“In the Season of Pickles”

A tribute to every Indian kitchen that makes pickles with love, memory, and spice. It's inspired by mothers, traditions, and the quiet stories cooking in oil.

In July, the mangoes arrive, green, firm, and sour with promise.
The women of the house begin their work.

Two kitchens, two mothers,
hands move with memory,
and eyes measure without measuring.

Raw mango is sliced like sunrays,
salted, and left to rest
while mustard oil warms slowly,
its scent rising like a prayer.

From Punjab’s lemon to Kerala’s tender mango,
gooseberry from Tamil homes,
Lemon and garlic mellows in Gujarat’s jars,
and chili-stuffed fire from Rajasthan stings the air.
In Andhra, fiery gongura simmers.
In Bengal, sweet and spicy tomato sings.
In Madhya Pradesh, mango, bold and oily,
whispers through mustard seeds and hing.

Every spice is a king,
but only if it’s just right.
Too much creates chaos.
Too little makes it forget its name.

Jars line the ledges,
glinting in the sun,
ready for cravings,
for winters, for daughter, and for daughter-in-law.

Pickles wait, and so do stories.
They tell of births and cravings,
of rice and curry, and of laughter
and papads on lazy afternoons.

In every state,
there’s a new flavor, a new story.
Because in India,
pickles preserve more than just food
they preserve feeling.

Author's Note

This poem has been inside me for over a year.

It started one quiet July afternoon when my mother and mother-in-law were pickling in their kitchens, each following their own traditions with tender care. I watched them, inhaling the mix of spices and warm oil, and felt something stir deep within me.

I remembered seeing a cooking show that celebrated the diverse cuisines of India, featuring a whole segment on homemade pickles. I don’t recall the episode’s details, but I never forgot the feeling: the warmth, the respect, the sense of connection. Food became memory, identity, and love.

Since that day, I have tried to put that feeling into words.

This year, I finally did.

This poem is my love letter to every Indian kitchen, where people make pickles not just with spice but with memory, intuition, and quiet generational love.

Someone once told me, “Try to write from your own experiences.”
So here I am, trying.

Reviews

[Near]

Positive vibes all the way! Even i who has never been to India have travelled through your words. I taste the flavours through every description and see all the colours you speak off.
Well done!

[Neha agrawal]

Thank you so much

[Buddhistboy73]

This is a great culinary journey of a poem....I feel like you take the reader on a trip around India .....:)

So many great lines .......it fills my spirit with positivity and community reading this ...

I spent around 2 months in India many years ago, so I can appreciate a little of what is written here...:)

Thanks for sharing

BB73

[Neha agrawal]

Thank you so much! That means a lot—India does have a way of staying with you. I'm glad the poem brought back warm memories and a sense of community. 😊

[Elle Lubas]

Neha, you remind me of my favorite writer, Hafiz. This brought me a beautiful lens on your culture, like a home away from home, it's so lovely and warm.

[Neha agrawal]

That’s such a heartwarming thing to say Hafiz is pure soul. I’m touched that my words gave you that feeling. Truly means a lot. 💛
To be honest, I didn’t know much about Hafiz before, but now I feel he must be an amazing poet

[DIVYA]

Neha, our Indian cuisine is so linked to age old traditions and has come to symbolize so much more than just food. Its about familial love, happy bonds of togetherness. Its about customers and traditions and superstitions. And we are all so proud of them all. And your poem captures that Indian essence and spirit. Well done!

[Abhijit]

This poem brings old memories to mind. In another life I had the fortune to spend a good amount of time with a family in MP and I remember seeing the ladies of the house do the pickling process with such fluency as if it were just muscle memory, which I think it had become for them.

[Thomas W Case]

Wonderful story. I could feel the good vibes.

