On the greens, a farmer’s tales of yore

HE SAID HE’S A FARMER FROM KINNAUR WHO OWNED A 50-ACRE ORCHARD. I WAS FLOORED BY THE PRIDE HE TOOK IN HIS FARMING BACKGROUND

“Sir, may I join you for a game today?” he said when the two of us were heading to tee off at the Golf Club. “Sure sir, you’re welcome!” I said before whispering to my golfing buddy, Col Amrik Dhillon, “He’s going to slow down our game.”

“I’m MD Singha, an old hat of 86,” said the gentleman, introducing himself modestly. “That’s a privilege denied to many, Mr Singha,” I replied, observing that he was immaculately dressed and spoke impeccable English.

The game started and we found the old man to be perfectly measuring his swing, follow-through and stance, while maintaining a firm grip. He said he was a farmer from Kinnaur in Himachal Pradesh and went on to add that he owned an orchard of 50 acres. “We’ve been growing apples, plums and cherries since 1881,” he said.

I was floored by the pride he took in his farming background, which many think of otherwise.

Singha was educated in Shimla and went to the United States in 1962 under an international youth exchange programme where he spent stints working with young farmers. I somehow got interested in the man and asked him questions about his farm. He said they can’t use tractors or other earth-moving machines in the orchards in the hills so they employ locals as labourers. He has two packaging units on his farm, too.

Col Dhillon asked him if they really paint green apples before marketing them? Singha replied by telling the story of the Delicious variety that are blood red. One Mr Samuel Evans Stokes Jr from Philadelphia came to Kinnaur in the early 20th century and brought along that apple variety. He got interested in the local culture and wanted to settle down in India. Mr Stokes was helped by Singha’s father in converting to Hinduism to marry an Indian girl.

“Philadelphia’s Delicious variety of apples retains its original red colour since the trees are irrigated there, but here in Kinnaur, due to the monsoon, they develop fungus and have to be treated before being sold in the market,” Singha said. The British preferred the Pippin green the Golden apple varieties.

With each passing hole, the old man’s fair complexion began to change to pink, like that of all men from the hills. The sun was rising and he must have been a little warmed up by then. Singha went on to share that he was a senior member of the Naldehra Golf Club, established by the British. With a sparkle in his eyes, he said he had also played in Bali, where the caddies are all girls.

He told us about his son who was settled in the UK, a daughter in the US and the third son having taken over work at the farm.

Till now it was all Singha’s day and game, when he suddenly turned to praise my shots and asked what I did. Having known me to be a police officer, he came up with the information that the late PC Wadhwa, a one-time popular Indian Police Service officer of Haryana, had his daughter married to Singha’s son. “I’ll tell Wadhwa’s wife, Nirmal, about you,” he said.

By now, I was curious and asked him a little euphemistically, “Does Mrs Singha live with you on your farm?” He cut me short and said, “Yes, she visits the farm more often than me being a third-generation progeny of Mr Stokes of Philadelphia!”