Glimpses of India

Elders in Goa reminisce about Portuguese days and famous loaves. The eaters of loaves may have gone, but bakers called pader still exist with their age-old furnaces. The thud and jingle of the baker's bamboo can still be heard as he arrives in the morning.

Lucio Rodrigues opens with nostalgia. Goan elders still speak fondly of the good old Portuguese days and their famous bread. Though many old customers have vanished, the makers remain - mixers, moulders and bakers. Time-tested furnaces still burn; the traditional baker's bamboo staff, with its thud and jingle heralding his arrival, can still be heard. Even if the father is dead, the son may carry on the family profession. These bakers are known as pader in Goa.

In childhood the baker came twice daily. Children ran to greet him not for the ordinary loaves but for bread-bangles and sweet bread. They peeped into his basket, skipped brushing teeth, and joked that hot tea cleans everything - like the tiger who never brushed!

During the author's childhood the baker was friend, companion and guide. He came at least twice a day - in the morning on his round and again after emptying his basket. The jingling bamboo woke the children, who ran to greet him. They did not crave the loaves bought by the maid; they longed for bread-bangles and sometimes special sweet bread. The baker announced himself with 'jhang, jhang', basket on head, bamboo striking the ground. After a mild rebuke the loaves went to the servant, but children climbed benches or parapets to peep in and smell the fragrant loaves. They did not bother to brush teeth properly; hot tea, they felt, washed everything clean - after all, the tiger never brushed his teeth!

Marriage gifts need sweet bol bread; parties and feasts need bread; engagement calls for sandwiches; Christmas needs cakes and bolinhas. The baker's furnace is essential to village life. Bakers wore kabai in old days; today half-pants invite the joke 'dressed like a pader'.

Bread is central to Goan social life. Marriage gifts are meaningless without the sweet bread called bol; a party or feast loses charm without bread. On a daughter's engagement the lady of the house must prepare sandwiches. Cakes and bolinhas are a must for Christmas and other festivals. The village baker's furnace is absolutely essential. In Portuguese times bakers wore the kabai, a single-piece long frock to the knees; later they wore shorter trousers. Anyone in half-pants reaching just below the knees is said to be dressed like a pader. Bakers collected bills monthly, recorded in pencil on a wall. Baking was profitable; the plump, prosperous look of bakers and their families was open testimony - even today a jackfruit-like physique is compared to a baker.

Midway between Mysore and Mangalore lies Coorg (Kodagu), Karnataka's smallest district - a piece of heaven with rolling hills, rainforests, spices and coffee. Monsoon rain keeps some visitors away; September to March is the season of joy.

Lokesh Abrol describes Coorg as coffee country. Midway between Mysore and the coastal town of Mangalore sits a land that seems to have drifted from the kingdom of God - rolling hills, proud martial people, beautiful women and wild creatures. Coorg, or Kodagu, the smallest district of Karnataka, has evergreen rainforests, spices and coffee plantations covering thirty per cent of the area. Monsoons pour heavily and deter some tourists, but from September to March the weather is perfect. The air breathes invigorating coffee; estates and colonial bungalows nestle under tree canopies in prime corners.

The Kodavus may be of Greek or Arabic descent. They wear the kuppia, like an Arab kuffia. Coorgi homes are hospitable; the Coorg Regiment is highly decorated; General Cariappa was a Coorgi. Kodavus alone may carry firearms without a licence in India.

The fiercely independent Kodavus are possibly of Greek or Arabic descent. One story says part of Alexander's army settled here when return became impractical and married locals; their martial culture shows in traditions and rites distinct from the Hindu mainstream. Arab origin is linked to the kuppia, a long black coat with embroidered waist-belt resembling the kuffia of Arabs and Kurds. Coorgi homes practise warm hospitality and love recounting tales of valour. The Coorg Regiment is among the most decorated in the Indian Army; General Cariappa, the first Army Chief, was a Coorgi. Even today Kodavus are the only Indians permitted to carry firearms without a licence.

