi (Hornbill) would fly over our heads. Like my childhood, they too are long gone and lost.

Fig.7: Great Hornbill

Chitto Mitter, the manager of our tea garden was a renowned hunter having hunted deer, tiger, python, hedgehogs, monitor lizards, and a variety of birds. In those days there was no government rule against hunting. My father often accompanied manager babu on these hunting trips along with a few labourers and the sardar of the tea garden labourers. After most hunting trips, the animals used to be dumped in the playground and all of us would curiously gather around to have a glimpse of the animals that were hunted. Once the animals were skinned, the adivasi labourers would take the animal meat for their own feast. As children, we had also heard that they used to catch the rats and the snakes in the garden and eat them.

Our tea garden had around ten to twelve staff members. And there were many children. We used to play different games like hockey and football. The youngest daughter of the Manager babu was my soi (friend) and not only were we close friends but our families were very close too. Since my father was a doctor many people visited our home from staff members to the labourers and other local people who lived nearby.

The one thing, that I cannot seem to erase from my memory are the rains. The rains in North Bengal are an experience in themselves. For days on an end it would rain incessantly, some times for as many as fifteen to twenty days. It was amazing. First the rain appeared to start at the distant hills and then it crossed over the hills on to the fields; over our homes and then beyond. Rain was the real queen of the hills; bringing life and lushness all around her. She knew no fear and had no hesitation either. I wished then I could be like her dancing and touching the hills, the rivers, the streams, the fields, the forests, the trees, even the branches and its leaves. The thought in itself filled me with great joy and wonder and I used to sing Rabindra sangeet and dance; thinking myself to be the rain goddess.

When I look back I am always amazed at how we found joy in the smallest of small things. Life was so different then. People may not have had great wealth nor lived their lives as lavishly as I see now all around me and yet life was so rich. Not many festivals used to be celebrated in the garden. But of course, Durga Puja was one of them. During the Pujas, all the staff members would get leave for at least four to five days. It was quite common for all the garden staff members along with their families to take the truck and go to Siliguri and celebrate Durga Puja. Bijoya Dasami for us used to be a fun filled day with people coming over to our home with sweets or us going to their homes. So many people… and so many sweets.

The Nepalese in the garden too celebrated Satyanarayan Puja in the playground with great fanfare. The adivasis had their own festivals too. The men would play madal and to its beat the women danced. They dressed beautifully; not with anything expensive but with simple malas (garlands) made from wild flowers. The women would also wear flowers in their heads tucked behind their ears or in their khopas (bun). The men on the other hand, would wear feathers in their heads. Music, dance and laughter still rings around the playground and in my memories.

Fig.8: Adibasi Dancing

Once during the winters a group of lama had come down from Bhutan and Tibet. They wore their hair in plaits. I remember almost all of them had long plaits on both sides of their heads. They used to wear a jobba and long beaded necklaces. Playing the domuru they sang songs in their own language. It was so different from the tribal songs or Bengali songs. They were strange and yet sweet and made you feel at peace.

Fig.9: The Lamas

III

Two events that created ripples of excitement in the garden were the Annual Sports Day and the Picnic. On Sports Day, the football match was the main attraction and reason of excitement. Everyone including the staff, labourers and the manager babu participated in the match. The other event was the Annual Picnic and yet again the entire garden with their families would travel in the truck and go to various picnic spots along the banks of Balason River, or under the bridge in Dudhia or Coronation bridge in Sevoke. I vividly recall that all of us, the children that is, would zealously collect different kinds of stones – of varied colours shapes and sizes. We would take them home for our own private collection of stones.

Fig.10: Coronation Bridge, Sevoke

Haat (weekly market) was another event that marked our lives in the garden. On every payday, in the open area, the haat was organized. Everything would be found in the haat from clothes, ribbons, clips, bangles, utensils, and food. Haat was also a source of entertainment as there was no cinema or televisison in those days. Cock fights used to be a major entertainment for all of us in the garden and the labourers as well as the babus sometimes, used to place bets and enjoy these cock fights. As the evening set in, homemade rice, beer or handia which was popular among adivasi labourers used to be sold with different kinds of fried food items. Actually, it was a quite common sight to see the adivasi men returning from the haat in drunken stupor.

IV

At one corner of the playground was a sort of crèche where women workers would leave their children before going to work. One of the women from the garden itself used to take care of the children. All of us used to gather there in the afternoons to play. There was a makeshift swing over which we had regular fights. But in most lazy afternoons when nobody used to be around, I used to swing on it and see the colours changing – the blossoming of flowers, the riot of colours in spring, the pitter patter of the rains, and the cold winters. And now when I’m 73, my childhood in Marionbari is almost like the Himalayas that I imagined then – so real and beautiful, so near that it was almost within my grasp and yet so far away.

Author’s Bio-Note:

Rekha Nandy is a retired teacher born in Calcutta and brought up in North Bengal. She had spent most of her life in North Bengal before moving to Delhi in 2009. She is currently writing a memoir of her life in North Bengal. The present essay is a part of her autobiography. She could be contacted at rekha1940@gmail.com