By Camelia Nathaniel/Daily News

Colombo, February 11 – The central hills of Sri Lanka are postcard-beautiful. Endless rows of emerald tea bushes roll across misty hills, broken only by narrow footpaths and ageing line rooms clinging to steep slopes. Tourists sip Ceylon tea and admire the view. But hidden behind this beauty is a painful truth, one written into the lives of the Malayagam people, whose labour built this landscape and sustained an industry that fed the nation’s economy for more than two centuries.Sri Lanka travel guide

For the first time since independence (after 78 years), two women born into estate line rooms, raised by tea pluckers and shaped by poverty and resilience, now speak for their people in the 10th Parliament. Nuwara Eliya District JJB MP Krishnan Kalaichelvi and Badulla District JJB MP Ambika Samuel are not career politicians. They are living embodiments of the Malayagam struggle and carry with them the long-silenced voices of the Malayagam people.

“This is not just about two of us entering Parliament,” MP Krishnan Kalaichelvi says. “This is about an entire community finally being seen. For 78 years, people spoke about us. Now, for the first time, we are speaking for ourselves.”

Community Left Behind

The Malayagam (Hill Country in Tamil) people are descendants of South Indian labourers brought to Sri Lanka by British colonial rulers nearly 200 years ago. They were brought to clear forests, plant tea, rubber and coffee and work in conditions that were harsh even by colonial standards.

“From independence until now, our people worked to uplift this country,” Kalaichelvi says. “If Sri Lanka is known worldwide for Ceylon Tea, that credit belongs to the estate workers. But look at how they live even today, can we call that justice?”

Despite contributing nearly one-third of Sri Lanka’s export earnings through the plantation sector, estate workers remain among the poorest communities in the country. Generations have lived and died in line rooms, small, congested housing units originally built during colonial times, never meant for long-term human habitation.

“Families are forced to live in one or two small rooms,” Kalaichelvi explains. “Privacy does not exist. Even the most basic physical needs have to be fulfilled in the same space where children sleep and study.”

Heaviest Burden

At the heart of the estate economy are women. They wake before sunrise, prepare meals, send children to school and then climb hills carrying baskets strapped to their heads, plucking tea leaves for hours under sun and rain.

“As women and as mothers, children naturally turn to us for everything,” Kalaichelvi says. “But estate women live in constant pain, because what they earn is not enough to even feed their children properly.”

She pauses, then adds quietly:

“These women work under the harshest conditions, without toilets, without restrooms. They fulfil their basic needs among the tea bushes. At the end of the month, they receive a wage that cannot even guarantee three meals a day.”

In 2023, the estimated monthly income required for a family of four in Sri Lanka was around Rs. 69,000. At the time, estate workers earned just Rs. 15,000–16,000 a month. Even today, wages remain painfully low.

“Many women suffer physical damage,” she says. “Their skulls are dented from carrying heavy baskets on their heads for years. Yet, despite being the backbone of the tea industry, they are the most underpaid and disrespected.”

Sense of Dignity

Against this backdrop, the recent daily wage increase for estate workers from Rs. 1,350 to Rs. 1,750 has been deeply emotional for the community.

“This did not happen easily in the past,” Kalaichelvi says. “Estate workers had to struggle, protest and beg for even the smallest increase.”

This time, the process was different.

“We are extremely grateful to President Anura Kumara Dissanayake for intervening directly,” she says. “He understood that this was not just an economic issue, it was a dignity issue.”

The agreement, signed with plantation companies and the Ministry of Plantations, ensures that both the State and estate companies share responsibility for the wage increase.

“This will not suddenly make their lives comfortable,” Kalaichelvi admits. “But at least now, when a mother receives her salary after carrying that heavy basket all month, she will feel a little relief. She will feel that her labour is finally being recognised.”

She is firm that the wage hike must not come with hidden exploitation.

“Some estate companies tried to impose extra work, an additional two kilos of tea plucking,” she says. “That was never our intention. The goal was to uplift lives, not to burden workers further. We will not allow exploitation to continue under a new name.”

Oldest Wound

If wages are a daily struggle, housing is a generational wound.

