The visual imagery of Assam is incomplete without its picturesque tea gardens. The landscape in this lush region, watered by the mighty Brahmaputra and its tributaries, is dotted with tall shade-giving trees interspersed with the smaller Camellia sinensis (more popularly known as the tea plant). No tea estate is complete without the sprawling bungalow of the Estate Manager. Most of these structures are a legacy of the colonial era and are reminiscent of Scarlett O’Hara’s Tara. With time, much of the glamour associated with the clubs and parties of tea planters has disappeared and been overtaken by news of workers’ unrest and strikes. Yet, these bungalows are a testimony to the luxurious life-styles of the days of yore. The story from the anthology ‘Fly on the Wall & Other Stories’ “A Chance Encounter” is set in one such tea-estate.
On an anecdotal note, the bungalow described in the story is not a figment of my imagination but a tourist spot for tea connoisseurs and those willing to go off the beaten path. I happened to visit it while on an annual sojourn to Assam a few years ago. The beautiful architecture of the building with its sloping roofs and wooden panels, the deep-rooted sense of history evident in the ornate furniture and above all, the hospitable staff left an indelible impression on my mind. I could not resist writing a story against such a perfect setting! It’s a typical Ramsay Brothers’ script that some of you would recognize from the hilarious horror movies of the ‘80s. On a dark stormy night, a young man, takes shelter in a tea planter’s bungalow. Strange events in the night build up to an interesting finale. Hope you enjoy reading the excerpt-
“He awoke to hear the rain pattering against the A-shaped roof of the bungalow. Only the sounds of the night were audible – a toad croaking outside his open window, in the distance the faint hooting of an owl, the singing of cicadas. He lay in bed, re-orienting himself. His HMT wrist watch showed the time as 1.13 a.m. Then it came again – the sound that had awakened him – loud wracking coughs. The medical professional in him swung into action. He was out of the door with a bottle of cough suppressant before his rational mind could stop him. The bungalow was ablaze with lights. In the circular verandah, an old man sat in a silk dressing gown on one of the cane sofas. A chess board complete with all the pieces was kept on the table before him. The white pawn had been moved forward, awaiting black to make its move…..”
On an anecdotal note, the bungalow described in the story is not a figment of my imagination but a tourist spot for tea connoisseurs and those willing to go off the beaten path. I happened to visit it while on an annual sojourn to Assam a few years ago. The beautiful architecture of the building with its sloping roofs and wooden panels, the deep-rooted sense of history evident in the ornate furniture and above all, the hospitable staff left an indelible impression on my mind. I could not resist writing a story against such a perfect setting! It’s a typical Ramsay Brothers’ script that some of you would recognize from the hilarious horror movies of the ‘80s. On a dark stormy night, a young man, takes shelter in a tea planter’s bungalow. Strange events in the night build up to an interesting finale. Hope you enjoy reading the excerpt-
“He awoke to hear the rain pattering against the A-shaped roof of the bungalow. Only the sounds of the night were audible – a toad croaking outside his open window, in the distance the faint hooting of an owl, the singing of cicadas. He lay in bed, re-orienting himself. His HMT wrist watch showed the time as 1.13 a.m. Then it came again – the sound that had awakened him – loud wracking coughs. The medical professional in him swung into action. He was out of the door with a bottle of cough suppressant before his rational mind could stop him. The bungalow was ablaze with lights. In the circular verandah, an old man sat in a silk dressing gown on one of the cane sofas. A chess board complete with all the pieces was kept on the table before him. The white pawn had been moved forward, awaiting black to make its move…..”
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