From Our Kitchen to Yours: The Journey of a Handmade Pickle

By Pahadi Potli

Every summer of my childhood came with the same excitement—not for vacations or travel plans, but for that one trip that meant everything to me: going to Nani’s house in the hills of Uttarakhand. Her home was more than a place; it was a feeling. A place that smelled of roasted spices, freshly fried pakoras, and always — always — a tangy aroma of her pickles sunning in glass jars.

My Nani made the best pickles I’ve ever tasted. There was something magical about the way she worked—no fancy equipment, just her hands, her instincts, and her mountain wisdom passed down through generations. Mango, kachalu, lemon, turmeric root — each one had its own story. But it wasn’t just the pickles. She also made flavoured salts—spicy, smoky, sharp blends that could lift the simplest dal-chawal to something unforgettable.

I would watch her during those summer days, sitting cross-legged on her verandah, slicing mangoes with precision, mixing mustard oil with hand-pounded spices, and whispering her little secrets into the jars as if they were sacred. She never followed written recipes. She just knew.

But time moves on, and like all beautiful things, it changed. My Nani passed away, and with her, a piece of my childhood left too. I thought that unique taste of Uttarakhand, that feeling of sitting under the sun with a plate of hot parathas and spicy achaar, had gone with her.

Until one day, my mother said, “Let’s make some pickle.”

I didn’t expect much — maybe just a nostalgic gesture. But when I tasted the first bite of her mango pickle, I froze. It tasted exactly like Nani’s. I was flooded with memories — those summer lunches, the shared laughter, the sharp tang of salt and spice. Somehow, unknowingly, my mom had inherited not just the recipe, but the soul of the process.

So we started making pickles at home — at first, just for ourselves. But word spread quickly, as it always does in Indian families. Every uncle, cousin, neighbor, and “distant aunt” would visit and leave with a jar or two. No one paid, of course. It was love, they said. “Your mom’s pickles are legendary,” they told me — and they were right. But for years, this cycle continued — my mom would work hard, pour love into each jar, and give it all away for free.

It was frustrating at times. Not because of the money — but because I knew that something so good, so rooted in tradition and care, deserved more. It deserved appreciation, recognition, and reach.

One day, over chai, I told my mom:
“What if we could take this beyond our kitchen? What if the whole world could taste what Nani taught you? She smiled, half skeptical, half emotional. But she agreed.

That’s how Pahadi Potli was born — a small idea, a humble beginning, but filled with the richness of a family recipe passed down over generations. We call it “The Taste of Uttarakhand” because that’s exactly what it is. It’s not just a product; it’s a feeling. A memory. A bite of home.

Our pickles are handmade, just the way they always were — no machines, no shortcuts, no preservatives. We use local ingredients from Uttarakhand, sun-cure our mangoes, mix our masalas by hand, and store them in glass jars. Each batch is made with love, patience, and purpose.

And today, we don’t just think about our family. We think about the students living in hostels, the working professionals far from home, the elderly who miss their village flavours, and anyone who wants that comforting, sharp, tangy reminder of the meals they grew up with.

Because we know what it feels like to miss home.
And sometimes, all it takes is a spoonful of pickle to take you right back.

We’ve only just begun. We’re still learning, growing, packing jars by hand, writing down names, taking orders through messages and calls. But every order reminds us why we started. Every “this tastes just like my Nani’s” message brings a lump to my throat.

So here we are — two generations, one story, and a lot of pickle jars.
Pahadi Potli is more than a brand. It’s a tribute.
To Nani.
To my mom.
To the timeless, irreplaceable taste of Uttarakhand.

And we’re just getting started.