For decades, politicians courted estate workers during elections, promised homes and vanished once votes were secured. Half-built housing schemes were abandoned, left to rot under weeds and rain.

“In Nuwara Eliya District alone, we need nearly 100,000 houses for estate families,” Kalaichelvi says. “Many people still live in unsafe line rooms, some built on land that could collapse at any time.”

Recent extreme weather events, including the Ditwah cyclone, exposed the dangers. Cracks have appeared in hillsides where rows of line rooms stand precariously.

“We cannot rebuild blindly,” she says. “We have asked for NBRO reports to ensure safety. Human lives are not negotiable.”

Construction has already begun in estates such as Waltrim and Kabaragala, while abandoned projects in Maskeliya are being revived.

“Previous governments started projects and abandoned them midway,” she says. “We took over those houses and resumed construction. Housing and land rights are fundamental rights. We will complete this during our government’s tenure.”

Practical Path

MP Ambika Samuel approaches the housing crisis with a mix of realism and resolve.

“Yes, our people need houses,” she says. “But we also need practical solutions. Sri Lanka has limited land. Giving everyone individual plots is not always possible.”Sri Lanka travel guide

Her proposal is simple but transformative.

“Many families have already built solid houses on the land they occupy,” she explains. “They don’t need new houses, they need land rights. If we recognise that, nearly 70 percent of the housing problem can be solved immediately.”

That would allow the Government to focus resources on the remaining families who genuinely need new housing.

“We must stop building houses haphazardly,” she says. “We need to identify solid ground. Even flats can be built where appropriate. What matters is safety, dignity and sustainability.”

Samuel does not shy away from confronting painful truths about political interference.

“In Kagala, a housing project was stalled for nine years,” she says. “Why? Because a former parliamentarian had a hotel above the site and the houses would have ruined his view.”

Her voice tightens.

“During the recent cyclone, a mother and child died in that area. If those houses had been built, they would still be alive today. This is not just negligence. This is murder.”

Under her intervention, the project has finally resumed.

“We plan to vest the Kabaragala housing project in the people very soon,” she says. “And the houses we build today are of a much higher standard than anything done before.”

Roads Rebuilt

Infrastructure neglect has haunted the estate sector for decades. Roads leading to estates were often nobody’s responsibility, neither the estates nor the State fully claimed them.

“These roads destroyed lives,” Samuel says bluntly.

“Women suffered miscarriages while travelling on these roads. Marriages broke down because people refused to travel there. There were even suicides because people felt completely cut off from society.”

Under the current administration, estate roads are finally being taken over by relevant authorities and upgraded.

“This may seem small to outsiders,” she says, “but for estate people, a proper road means access to hospitals, schools, jobs and dignity.”

Both MPs agree that true liberation lies in education.

“For 78 years, estate children were denied quality education,” Samuel says. “Teachers were appointed without qualifications because authorities believed the best education was not needed for estate children.”

That mindset, she says, pushed the community nearly four decades behind the rest of the country.

“Today, we are changing that,” she says. “We have started e-libraries. Graduate teachers are being appointed. Our President is fully committed to ensuring Malayagam children receive the same education as any other Sri Lankan child.”

Kalaichelvi adds:

“There are brilliant children in the estate sector. Poverty and drug addiction trap them. We are determined to break that cycle.”

Perhaps the most powerful change is psychological.

“I came to politics without any background or experience,” Samuel says. “Now, young people tell me, ‘If you can do it, we can too.’ That confidence is everything.”

Kalaichelvi echoes the sentiment.

“I want to see more children of estate workers come to Parliament,” she says. “Not as tokens,  but as leaders.”

The Hatton Declaration of October 15, 2023, which recognised the community as “Malayagam People,” was a symbolic step. But for these two women, symbolism must lead to structural change.

“Our people were kept like slaves for too long,” Samuel says. “Only now are they being treated as equal citizens.”

As the mist lifts over Sri Lanka’s central hills, change is finally visible, not just in policies, but in voices once silenced now shaping the nation’s future. For the Malayagam people, the journey has been long and painful. But for the first time, it is moving forwardwith dignity, representation and hope.Sri Lanka travel guide

END