Most of us walk into a supermarket, pick up a pack of fresh fruits and vegetables, and walk out. We don’t pause to wonder: who grew this? Where did it travel from? How did it remain so green, so perfect, in the chaos of the Indian supply chain?
Behind every fruits and vegetables is a farmer. And behind the banana leaves in our stores, for eight quiet years, there’s been one name: Anand A Shetty from Chikkaballapur, Karnataka.
The Ritual of Everyday Work
For Anand A Shetty, farming is personal.
“I’m not a big farmer,” Anand says with a shy smile. “But my work feeds traditions.” He cultivates just under two acres of land without any tractors and automation.
“I start at four-thirty,” Anand says, not like he’s boasting, but like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Before the world stirs, before the streets fill with honking, Anand is already walking through his banana grove. No machines. No apps. Just his hands, his eyes, and a feel for what the plant is ready to give.
He knows which leaf to cut, which one to leave for another day. It's a rhythm he's built over years. "You can't rush a banana leaf as it'll tear." Each leaf is carefully selected, washed with clean water, and gently dried. Wrapped in sanitized cloth to preserve freshness. Packed with meticulous care in temperature-controlled containers for the journey. He does it like he's preparing a gift and not a product.
“If it reaches you clean, without a tear - that’s success.”
A Relationship Built on Trust, Not Transactions
He didn’t always supply to retail. In fact, he avoided it.
“Middlemen would come, take the leaves, and sometimes not even pay,” Anand recalls. “It was risky.”
Then one day, someone from "more" showed up at his farm. Not to inspect. To listen.
“They asked how I work. What support I needed. Not what price I’d take. That was different.” He decided to give it a shot. He packed his best leaves and took them to the More collection centre, 24 km away. He still remembers that first day. “I was nervous. I thought they’d find faults, send everything back.”
But they didn't. They inspected the bundles with proper quality protocols, gave him clear feedback, and paid him the same day.
Today, every Monday and Thursday, Anand delivers fresh banana leaves to the more collection center, 24 kilometers away. Not a single delivery missed in eight years.
Why He Stayed
During the lockdown, when mandis shut down and transport vanished, Anand was ready to take the hit. He thought the season was lost. His usual buyers had disappeared, and the local markets were empty. For weeks, he watched his banana plants grow while worrying about his family's future.
"I kept thinking about my children's school fees, about the loans I had taken for seeds," he recalls. "Those were dark days."
But then More's team called. They arranged local pickup with all safety protocols in place. Paid him in advance. More importantly, they increased their orders, understanding that small farmers like him needed the support more than ever.
"No one else called. Only they did. I didn't forget that."
The pandemic taught Anand something profound about partnerships. "It's not just about business when times are good," he reflects. "It's about who stands with you when everything falls apart. That's when you know the relationship is real."
Farming Is Not the Hard Part. Keeping Faith Is.
Farming banana leaves is not glamorous. There are no headlines. No high prices. Only relentless care.
"There are weeks when insects destroy half my crop," Anand says. "Or when it rains at the wrong time and everything bruises."
But the real challenge isn't the farming, it's maintaining belief in a system that often seems stacked against small farmers. "My father told me stories of good harvests that never reached good prices, of middlemen who promised the world and delivered nothing," Anand shares. "For the longest time, I thought that was just how farming worked."
The uncertainty extends beyond weather and pests. "You plant with hope, you tend with care, but you never know if the market will value your work," he explains. "Some years, the same quality leaves that fetch good money suddenly become 'surplus' in the market."
What keeps him going is the knowledge that his work matters beyond the economics. "Every festival season, every wedding, every auspicious occasion, families are using leaves that passed through my hands. That connection to tradition, to culture, that's what sustains me through the difficult months."
The Journey to the Centre
On collection day, Anand loads the bundles by 5 AM. The center is 24 kilometers away - a dusty road, unpredictable traffic, and a high chance of leaf damage if not packed properly.
Still, he never misses.
At the centre, he waits while each bundle is opened and checked under strict quality guidelines. Some days, he gets rejections. Some days, a full thumbs-up.
"Even rejection doesn't feel harsh," he says. "They tell me why. And help me improve. They show me the quality standards, explain what customers expect."
What He Hopes You Know
When someone picks up a banana leaf in a supermarket, Anand doesn’t expect them to know him. But he hopes they understand a little of what went into it.
“That leaf - someone woke up early for it. Someone packed it gently. Not because they had to, but because it meant something.”
He doesn’t want credit. But he wants care. “Don’t just throw it away like plastic,” he says. “It’s still alive.”
Across South India, the banana leaf isn't just packaging - it's heritage. From Kerala's elaborate Onam sadya to Tamil Nadu's traditional wedding feasts, Karnataka's festival meals to Andhra Pradesh's ceremonial dining, fresh banana leaves form the foundation of cultural dining practices. The tradition runs deeper than convenience; it's believed that food served on banana leaves carries the plant's natural nutrients and adds a subtle flavor to the meal.
The leaves travel from farms like Anand's to collection centers, then to distribution hubs, finally reaching stores where they become part of modern India's attempt to balance convenience with tradition. So the next time you see a banana leaf in your more basket, remember that it carries more than a meal. It carries Anand's silence, skill, a farmer's deep-rooted pride in keeping your rituals alive and connecting you to a tradition that has nourished India for generations.