From My Notebooks In 1977: Monobarie Tea Estate in Assam

[We are guests at the Monobarie Tea Estate after crossing the Bramaputra.]

At a spice market

Monday 7th February

Lazy day, although I get all my addresses transcribed into a small book indexed by country.

The evening is reserved for a cultural program in aid of local high school. Don’t give it much thought and don’t wear much clothing. Arrive to find a big tent like a circus. Gets very cold.

At first, Bihu dances, with little character sketches in them. Another dance from Madya Pradesh. Then main event begins.

[A proper theatrical stage has been set up under the tent.]

Turns out to be an endless melodrama, full of characters, entwined in tales of disaster and degradation. A mother of an illegitimate son has been deserted by her lover. Her brother proposes a new marriage for her, but first she must get rid of her son. He sends the boy off for adoption and finds her a rich Brahmin husband. When her lover turns up he’s told the son has died and she has remarried. He goes off in despair. 25 years pass. The son appears, broke and hungry. A painter/beggar doesn’t help him. Then his father appears as a violinist/beggar. He also can’t help him. His name is “Tettari.” Then a pock-marked villain enrolls the son in a gang. The painter has a daughter. The original brother has become wealthy (presumably off his brother in law) and is a publisher. He has designs on the daughter. She spurns him, but necessity forces her onto the street with her father, selling fake charity tickets. The Brahmin family walks by, and the son buys a charity ticket. Previously he refused to share their picnic with Tettari when he was starving, although the mother wanted to (blood tells). Now the gang robs the girl and father, but Tettari forces them to return the money, and a police inspector gets involved. The old brother seduces the daughter and corrupts her. (Tettari goes over to the police.) after her father has been beaten up while robbing. The Brahmin overhears his wife confessing to the violinist that they have a son, etc, etc.

It’s a soap opera, comic strip acted out on a stage. The rape or seduction of Miranda by the rich and unscrupulous brother was particularly drawn out and harrowing, – lots of mirthless laughter as he closes in on his prey. English words and titles are used by characters who have sold their souls to acquire status and power, particularly by the acolytes of the gang leader, the brother, the inspector. I thought that something like this would be a great success on the London stage, but the cast would be huge.

The characters [actors] were shivering round a small fire in the grounds between appearances. They had mattresses laid out in classrooms, and were giving a series of three nights, different shows each time. They charged 500 rupees each night. None of them, it seemed, spoke any English.

I was fascinated to be so close to a lost tradition of the theatre, but it was freezing. Hard to keep my mind awake, and Carol was raising static about the cold, and how extraordinary it was that Roy and the others didn’t seem to have any concern for the comfort of others. It became clear that none of the plantation people had any idea of what we were in for.

Tuesday, 8th

Another languid day, but a burst of unnecessary excitement in the middle when I suddenly get it into my head that the election is on Feb. 16th and I ought to get my piece in now.

[I had been planning an article about the election for the Sunday Times.]

Eventually declare my folly to Roy, and he tells me it’s March 16th, so no hurry. Feel foolish, but relieved.

There’s a party in the evening to welcome the bride of one of Roy’s assistants.

Notable guests: Indian manager with navy club blazer inscribed DFC with wings [RAF Distinguished Flying Cross] and the most outrageously affected ‘Old Boys’ accent I ever heard [and I’ve heard a lot]. If he appeared alone on the Palladium stage, he’d be a winner. His manner was appropriately unpleasant.

His wife, articulate and intelligent, confesses she hates him, and cultivates her sensibilities in defiance. She was able to relieve herself by talking to me about literature – very fast for a while. I was glad to help, but unable to say much that was worthwhile.

A young assistant, previously in hotels, a bit travelled, came on full spate about the reactionary policies of the planters. “As Lenin once said, ‘Politics is the opium of the people’.” [Rubbish! Confusing Lenin with Marx and politics with religion.]

At lunchtime, one of the fields nearby burst into flame. The Punjabi assistant with the dazzling smile supervises the attempt to beat it out with green branches. Still it spreads. The citronella crop is ruined. He says it was set deliberately by a worker who wanted to save work clearing the land.

Wednesday, 9th

Lunchtime departure to Tezpur.

Roy Boswell receives call to visit local CID and returns happy that they have ‘no objection’ to his permit. [There are two Roys – Eastment and Boswell.]

Boswell’s a fine old gent. Was manager of the same garden as the blazered buffoon. In England his wife died, and he wants to retire in Assam. Has ‘adopted’ an Indian family and plans to live with them, buy some land and pass it on to them. There is a local tradition for this kind of thing. A surveyor in Tezpur did the same – Aitken Bros.

More great rivers to cross, then Tezpur and the DC’s office. We meet the Additional Deputy Commissioner. Mr Buyan, who turns out to be a sweet man. Takes us home for a big tea and fixes us up in the Agricultural Bungalow.

He tells us more about how the joint family system works and stresses the power of the mother to enforce moral obligations. If one of her sons fails in his duty (i.e. to give financial help to a needier relative) she will refuse to visit him and ostentatiously stay at another place nearby. The news of this action will travel rapidly between the wives at the bazaar, and he will be disgraced. Thus, the function of gossip to enforce conformity.

Thursday, 10th

Ride around Tezpur – to a hill with ruins of Krishna temples (2000 years old.) Later move into Circuit house, for the hell of it. Conveniences not much better than bungalow – and beds embarrassingly creaky. Costs so little – 2 or 3 rupees. Roy’s friend, the magistrate, has been living there six months, and is in trouble because she left Tezpur for his party without the DC’s permission. Now threatened with eviction. Fines for overstaying at Circuit House or DAK are draconian – but I doubt whether they are enforced.

Meet the two Roys later, at club. We’re invited to breakfast at home of a cinema owner. His son graduated at Milwaukee Economics. Now works in business.

Friday, 11th February

[After breakfast we went on to Gauhati. It was time for me to take Carol to Dawki on the Bangladeshi border, and leave her as we had agreed, but it was a very painful parting. The road to Dawki from Shillong, over a rolling landscape of tea estates, was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. There was a short mountainous section.]

Small party of ragged men shouting and waving red flag, met on way down from Shillong. Was it a religious procession? Then two sections of cement pipe crammed with women, waving and also shouting at 500 syllables a second.

Then the first blast from the rock face.

[The side of the mountain slid down, but we were unhurt.]

Next week is my birthday and there will be parties. I’m sorry you can’t come. I’ll try to squeeze another episode in but forgive me, please, if I don’t. Cheers to all.