River Kaveri gets water from Coorg's hills. Mahseer fish, kingfishers, elephants and langurs fill the landscape. Tourists enjoy rafting, canoeing, rappelling and treks. Brahmagiri hills, Nisargadhama island and Bylakuppe's Tibetan monks add to Coorg's surprises.

The Kaveri river draws water from Coorg's hills and forests. Mahseer fish abound; kingfishers dive; squirrels and langurs drop fruit into the water for the splash. Elephants are bathed by mahouts in the river. Even laidback visitors take to high-energy sports - rafting, canoeing, rappelling, rock climbing and mountain biking. Walking trails attract trekkers; macaques, Malabar squirrels and slender loris watch from the canopy. The Brahmagiri climb offers a panoramic misty view; a rope bridge leads to the sixty-four-acre Nisargadhama. Buddhist monks from Bylakuppe, India's largest Tibetan settlement, are among the surprises awaiting visitors who seek the heart of India in Coorg.

Rajvir and his Assamese classmate Pranjol travel by train. A vendor cries 'chai-garam'. Rajvir tells Pranjol that over eighty crore cups of tea are drunk daily worldwide. Green paddy fields give way to magnificent tea bushes stretching to the wooded hills.

Arup Kumar Datta's story begins on a train. Pranjol from Assam and Rajvir from Delhi sip steaming tea as a vendor calls 'Chai-garam... garam-chai'. Rajvir shares the fact that over eighty crore cups of tea are consumed every day across the world. Pranjol reads a detective book, but Rajvir watches the scenery - green everywhere. Soft green paddy fields gradually change into tea bushes: a magnificent view against densely wooded hills, a sea of neatly pruned bushes, tall shade-trees, and doll-like figures of pluckers moving among the rows. In the distance smoke billows from factory chimneys. Rajvir cries excitedly, 'Hey, a tea garden!' but plantation-born Pranjol is calm: Assam has the largest concentration of tea gardens in the world.

Rajvir has read about tea legends: a Chinese emperor whose water was flavoured by tea leaves blown into the pot. Indian legend: Bodhidharma cut off his eyelids; ten tea plants grew and banished sleep. Tea was first drunk in China around 2700 B.C.; words like chai and chini come from Chinese.

Rajvir has read widely about tea and tells Pranjol legends of its discovery. In one Chinese story an emperor who always boiled water before drinking found that leaves from burning twigs fell into the pot and gave a delicious flavour - said to be tea leaves. The Indian legend says Bodhidharma, an ancient Buddhist ascetic, cut off his eyelids because he felt sleepy during meditation; ten tea plants sprang up, and their leaves in hot water banished sleep. Rajvir adds that tea was first drunk in China as far back as 2700 B.C., and words such as tea, 'chai' and 'chini' come from Chinese. Tea reached Europe only in the sixteenth century and was first taken more as medicine than as a beverage.

At Mariani junction Pranjol's parents meet the boys and drive to Dhekiabari, managed by Pranjol's father. Acres of pruned tea bushes line the road. Women pluckers in plastic aprons fill bamboo baskets. Rajvir knows it is second-flush season (May–July), when the best tea is yielded.

The train reaches Mariani junction; the boys collect luggage and meet Pranjol's waiting parents. They drive towards Dhekiabari, the tea-garden managed by Pranjol's father. The car veers off the main road, crosses a cattle-bridge and enters the estate. On both sides stretch acre upon acre of tea bushes pruned to uniform height. Groups of pluckers with bamboo baskets on their backs, wearing plastic aprons, pluck newly sprouted leaves. A tractor pulls a trailer-load of leaves. Rajvir asks Mr Barua whether this is the second-flush or sprouting period from May to July that yields the best tea. Pranjol's father is surprised that Rajvir has done his homework; Rajvir hopes to learn much more during his visit.