It is 9.45am, and I am standing in the Guntur Chilli Yard, trying to make sense of the chaos around me. I see trucks piled high with jute gunny bags coming in and out of the main gate. A larger-than-life statue of a smiling farmer, dressed in white, with a thick garland of bright red plastic chillies around his neck. A weighing bridge that tractors drive onto to tally their load. A poster for a handloom exhibition feat. an illustrated red chilli dressed in a sari, jewellery and all.
Everywhere I look, people are bagging, sorting, buying, selling, and transporting chilli peppers. I can smell them in the air, feel the heat of the chillies on my skin, and in my lungs, and I make a mental note to carry a towel next time. With me is Vinod Narne, whose family grows Diaspora’s gorgeous Guntur Sannam Chilli Powder, made from the GI-Tagged Guntur chilli that is grown in the hot, arid districts of Guntur in Andhra Pradesh.
As we walk around, Vinod explains how things at the yard work: The Mirchi Yard (Mirchi = chilli) is the largest chilli market in the world, lined with hundreds of stalls arranged in neat rows under a metal roof. Farmers arrive early in the morning from farms around the state, set up their wares, and negotiate directly with the buyers. They pay a small rental fee for stall space, and keep all profits from sales.
There are a mind-boggling variety of chillies to be seen: small, wrinkled red chillies, mellow yellow chillies, smooth-skinned peppers the size of my palm, with swirls of vermillion and maroon. Like a painting. Some sacks are open, so customers can see, sniff, and taste the wares. Others are stitched close, with a code stamped on the outside that denotes the farm of origin.
This Chilli Yard is meant to give food-growers a chance to sell directly to consumers, thereby getting a better price for their harvest, but the truth is that the sellers greatly outweigh the buyers, and few farmers can afford to wait for a good price. Those that have the luxury of time, transport unsold chillies to cold storage units around the market, where they remain until the farmer finds a suitable buyer.
Interestingly, there are no Guntur chillies to be found in the Guntur Chilli Yard.
Guntur Sannam (aka Capsicum annuum var. longum) is an heirloom variety valued for its thick outer skin, rich colour, and flavour. It was once the chilli of choice in homes across the region where it was used to make chutneys, curries, and spice powders but today, it has been largely replaced by hybrid varieties with names like S-17 and Super 10 that are valued for their high yield and compatibility with pesticides and fertiliser.
Until 2008, the Narne family too sold their chillies at this market, as they were practicing chemical farming at the time. At some point, they realised that the investment costs of seed, pesticides and fertiliser left very little money for their family’s needs. “With chemical farming, it is high input, high output,” explains Vinod. “If everything goes fine, then there is a chance for profit. But in case of heavy rain or drought, it will mostly lead to debt. Because there is no money for necessities, and there is a high investment cost to recover.”
When Vinod’s father Hanumantha Rao Narne realised the math was not mathing, the family started experimenting with the natural farming methods of agriculturist Subhash Palekar. His zero-budget approach to growing food, one that favours using freely available materials, became hugely popular in India in the late 1990s, especially with livelihood farmers who were feeling the financial burn.
Instead of hybrid seeds that need to be purchased every year, the Narnes began to grow native heirlooms that enable saving seed. Instead of external inputs, they began making jeevamrut, a mix made of water, cow dung, cow urine, gram flour, ripe fruit, and a handful of microbe-rich soil, that serves as fertiliser and inoculant to boost the vitality of the soil biome.
Eighteen years since their first experiments began, Vinod’s father, Hanumantha Rao Narne and his brother Satyanarayana Narne, are now award-winning farmers who have been felicitated by the Andhra Pradesh state government, for their regenerative approach to growing food. The family has a thriving 4.5-acre farm a few minutes from their home in the village of Vinjanampadu where they proudly grow heirloom Guntur chillies using exclusively natural farming methods. “Nothing is procured from outside,” says Vinod. “Not a single thing.”
In regenerative farming terms, this would be a closed loop system, or circular agriculture that makes the most of nutrients, water, and organic waste within the habitat, thereby reducing reliance on external inputs. The Narnes have nearly eliminated external inputs – a remarkable feat in any part of the world, but more so in this challenging climate where rainfall is scarce and afternoon temperatures often reach 40°C.
Thankfully, it is not as hot when we arrive at Narne's farm a short while later, though the heat is palpable. It is the end of January, approaching harvest time, and the plants are adorned with tiny white flowers, and plump red chillies, like baubles on a Christmas tree. I walk through rows of tightly cropped Guntur chilli plants, intercropped with millet and cowpea, and vegetables like bottle gourd, cucumber, and brinjal. The soil feels dry to touch, but the plants are happy and beaming despite the strong afternoon sun - a sign that they are getting the water they need despite the heat.
Vinod shows me barrels of Dashaparni Kashayam, a botanical extract made from fermenting cow urine along with the ten types of leaves, including neem. The resulting mix is a bitter, potent, astringent liquid that is said to control pests like aphids and white flies, that favour chilli plants. The Narnes also fumigate their farm every fifteen days, using balls of cow dung and green neem leaves that are dried in the sun, and then set on fire to release a thick smoke. It reminds me of dhoop: an incense blend that is burnt at dusk in Indian homes, to keep mosquitoes at bay. In the Narne’s case, the smoke is meant to asphyxiate any insects that cannot fly away, thereby controlling pest populations.
As often happens on farm visits, I am reminded of the quantum of work that goes into growing food, especially using regenerative methods. The field has to be planted, constantly weeded, and tended to daily. So do the cows that need to be fed, walked, cleaned, and milked. The mixes need to be made, monitored, and applied periodically. The chillies need to be sowed, harvested, then dried. Back breaking work, that is severely and sadly undervalued on most parts of the planet.
As I ponder the state of our food system, I see Hanumantha Rao gathering ripe red chillies in the distance. A short distance away, Vinod is talking with his sister Vijaylakshmi, while her son Tejaswin holds up a bottle gourd the size of his torso like a prize trophy (he’s 4). Three generations in communion with the soil that feeds them all - how many of us have, or will ever, experience this? I say a silent prayer that the little one continues to have this relationship of nourishment, wonder, and joy with the land that feeds him.
On second thought, this is my wish for us all.
May we all feel the nourishment, joy, and wonder that our habitats offer us every single day.
May we take the time to feel
the life-giving warmth of the sun,
the Earth beneath our hands,
the joy of eating food
grown with care, love, and integrity.
May we feel this love, may we cherish it, may we protect it.
In gratitude for Earth,
Neha
