Ranga came from Assam, one of India’s 28 states. It’s one of a group of states in the far northeast of the country, somewhat separated from the rest of India. Bangladesh lies to its south and Bhutan to its north. Soon after the British established rule in India, dozens of Welsh missionaries arrived in Assam. Among the legacies of those Baptists were hospitals and schools, including some offering education for girls.
Though I know Ranga Puia was born in Assam, in the foothills of the eastern Himalayas, the true year and date of his birth are unknown. He came under the influence of the Welsh Baptists, who guessed at his age and gave him a birthday: St David’s day. Ranga prospered under the education system in Assam, qualified as a surveyor, and emigrated to South Wales.
Infectious joy
I met Ranga when we both worked, although in different offices, for British Coal’s Opencast Executive. He was always smiling, and often laughing, with a laugh that seemed to involve his whole body. There’s a medical term for loss of muscle control, often while laughing: cataplexy. But it does little to convey the infectious joy of Ranga’s laughter and the way it took him over. He was open, honest, and so obviously transparent.
Those traits helped Ranga out while he was travelling home to Swansea along Fabian Way after work one day. He was pulled over by a police Land Rover for speeding. The officer approached his car and found Ranga doubled over with laughter on his steering wheel.
“Do you know how fast you were travelling, sir?”
“I was going as fast as I could. I was trying to shake you off.”
“And why was that, sir?”
“I saw a Land Rover in my rearview mirror, and thought it was the boys from the site having fun with me.”
Completely disarmed, the policeman let Ranga off with a caution, and walked back to his vehicle shaking his head.
Ranga, as always, laughing
Working in different offices as we did, I didn’t always get to see the impacts of Ranga’s character. But we would regularly hear feedback from meetings in which someone was being falsely accused of errors. It was said that Ranga invariably leapt to the defence of the innocent.
Ranga turned up at one regional meeting with a large plaster on his cheek. As always, he was laughing. He told the story – and because of his laughter, we may not have understood it entirely correctly – that he’d been in the habit of rescuing autumn orphan hedgehogs found on his travels. Apparently, while feeding one hedgehog, he had been bitten by the ungrateful creature. Part of the medical treatment or diagnosis after the bite was to have his face sandpapered, hence the plaster?
The hedgehog bite however, was only one such incident. Ranga had a history of animal bites. Prior to the hedgehog incident, he had been bitten by a pig while trying to feed it in Margam Park. Long before that, he said, he had suffered a monkey bite in Assam.
A perfect gentleman
No one was sure of Ranga’s exact age. There was speculation that he was older than the age the Welsh missionaries had estimated. Very sadly, he passed away some years ago. Some of his former colleagues, myself included, were moved to attend the funeral service. As I recall, it was held in a small venue somewhere in Sketty – perhaps a Baptist chapel.
We knew little of Ranga’s personal life. A moving eulogy was given by an obviously very loving stepson, who had been taught to play the guitar by his stepfather. He recalled blistered and painful fingers from long lessons.
It emerged that Ranga, like myself, was a big fan of the Kinks. His stepson had written a song which had been sent to, and been of interest to, the group. Ranga had been very proud.
Rest in peace. Ranga. You were a perfect gentleman and a delight to be with. And if Welsh missionaries in Assam played some part in leading you to Wales, then those of us there who worked with you can count ourselves very fortunate.
