As the blush of dawn cloaks the Palk Bay and the Gulf of Mannar, the tappers, with brimming kuduvais, walk back to makeshift sheds with tin roofs (that cost ₹5,000 to erect) where jaggery is made.
Thopparaj, 35, walks to a shed with the sap he has collected. The roof is made of woven palm-leaf and is in shreds; a little curl of smoke rises up. Inside, his wife squats on the floor, stoking a flame beneath a big cauldron. As Thopparaj pours the sap, Lakshmi Thopparaj, 35, slowly stirs the liquid with a ladle.
After an hour, the liquid splutters. The smoke from the firewood turns suffocating but she goes on. Three hours later the gooey mass is poured into broken coconut shells that act as moulds for the palm jaggery to set.
