The Planters' Club: A Bygone Era

When I am home, my brother and I visit the club we frequented as children. Even though it has been more than two decades since we came here regularly, it doesn’t feel that long. Perhaps it’s because of how the winter sun feels, the fact the landscape and interiors have remained largely unchanged, and most importantly, because of the familiar face of the club-keeper who spends time talking with us and bringing our memories to life.

Living on a tea estate in Assam, with no neighbors and no friends, the club was our primary source of social interaction with people other than our parents. Up until I was 13 or so, we were regular members and visited twice a week (Wednesday and Saturday). The ritualistic nature of the visits brought together people from several nearby tea estates. It was a community of people connected solely by a desire to live and work on tea estates.

My family played tennis, squash, and football and were rather good players, while I, let’s say, did my best to focus on the ball! On Saturdays, there used to be a dinner that was put together by one of the member families. I have fond memories of eating some of the tastiest and aesthetically pleasing food here. I remember anxiously waiting for them to bring out the best part of the supper, the best part of my entire day, the pudding!

At the time, there used to be four tennis courts but only two are functional now. People used to wait in line for their turn, and while I did not understand the game, I remember being in awe of some of the people and their game. I would wait to play squash with my father. He was good at all the sports and his technique was flawless. I, as I hinted earlier, struggled to keep up with him, yet I looked forward to playing. I liked the feeling that accompanied saying “my father played squash with me”. It meant a lot to me.

The club interiors remain largely unchanged. The billiards table, the bar, the sofas, the library, and a particular painting. Staring into the painting, it’s almost as if the light from the moon behind the clouds is touching my face. The painting makes me tremendously nostalgic. I yearn for my childhood, the carefree days, my frocks, and the frogs I tried to catch and capture in houses I built using twigs.

Adjacent to the painting are collages of photographs from the 80s and 90s. As my brother and I try to recall names, the face of a woman reminds me of an aunty. I remember her rather fondly as not only was she beautiful but she was also kind. I distinctly remember her smile and laughter. For a small child, the kindness of others often leaves an indelible mark. The news of her death was a shock to me. I was young and I couldn’t understand why someone so happy would take their own life. Later I heard conflicting narratives about how she died but regardless of the stories, the heaviness in my heart did not abate.

With this memory in my mind, I walked into the library. The first thing I noticed here was the Football Tournament signboard. I was transported back to 1996 when the football tournament was underway. My father was playing for the club. All the women had to prepare some food and my mother was tasked with making 20 pizzas and 20 chocolate cakes. My brother and I were up late the night before the tournament helping her in the kitchen. I remember it being quite fun. It does take an entirely different level of ingenuity to bake pizzas and cakes with a single oven!

It was in this library that all children had to assemble to get their raffle booklet. With my booklet in hand, I ran out of the library looking for buyers. I will never forget the first person who bought tickets because he bought 10! Each was Rs. 10 so that was Rs. 100! I remember feeling ecstatic. Even now, thinking of how happy that 10-year old self of mine was, makes me smile. Years later when I asked my father about that generous man, my father told me of his tragic fate. He was stoned to his death in his office during an altercation with the laborers. His wife had reached out to us to take in their pair of Rottweilers, and even though we wanted to help, we could not as our tea estate too was amidst an upheaval.

With bittersweet memories in our minds and hearts, we say goodbye to the club-keeper and leave. As long as we live in this part of the state, we will return year-after-year, reliving memories of a bygone era.