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The Quiet Pour No. 05: Stories of tea, faded memories, and borders that came too late.
While I was in Korea on a summer family trip, I found myself in conversation with a history professor. Over tea, he spoke animatedly about ancient Korean tea culture, explaining how a Buddhist monk had once smuggled tea plants from China and planted them in Hadong, laying the foundation for tea in Korea.
Then, almost as an aside, he added that tea later made its way to India when the British brought it there. I opened my mouth to correct him. Then I stopped. Instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out the indigenous Indian teas I had carried with me. I brewed them quietly. I let him see the leaves unfurl, inhale their aroma, and finally taste the cup.
That felt like a better way to begin the conversation. Why? Because the idea that tea only arrived in India with the British is one of the most persistent myths in tea history. And it couldn’t be further from the truth.
In this installment of The Quiet Pour, we’ll wander through bits of history and beautiful indigenous tea regions of India, including their unique teas, biodiversities, and practices. From Assam to Mizoram, these are places I’ve had the honor of being in community with and ones that I’m pining to visit in adventures yet to come.
Long before British colonization, long before borders were drawn between India, China, and Myanmar, indigenous tea cultures thrived across Northeast India. These regions were once part of a continuous ecological and cultural landscape shaped by forests, rivers, and migration rather than political boundaries.
What the British did bring was scale and commodification. They created vast plantations, commercialized tea, imposed a colonial labor system that exploited workers, and reshaped tea into a global commodity. They also introduced Camellia sinensis var. sinensis, smuggled out of China in the 19th century, first experimenting with it in Assam and later planting it in Darjeeling and the Nilgiris.
But tea, and tea culture, were already there. The forests of Assam were home to wild Camellia sinensis var assamica, growing freely for centuries. Indigenous communities had long harvested and processed these leaves for personal use, ritual, trade, and daily nourishment.
In the 1840s, alarmed by China’s monopoly on tea, the British East India Company orchestrated one of the most consequential acts of botanical espionage in history. Robert Fortune, a Scottish botanist, traveled through China disguised as a merchant. He collected thousands of tea seeds and plants, along with detailed knowledge of tea processing, and shipped them back to British controlled Indian territories.
These Chinese varieties were planted in Assam alongside native assamica trees. While sinensis struggled in Assam’s heat and humidity, it later found success in cooler, high elevation regions such as Darjeeling and the Nilgiris. What emerged was a hybridized tea economy layered on top of an already existing indigenous tea landscape.
Assam’s tea germ-plasm is extraordinarily diverse, with a high degree of natural mutation. One striking example is purple tea. Long before purple tea became a modern functional trend, purple leaf tea bushes were discovered growing wild in Assam. Assam’s proximity to Yunnan, the center of tea biodiversity and origin, likely contributed to this genetic richness.
In 1903, a British planter named G. W. L. Caine took purple tea cuttings from the Namrup region of Assam and planted them in Limuru, Kenya. Today, Kenya is globally known for purple tea production. India, meanwhile, has only recently begun producing small artisanal batches from its own native material.
I learned about this from a late tea master whose stories and wisdom have lingered with me. It is a quiet reminder of how much indigenous knowledge and biodiversity were extracted, relocated, and commercialized elsewhere. Not only that, he instilled in me that not many people know this bit of history; it’s something that may become lost if it’s not properly recorded and passed on.
Some of the most compelling evidence of India’s indigenous tea culture lies in indigenous forest teas, such as phalap or khalap. These practices trace back to the Jingpo people of Yunnan, known in Assam as the Singpho. As these communities migrated south and west centuries ago, they carried their tea traditions with them. Closely related groups, including Naga tribes, followed similar paths through what is now Myanmar into Nagaland and Arunachal Pradesh.
The Singpho historically harvested tea leaves from tall forest trees, sometimes using elephants to reach the upper branches. The leaves were pan fired, packed tightly into native bamboo tubes, then smoked and aged above household fireplaces. The longer a bamboo aged, the more prized it became. This was not ceremonial tea. It was everyday sustenance, shared with neighbors and consumed throughout the day.
