Narrator: This amber goop comes from bugs.
And you've probably eaten it before.
It's a natural resin called shellac.
And once it's stretched and cooled
it's used in tons of ways,
from adding a shine to popular candies like jelly beans
and preserving citrus fruit to finishing wood.
Its history dates back 3,000 years in India,
where it was originally used to make jewelry
and adorn palaces.
India's the world's largest shellac producer,
exporting over $65 million worth of it a year.
But fluctuating harvests and prices
have put this ancient industry at risk.
Narrator: So how exactly do a tiny insect's excretions
end up on your candy and lemons?
We head to India to find out.
The Kerria lacca insect is teeny,
barely big enough to see with the naked eye.
In June, farmers implant brood lac, or the mamas,
onto new tree branches.
Their babies will hatch and spread out.
As they suck the tree's sap,
the females secrete an amber-colored resin.
When it hits the air, it hardens, creating a protective nest.
This is what becomes valuable shellac.
This curved knife is called a dauli.
It's the most important tool for farmers like Turlen Dhan.
She climbs up to 20 feet to reach the small branches
where the insects grow.
She has about 100 of these lac-infested trees.
Narrator: It can take as many as 300,000 insects
to make just 1 kilo of shellac.
That's where the lac insect derives its name -
from ek laakh, meaning 100,000 in Hindi.
Turlen can harvest that in one day.
But it takes her two more to scrape it all off.
She uses the same dauli.
Narrator: She sells the lac to a local market,
earning $7 a kilo.
That's where Manoj Saraogi buys it.
His factory sources raw lac from four states
and processes over 500 metric tons a year.
It all starts with crushing.
And washing, which is the most challenging part.
Cleaning the lac for too long could lower the yield.
Narrator: Then, the lac has to dry to prevent mold
and make it easier to extract the resin.
During winters, Manoj's staff leaves the lac
in this yard for an hour and a half.
In hotter months, it takes about half the time.
They have to watch it closely,
since too much heat can turn it black.
That's considered low-quality and won't fetch as much money.
Narrator: Next, the workers assign it one of four grades,
depending on the size.
They remove small sticks by hand.
This machine separates any remaining stones from the mix.
Narrator: The workers put the lac into a cloth tube
that looks kind of like a giant sock.
They twist it so the mixture moves toward the kiln
and spin it until the lac melts.
The sock collects any leftover rocks
or sticks that might have snuck in.
They spend at least six hours a day, spinning the tube
and stoking the fire that burns at 167 degrees Fahrenheit.
In the summer it can get up to 113 degrees in this factory.
These symmetrical circles are called button shellac,
which are used to make bangles.
workers also spread it across this tool,
called a pippa, to make sheet shellac.
They use a palm leaf to spread it out evenly.
The workers remove it once it's cooled,
and they stretch it out even more,
using their hands, feet, and teeth.
This is how shellac has been made for centuries.
Narrator: They'll pull it to an even 5-foot-by-5-foot square.
These sheets will be used to polish candies,
cashew nuts, and fruit.
Machines have largely replaced the traditional
hand-stretching method.
This one presses out thin sheets,
sort of like a pasta maker.
It processes most of the factory's lac,
making shellac four times faster than by hand-stretching.
The workers give it one quick tug and then rip it off.
They'll hang it up to harden and cool
and then chop it into hair-thin pieces.
These will stiffen into shards, exported around the world.
Manoj can sell the refined shellac
for almost double what he paid for it.
Indonesia and the United States are his biggest customers.
The US is also the world's largest importer,
buying up roughly a fourth of all Indian shellac.
It's been valued for 3,000 years for its versatility.
One of shellac's earliest uses was as a rich crimson dye.
The insect's excretions also made a strong glue
and added a shiny, water-resistant finish
to wood and leather.
In medieval Europe, artists mixed it into paints.
In the 1800s, it became the base of gramophone records
before the invention of vinyl.
Through the 1900s, it was a popular finish
for wood paneling in American homes.
It also made its way into pharmaceuticals,
coating pills and tablets,
and food, as a glossy glaze for candies, fruits,
cakes, and nuts.
Today, the global shellac industry
is worth over $167 million.
And more than half of the world's supply comes from India.
The US Food and Drug Administration allows it
as a food safe additive, as long as it's listed
on the ingredients list as shellac or confectioner's glaze.
It's in treats like Junior Mints, jelly beans,
candy corn, and Whoppers.
It's also often dissolved in alcohol
and sprayed onto citrus fruit.
The waxy coating wicks away moisture,
extending the fruit's shelf life.
And that gloss makes for a more eye-catching lemon
on grocery store shelves.
Thousands of people in Turlen's village
depend on shellac for a living,
but the price has fluctuated a lot.
In 2022, Turlen could make $12 a kilo.
Now, the price is half that.
So she started farming ducks for additional income.
She also grows rice and vegetables.
That's because raising the storied insects
has gotten a lot harder, largely due to the climate crisis.
Intensifying rainstorms have washed lac off tree branches
and led to fungal infestations.
More extreme heat is drying up the trees
that are the insect's main food source.
Narrator: Bijay Kumar Viru works for an NGO
that helps farmers research why their insects are dying.
Narrator: His organization educates farmers on the benefits
of using fungicides, which can increase lac production.
Narrator: Armed with a little help from science,
Indian lac producers are fighting
to keep raising their amber insects
for generations to come.