After that, to help the indigo particles settle as sediment at the bottom of the lower tank, the water has to be aerated, a process that used to be far more picturesque. With the pooja complete, the foreman opens a hole in the upper tank and the water gushes into the tank below it. Labourers unload spent indigo sheaves for composting
#Blue indigo plant full#
They then bundle up their bounty of leaves, load it on a tractor and bring it to the tanks.īack at the extraction unit, one of the tanks is already full from the previous day, wooden logs secured over the sea of leaves to keep the plants immersed in the water that shines with a greenish-blue hue. In minutes, sickles swinging deftly, the men and women harvest the lush Indigofera plants that have grown about 10cm (four inches) high. Out in the fields, the female farmers smile at the presence of strangers, while the men seem to acknowledge the visitors less. Then, the leaves have to reach the first tank within three hours in order to yield the best quality indigo, Balachander says.Ī five-minute drive away from the extraction unit – past simple concrete village houses and a group of children playing cricket in a coconut grove – is an inconspicuous indigo farm where the leaves are ready for harvest. Indigofera plants, which look a bit like basil, must be harvested just before their pink flowers bloom. A farmer with his bounty of Indigofera leaves before they are sold and processed After the fermentation, the leaves are removed, and the water is drained into another massive tank where the solution oxidises and sediment settles at the bottom of the tank finally, the sediment powder is dried and packed into cakes. First, the leaves are harvested from neighbouring farms then they are gathered together and immersed in a huge tank filled with water, where they are weighed down and allowed to ferment.
The work of getting dye from Indigofera happens in stages. Every year, export companies, handicraft industries and renowned designers come knocking on the doors of this nondescript village to get their hands on the precious “blue gold”. Today, indigo is celebrated in Kongarappatu and neighbouring villages for putting them on the map, a far cry from its wretched colonial past. Green leaves to blue dyeĭuring colonial times, many Indian farmers were strong-armed by the British Raj into growing indigo instead of food crops, the dye was then bought by the Raj at unfairly low prices. “We envisage work as worship,” Balachander says. In fact, many Hindu Gods like Kaali and Krishna are often portrayed in the colour blue as it symbolises the colour of the cosmos. Here, indigo is perceived as a Blue Goddess. “I have watched the indigo plants being harvested and have seen my grandmother offer her prayers to the Neel Atha before beginning indigo extraction at our plant.” “Even as a child, I grew up with indigo all around me,” says the soft-spoken Balachander. The Anbhazhagan family perfected the patient craft of extracting natural indigo dye from Indigofera plants, using the same century-old, colonial-era cement tanks their relatives used before them.Īll these years later, the company is now the largest producer of natural indigo dye in India. Balachander, a fourth-generation indigo farmer The 33-year-old is the scion of KMA Exports, an indigo farming and production company that has operated here since the 1960s.īalachander’s great-grandfather started processing indigo during colonial times – when the naturally sourced dye was a valuable commodity. “It is almost a festival for our village,” says Balachander Anbhazhagan. The foreman says a two-minute prayer for Neel Atha (or the Blue Mother) – the sacred name the villagers have for indigo – and presents an offering of bananas and coconut, blessed fruits according to Hindu rituals. But October finally brought the first day of “thotti podurathu” – when the traditional tanks are set up to extract the dye from the Indigofera plants.īefore work can begin, labourers and onlookers gather around the century-old tanks for a simple pooja, or prayer, invoking divine blessings. Production, which usually takes place three times a year, was delayed this year because of the coronavirus pandemic. In the factory, a foreman scuttles around anxiously, checking for absent labourers two sari-clad neighbours whisper to one another while combing their long hair and stray dogs run amok, sensing the anticipation in the air.įor four generations indigo has been grown, harvested and made into dye on this family-owned plot in Tamil Nadu. It is 6am in the small village of Kongarapattu in South India and the cloudy October sky is threatening to burst.
0 kommentar(er)