Today, artisans such as Rajesh Singpho continue this tradition, adapting it to cultivated tea plants and shorter aging cycles. Among Naga communities, wild tea trees are still used, often replanted around homes like backyard orchards, preserving an intimate and living relationship with the land.
When I’m packing an order of khalap, it’s gratifying to know that I’m holding something so precious and cultural. This tea comes from tribes that practice centuries old traditions that transcend borders. And I get to share it with you.
In Mirem Valley in Arunachal Pradesh, families have long grown wild tea trees near their homes, creating small household gardens of assamica sinensis hybrids. Given Mirem’s geographic position between China and Assam, these teas beautifully bridge wild and cultivated traditions. Tea, here, has always been made for personal consumption and shared within the community. One of the most remarkable practices is foot rolling. After plucking, the leaves are gently bruised using clean feet in slow, semicircular movements to initiate oxidation.
When we first visited Mirem Valley this past September, we met Mrs. Tayeng. We asked her if she would be willing to show us this practice. After some consideration (and convincing!), we are so grateful she agreed. The tea made by Mrs. Tayeng changed us. Watching her carefully wash her feet, spread freshly plucked leaves on bamboo mats, and roll them with practiced grace felt like witnessing living history. The process is rhythmic, deliberate, almost dance-like.
The resulting foot rolled tea is chocolate brown, with aromas of red wine and cacao. On the palate, it carries a mineral depth reminiscent of a Wuyi oolong, layered with stone fruit, cacao, and oak bark, finishing long and quietly elegant. Once common, most of the village tea artisans now hand roll the teas, while this indigenous technique of foot rolling is now practiced by only a few elders.
My friend Max Falkowitz wrote about foot rolled tea on his Substack Leafhopper, and I definitely recommend checking it out!
Our 2026 treasured tea find came to us very early this year. As a tea appreciator, could anything be more thrilling than sipping teas that are entirely new to you? I’ve been eagerly waiting to share this story with you. We encountered a rare tradition in Leisenzo village in Champhai District, Mizoram, near the Indo Myanmar border.
Every year from March to June, villagers harvest leaves from centuries old wild tea trees and produce a yellow tea using an ingenious household method: Fresh leaves are gently steamed in a vessel placed above another pot cooking rice over a fireplace. As the tea steams, it absorbs subtle rice aromas. The result is remarkable. The cup tastes like a young sheng, layered with soft rice notes and hints of wildflowers. You can probably tell that I’m in awe of this tea. I’m excited to discover new layers to with every steep throughout this winter season.
In Manipur, close to the Myanmar border, wild tea trees still grow. Today, small family led initiatives support villagers in producing artisanal wild teas, including sheng styles. Through these efforts, teas such as Manipur Wild Galangal Black Tea and Manipur Sheng Tea continue to emerge. Though much of the indigenous tea history remains undocumented, these Manipur teas offer glimpses into traditions that deserve deeper study and preservation. I think about Manipur often, and while I hope to visit someday, it’s difficult to travel there at this time due to civil unrest in the region.
I often wonder what Indian tea would look like today without colonization. Perhaps fewer sprawling estates. Perhaps more small artisans. Perhaps a richer diversity of tea styles, rather than the long dominance of black tea driven by colonial export demands. Almost certainly, a deeper continuity of indigenous techniques such as bamboo aging, foot rolling, and forest harvesting.
Today, Indian tea stands at a crossroads. Colonial estates are slowly declining. Small producers are rising, innovating, experimenting, and reclaiming identity. At the same time, heritage tea practices remain fragile, passed orally, practiced by elders, and vulnerable to disappearance.
The more I think about it, research, and experience these teas, it solidifies my purpose as a tea founder and tea appreciator: to help create a market for these teas, share their stories, and to do my part in helping to preserve and encourage the practice of these precious indigenous techniques, one wondrous tea at a time. 🫖
