
A note from the kitchen
It started with one jar on a sunny terrace.
Every summer, Mom would line up glass jars along the terrace wall. Lemons first, then mangoes, then — for the brave — karela. Neighbours would “just drop by” around lunchtime.
Aru is that terrace, bottled. The same recipes, the same hand-ground masala, and the same rule she never broke: if you wouldn't feed it to your family, it doesn't go in the jar.
— with love, Mom