Back then, every wish I made appeared almost magically—either in my father’s hands after work or from my grandfather’s surprise smile. I didn’t need online chicken or store-bought mutton pickle. I didn’t even know what online buy meant. But somehow, every season had the perfect food, the best pickle, the freshest snacks—and we never had to ask for it twice.
Rainy seasons meant Mirapakaya bajji, billa garelu, and warm stories under the dim yellow glow of a lantern. Electricity cuts didn’t scare us—they brought us closer. My father would speak about the Big Bang theory, stars, and atoms… while my grandfather pulled us into the ancient worlds of Ramayana and Mahabharata. And while our ears listened, our hands reached out for crunchy chekodi, spicy karapusa, soft rava laddus, or sweet karjalu made with care and no preservatives.
There was no concept of fast food. The idea of buying “chicken pickle online” or “mutton pickle online” would’ve confused us. Why buy something so special from strangers when every auntie on the street made it with love?
During Sankranti and Dussehra, the whole lane became one happy kitchen. Aunties gathered to prepare chekkalu and sakinalu, laughing, singing, sharing gossip. We kids ran around, flattening dough on banana leaves, stealing hot snacks, and getting scolded with love.
Can I tell you something? It hurts to see how far we’ve come… or fallen.
Today, people are buying chemical-laced sweets, adding preservatives to pickles, and serving synthetic foods to children. Even grandma’s dry fruit laddu is being replaced by plastic-wrapped protein bars.
What changed?
We started living fast, eating faster, and forgot the slow magic of food. We forgot the real meaning of homemade pickles, the value of no preservatives, and the joy of chemical-free snacks.
That’s why we started Yaami Sri Pickles.
Not just to sell food—but to bring back those 22-year-old memories. To say you don’t have to choose synthetic food. You don’t have to let your kids miss what we had.
Every pickle we make, every laddu we shape, every chekkalu we fry—it’s not from a factory, it’s from a memory. From a tradition. From a story told by grandma in candlelight or from an uncle who gave us mangoes for helping with the harvest.
If this story feels like your own, then join us in preserving what matters. Let’s go back—not in time—but in taste, in thought, and in the way we feed our families.
Because this isn’t just about pickles.
It’s about what we’re becoming… and what we must not forget.
Visit www.yaamisripickles.com
