To the manor born
Gracious villa part of India’s great tea dynasties
“This is your own home now,” announces our host, welcoming us to Thengal Manor. We wish it were, this gracious residence of one of India’s great tea dynasties, which has opened the family villa, making available its idyllic gardens and an impeccable staff of 15 to overnight visitors.
Thengal Manor marked the start of a two-week journey through the world’s finest tea growing areas — India’s Assam and Darjeeling. Here we mingled with nimble-fingered women as they plucked a green sea of bushes with astounding speed, drank pink gins by the fireplace in colonial-era parlours and were very easily seduced by the pampered lifestyle of tea planters.
And of course, we drank many a cup of Assamese — “bold, sultry, malty” — and Darjeeling — “the champagne of teas, the colour of Himalayan sunlight” — enough to send aficionados into ecstasy.
I am not particularly tea-addicted. But my wife, a Scot, more than makes up for my reticence. That, plus our love for northeast India, sparked our interest in a travel niche that is very much a growing trend: tea tourism.
It’s not a particularly wellorganized pocket of the industry, but more tea estates, also called gardens, are opening their properties to guests interested not only in their product and how it comes to be, but in the unique world of tea planters, the “burra sahibs,” and their domain. Most estates are charmers dating back to the British Raj.
Those taking to the tea trails of northeast India, regions of the south and Sri Lanka, include locals and foreigners. Among them are a number of Americans, apparently because of a percolating interest in the United States in the art and taste of quality teas, though my wife insists American tea culture still consists of “hot water and a tea bag.”
Along with two friends from France, my wife and I had Thengal Manor to ourselves, along with its two hectares of lawns, a chandeliered dining room with elegant silverware, bedrooms with soaring ceilings and four-poster beds and a gallery of portraits of the Barooah family going back to Bisturam Barooah, whose son built the manor in 1929 after becoming the richest Indian tea planter in Assam.
The family began to take in visitors in 2000, but it remains very much their personal place.
In a serene enclosure behind the manor stand 19 temple-like tombs, one prepared for the current patriarch.
During our time at Thengal, ringed by rice fields, bamboo groves and neat village homes, we visited the nearby factory of the Gatoonga Tea Estate to observe the five stages of black tea-making and tour two contrasting tea trail options: Gatoonga’s Mistry Sahib’s bungalow and the Burra Sahib bungalow on the Sangsua Tea Estate.
The century-old Mistry is the ultimate getaway, almost smothered by the surrounding greenery, a classic bungalow with a wraparound veranda shaded by an immense banyan tree. Burra Sahib has been modernized and features an 18-hole golf course meandering through the tea gardens.
Our second stay in Assam was on the Addabarie Tea Estate near the city of Tezpur, where a tourism enterprise has leased a luxurious one-time residence of the tea estate manager, the threebedroom 1875 Heritage Bungalow, and five more modest houses.
“The tea planter’s lifestyle is this,” said manager Durrez Ahmed with a wave of his hand. “Lovely bungalows, sets of servants attending to your every need. So visitors who want to enjoy this kind of lifestyle come.”
It also was and remains a hardworking, lonely lifestyle in a world unto itself. Addabarie and most other larger estates have their own clinics, schools, shops and daycare centres. (Almost all tea pluckers are women; far less-nimble-fingered males need not apply.) Ruling over estates is the manager, described as a benevolent despot who, like his British antecedents, still retains a large staff and observes strict protocol. His bungalow, in the words of one Indian author, “is to the garden folk what Windsor Castle is to British citizens.”
Smaller, private estates began welcoming guests in the 1990s as a marketing strategy to help pull them out of a worldwide tea glut. Another slump followed in the early 2000s when India opened its markets to cheaper imports, forcing some growers to seek alternative sources of revenue. There’s been no looking back.
From the lowlands of Assam, we ascended 2,100 metres to the Olympus of tea: Darjeeling, where altitude, soil, slope and sunlight come together to concoct magic. Among the hill stations the British founded to flee India’s blazing summers, Darjeeling’s gems include the Windamere, haunt of tea people past and present and often cited as one of India’s finest colonial-era hotels.
Originally a hostel for bachelor tea planters dating back to the 1880s, the hotel is owned by the Tenduf-las, a prominent Tibetan family with close ties to the Raj who maintain the aura of those bygone days. There’s afternoon tea with scones, served daily since 1939 in Daisy’s Music Room where family albums are stacked atop a piano lit by candelabras. Hot water bottles are tucked into beds each evening, and real English porridge is dispensed by white-gloved waiters at breakfast.
Around Darjeeling are nearly 90 tea estates, including Makaibari, producer of India’s first organic tea and a pioneer in tea tourism, offering 21 homestays with estate workers and an upmarket residence. Back at the Windamere, we dined by candlelight with music of the 1920s and ’30s softly in the background. Before dinner, Sherab Tenduf-la, the hotel’s owner, offered us pink gins, the quintessential colonial drink, by the fireplace as cold mists veiled the looming Himalayan peaks.
The gentleman told us that the last of Darjeeling’s British tea planters, Teddy Young, died earlier this year. But along the subcontinent’s tea routes, much of the style and substance they created remains firmly implanted.