“Two Leaves and a Bud,” intoned the estate manager solemnly as we obediently raised and drank from our pink patterned cups. “That’s what we pluck from each tea bush, the top two inches….”
“Bit of a waste then, isn’t it?” I thought inattentively, as my mind wandered off the manager’s presentation and around the sunny, wood-paneled room. We were on a field trip to a local tea estate and the room was vintage Passage to India. One of my favorite kinds of décor – British colonial.
Tea plantations were, and are, ubiquitous in the Blue Hills and near Lovedale – whether driving up from Coimbatore; dodging elephants in Bandipur and Mudumalai while driving up from Mysore; or taking the little toy train up from Mettupalayam.
They present a series of serene and timeless images: gentle mists wafting over flat-top bushes that spread over rolling hills; the rhythmic cadence of crickets; wiry tea pluckers hauling baskets virtually the same size as themselves; the lines of workers' homes; the plantation house itself…
For all my inattentiveness on that school trip, I was thinking about the Two Leaves and a Bud line last night as I made myself a cup. It wasn't Nilgiri tea, but a supermarket wannabe in a tea bag. No jaggery. And then, I couldn't help it - I went looking for a video...
Interestingly enough, the process looks very similar to the one we saw as a class, especially the tray that’s shaking (curing?) the tea leaves. I can almost smell the tea in the video. Which visual is a bit alarming, now that I think of it…
Tea from these estates would eventually wind its way to our kitchens at Lovedale; remember my earlier post? Some of the best tea I have ever had in my life – was at Lovedale. The title of this post, by the way, is a nod to Mulk Raj Anand, whose dreadfully earnest book I never managed to finish. The image is from Wikipedia, taken by Dave Oceano.
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