My love- affair with gardening started at my grandparents beautiful garden in Dothray Tea Estate Darjeeling, India. I was probably six years old and my brother was three. Almost every school holiday, mother would pack our bags and we would head towards Dothray Tea Estate. Sometimes grandpa would be in town on business and we would head down together in the evening in Tea Estate’s sturdy Land Rover car.
Every visit, when the car headlights would cast its bright light on the house, pet dog Bhatuwa would lead the way barking with grandma rushing towards us with big relief. We could see she was worried. After eating a hearty meal cooked by grandma and little chit-chat next to the fireplace we were tugged in bed.
It was a big bungalow amidst scores of green tea garden as far as eyes could see, far from the maddening crowd. I vividly remember the house with a long veranda and two sling chairs made of white canvas with a wooden frame. I and my brother often sat on these chairs in the evening waiting for the wild rabbits to wander in the garden. When we were bored, we played a game. We would take turns to go under the chair and lift the person sitting. Oh what fun we had- wonders of childhood.
Next to the gutter in front were the lovely yellow nasturtiums with round leaves that grew in abundance. The flowers in the main garden in front were planted in circles- rose bush in the middle like a sun, followed by pansies, carnations, globe amaranth, chrysanthemum, marigold, cock’s comb, gladiolus and many others like the revolving planets on its orbits. I thought it was a very clever idea. Sometimes, a gardener would come and I used to watch him dig and plant flowers. When my grandparents were on their feet I would ask if I could help them and they would put me the simple task of weeding. I loved it. Some sunny days, we would all go out in the front lawn and spread a mat. Mum, grandma and aunty would be knitting or stitching while we played or sometimes we simply lied down and enjoyed looking at the clear blue sky. Some lucky day grandma made us toys with scrap clothes- doll with long dress for me and a boy wearing a cap for my brother. It was all followed by little snack and tea in the evening and it was lovely.
Apart from the flower garden, grandma and grandpa also had a huge vegetable garden. They used to plant all sorts of vegetables from tomatoes, spinach, coriander, peas, potatoes, sweet potatoes. We used to follow grandpa whenever he went on this trip. Grandpa in front with plough on his shoulder followed by me and my brother behind me, we liked it that way. Grandpa is a man of few words unless he has few glasses of whisky. Since my brother had just started talking he used to ask million questions. It usually used to start with “Grandpa?” and grandpa would mutter “umm?” “Where are we going? “ “umm” “Why is that butterfly flying?” “umm” “Where is that butterfly flying?” “umm”. Amazingly my brother was satisfied with these replies or he knew how to decode these messages.
A wild plant called tomatillo grew in abundance in the vegetable garden and we used to eat them while grandpa dug the field. Once he called us out to show us the biggest number of potatoes he had ever dug. It sat lined up in a row like me and my friends in the classroom. Sometimes everyone would come to the vegetable garden and help grandpa dig and collect the produce.
There was a little stream next to entrance which always had white datura flowers in bloom. We were told they are poisonous and not to pluck them and never to let out feet out of the entrance. We could hear the stream flowing and occasional calls of birds while we played in the pine tree trunk which had recently been chopped. Grandma gave us bottle cans, little tinker which was our pots and pans. Grandma was an excellent cook and my tummy would rumble every now and then. We used to take a break from our play and run to the kitchen to check whether lunch was ready. Grandma used to point at the grandfather clock which stood on the sitting room and tell us “When the small arrow and big arrow touches 12 then it is lunch time”. We then took turns to check once every now and then to see if it did.
Grandpa would come home riding on a company horse for lunch. After lunch he often let us ride on the horse, one full circle around the house. It was usually a siesta time after lunch and in the evening sometimes we all went on a stroll around the tea estate. One could see scores of green tea plants all around, with cobbled path for people to walk in between. Sometimes we saw half a body of women plucking and collecting tea-leaves between the tea plants. They would always yell “Namaste” to us and then continue with their task. The baskets of precious tea-leaves when full were sent off to the factory to be processed which would later land somewhere in Europe and Australia in a gentleman’s tea cup.
Thapa Uncle, who took care of grandpa’s horse took us on a stroll sometimes. He took care of the reins while we sat on the horse and off we went up the hills. He would pass us each a branch of wild fruit which looked like a dry tamarind that made a rattling noise every time we shook it. We would rattle-rattle and horse would trot-trot. One day, we found a nest with little baby birds in one of the tea bush. I wanted to take them home but Thapa Uncle gently said no by telling us that it is a sin to separate baby birds from his mother. And how would we feel if we were to be separated from our mother. I was petrified of such a thought and that was probably my life’s first lesson.
Our trip to grandparents abode was short lived but there are so many beautiful memories to cherish. Iron stove in the kitchen and warmth and conversation around it. Chicken that became victims of wild jackal and the day grandma let Batwa loose and screamed “Go and get him and I will make a cap out of its skin” and the memory of us laughing at her. The peacock that stopped visiting us for food and we later learnt was killed by the villagers and eaten. Walking all the way up the hill with grandpa and watching village football match half shrouded with mist. My answer “showed it to grandpa” when mother asked and “showed it to mother” when grandpa asked about my school homework. Mother’s laughter and trying to undo my pyjama’s multiple knots as I didn’t know how to tie a bow string knot.
Dad got transferred to Gangtok (Sikkim) and soon we went to live with him in a big crowded building. There were no gardens to play and wander. But we all loved flowers so we planted them on pots and had them lined up on the edge of the building below our windows. Dad applied for an office quarter and few years later we moved there. It was much better there and dad cleared the nearby land for our vegetable garden. We moved to another single storey house and had ample space for gardening. Dad set up a beautiful garden all around the house. Together we collected varieties of flowers. We had roses, chamomile, pansies, marigold and flowers I don’t even know the names of. Dad loved his garden, he never swept the floor inside the house but he had special broom for the garden and you would see him brooming the garden. It was neat, clean and beautiful.
Wherever I've lived we always and have planted flower everywhere we lived- in Gangtok, India, unit 112 Student Village in Toowoomba, in Brisbane, now in Adelaide and I will continue this legacy wherever I go. I cannot imagine life without flowers. I miss my Dad and Grandma and love my grandpa who taught me to love flowers. This story is dedicated to you all.
