Tea country

The final boarding call was announced. Paying scant heed to it, I focused instead on a plate of hot, rubbery idlis; a comforting reminder of my native land. I was at a deserted, rained-out Dumdum airport in Kolkata, heading further east and into more rain. But when the PA system took my name for the fifth time, I tumbled into action and hurried towards a half-empty aircraft. A BFF wedding had brought me to Kolkata; a sudden inspiration to reclaim my vacation thereafter, was taking me to Makaibari in Darjeeling district. A homestay at a tea-worker’s, tea tasting sessions and a ride on the Darjeeling toy train beckoned, and the only thing standing between me and my little getaway was an ill-timed nostalgia for all things Hyderabadi.

A short flight later, the holiday still intact, we landed in Bagdogra. An hour’s drive away, just 5 km shy of the town of Kurseong, Makaibari is the oldest tea estate in Darjeeling. Established in 1859 by the Banerjee family, Makaibari is the first tea factory in the world. Sprawled over 120 hectares, the estate occupies just one-third of more than 700 hectares of tropical rainforest land. In June, however, Rajah Banerjee sold off 90 per cent of the estate to the Luxmi Group — a deal four years in the making and one that marks the end of family-based ownership of tea estates in North Bengal. The ailing Darjeeling tea industry has only recently started to see a revival in trade and exports. Just last week Makaibari tea became the most expensive tea in the world when it was sold for $1,850 per kg. For the tea plantation workers however, the situation continues to worsen. Since the shutting down of tea estates, which began in 2003-04, more than 100 workers have died of starvation. The week I was visiting, two workers from neighbouring villages had committed suicide.

At Makaibari, a hamlet of around 30 households, tea workers have been offering homestays to tourists, students and researchers since 2005 to supplement their meagre incomes. Nayan Lama, the coordinator of the programme, introduces me to my host Dileepda, whose cooking, I’m told, is the talk of the village. We follow him down the hill to his cottage, where he lives with his wife, father and two children. The guestroom, the largest room in the house, has been made ready. Stuffed bears lounge on the bed, next to a small heap of warm blankets. Their family portraits adorn the glass shelf; a visitors’ book lies open on the table. At his kitchen table by the window, a pot of Makaibari first flush brews alongside a steaming bowl of soup Wai Wai, perfectly offsetting the rain beating down on the tin roof. The neighbourhood cat, curled up on the doormat, sleeps in contentment. Two other homes play host to visitors — a student on a three-month stay and a couple for a night. This is lean season, Dileepda says. In springtime, when the leaves that make up the first flush are plucked, tourists arrive in droves.

We make momos, boil soup and grind hot chutney. Dileepda’s 14-year-old daughter makes a face and says, “I don’t like working in the kitchen”. Until recently, Dileepda, 45, was employed in Rajah Banerjee’s household as head cook. Out of a job, he is now making plans to leave Makaibari to shore up his savings. The estate currently employs nearly 500 workers, a majority of whom work on the plantations. Dileepda made ₹100 per day; his wife, who works at the crèche for the workers’ children, makes ₹95 — much less than daily agricultural wage. Throughout July this year, the tea workers’ union held negotiations with the owners for revision of wages to around ₹300 a day. The talks eventually broke down last month when both parties refused to budge. It was then that a kilo of tomatoes became a luxury for Dileepda and his wife.

At the factory, Rajah Banerjee still comes to work every day at 7am, sporting a cowboy hat, gumboots and green overalls. “The group has just acquired a stake,” says Banerjee, who continues to manage the garden. Lama gives us a tour, explaining how the leaves are cleaned, dried, crushed and separated. He tells us the difference between the first and second flushes, the white and green teas, and introduces us to the Makaibari special, Silver Tip. Plucked on full moon nights, or so the tale goes, the silver tip is their most expensive brand. Janie, a 24-year-old researcher studying at the National Institute of Tea Management, is at Makaibari for three months of field work. She conducts a tea tasting session for our group of three. We slurp mouthfuls of the first flush, gurgle it at the back of our throats and spit into the sink. As we wait for the aftertaste to settle, she thunders, “Can you feel the breeze in the meadow when this was plucked?” “Can you feel the sweetness of the bud?”… We repeat the routine — slurp, gargle, spit — for the second flush, the white tea and the green. When we drain our cups filled with Silver Tip, Janie rolls her eyes dreamily and says, “Can you feel the mystical, magical slumber?” We walk out, suitably impressed but thankful that the estate’s shop has run out of the most-expensive-tea-ever-made.

A ₹10 shared-taxi ride takes us to the Kurseong railway station, famous for its Himalayan toy trains and a Unesco World Heritage tag, which it risks losing. Built between 1879 and 1881, the 81km, high-altitude line now runs between Kurseong and Darjeeling, and New Jalpaiguri and Gayabari, after the original line between Darjeeling and New Jalpaiguri fell into disrepair. When we attempt to buy tickets, the stationmaster of Kurseong tells us that the train might leave three hours later than its scheduled departure or, perhaps, not at all. Fifteen minutes later, he sprints down the platform to give me a ticket saying, “It’s leaving now!”

An hour later, the engine hisses to life, and we wave our goodbyes. But soon, the smiling officials realise they’ve attached the engine to the wrong end of the train. If, like me, your image of the Darjeeling toy train has been constructed from picturesque scenes from Barfi and Parineeta, abandon such charming fantasies now. The train behaves more like a slow passenger than a World Heritage Steam Wagon, coughing its way up the hilly terrain. But as DHR-778 navigated the 45km stretch at more than 7,000 feet above sea level, a group of girls break into song, just like in the movies. The locomotive chugs along, billowing smoke clouds, making pit stops, skirting sleepy hamlets and passing through the hearts of others, brushing past kirana stores and football matches, picking up schoolchildren and vegetable vendors returning home, and gently letting the mountain traffic pass it by.

TRAVEL LOG

Get there

There are direct flights from Delhi and Kolkata to Bagdogra. Shared and private taxis ply from the airport to Kurseong and Darjeeling.

Stay

At Makaibari homestays (makaibari.com). For ₹700 a night, three meals and countless cups of chai, it’s a steal. Or if you’re fussy, there’s the three-star Cochrane Palace nearby (imperialchai.com). Or you could stay at Darjeeling.

Buy

Stock up on the first and second flushes, most preferred by Indians. A special diabetic tea is also available at the Estate shop.

BLinkTip

If you’re staying longer, enrol for the Nepali classes at Makaibari.