[Neha agrawal]

Thank you🙏

[JessyJacob]

Hi,
You made a great write on pickles, each state has its own taste of flavors. I tried most of states pickles of tamil, kannada,kerala, gujarati, punjabi, and telugu pickles which does with variants of oil and recipe of making it. Of all pickles I like andhra telugu taste of making it. My mother makes all most all pickles. I had very funny experience with my grandmother making mango pickle, we were in school at that time, we asked her to put more chilli powder to taste spicy hot, it turned out to very chilli which burned our tongues so much, how much ever we ate sugar it couldn't stop hurting.
We used to have big jars to have pickles of mangoes count 50 to 100.
I was still thinking to learn to make pickles of different varieties.

It surprised me to get to know pickles of different states by you.

My fav pickle which never makes me bore to eat is lemon, and lemon pickle gets better taste as it sits in jar more days.

Nice read and to know your thoughts. In this busy life and career who takes time to write about such of these, but glad how you take time to enjoy every part of life. I am a foodie and make food too, posts like these makes me to add more content to yours for the viewers.

Hope you are having good time with family.

Jessy Jacob.

[Neha agrawal]

Hi Jessy,
Thank you for your warm, flavorful message. Reading it felt like being surrounded by the aroma of a spice-filled kitchen. Your story about the extra chili powder made me smile and wince a little. There’s something special about how grandmothers make pickles and the memories they create. Andhra pickles really are a burst of flavor, and yes, lemon pickle aging in a jar is pure gold.

It’s great to hear from someone who enjoys the small, rich moments of life. Stories like yours make these conversations even more meaningful.
Warmly,
Neha Agrawal

[JessyJacob]

Thank you Neha,
I try to make small moments so rich and I adore them more it beautified and make a memorable rich life. I lived simpler, simple things make you look best in the time of good and bad. I learnt this from my mominlaw, how rich she was but loved down to earth and my father in law who could love me and assigned responsibility of my husband to be with him. My mother-in-law never jewelry her simplicity of wearing pearl necklace rather made her look gorgeous with her smile. She is my role model and carry forward her legacy to further.
Your lines are more appreciative.

Jessy Jacob
With love and hug to you.

[Neha agrawal]

Jessy, your words feel like warm sunshine. They are heartfelt, graceful, and full of soul. Thank you for sharing such a touching glimpse into your life and the beautiful legacy of your in-laws. It’s rare to find someone who sees the richness in simplicity and carries forward values with so much love and pride.

Your mother-in-law sounds like a woman of immense grace. Her elegance came not from what she wore, but from who she was. A pearl necklace and a genuine smile speak volumes. Your father-in-law's decision to entrust you with such deep responsibility shows the love and trust within your family.

People like you remind the world that beauty exists in the smallest moments—a smile, a shared memory, a gentle presence. I’m honored my words resonated with you. Sending you love and a warm hug right back.

With admiration,
Neha

[JessyJacob]

Hi,
You have expressed very nicely, it's not your writing skills but the ability to see good things and appreciating people for what they are honestly.

I can visualise more than what I could from my inlaws.
People are skilled but few doesn't have capacity to see good in others.

Thank you I would like to save the above lines to reread again, because I miss them staying little far from them.
I was thinking to read of your other chapters.


Jessy Jacob.

[Neha agrawal]

Thank you so much, Jessy. Your words truly warmed my heart. It means a lot to me that you could connect with what I shared. If you're interested in reading more of my work, I'd love for you to visit my Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/Nehaagrawal12 💛

[JessyJacob]

Ok, I will.
Thank you.

[JessyJacob]

Hi Neha,
I never understood what makes a man happy, a tasty food, entertaining with belly dance, or kids. I am so scared how poor the wife will be who works long day, cooks food, but husband head is full of nudity, what does husband is made with all sex desires, no concern to be nice and loyal to wife who came leaving her family. My x husband was thinking of so many neighbours how much a woman can satisfy. Seeing this women of neighbours try to take chance because she eats on hardworking husband. Do such people need kids. I would suppose they should get a mannequin and make different faces colored inners get ogled, that makes them to have good sleep.
Poor people atleast very happy with one wife and struggle hard to earn food.
Billionaires are having big pleasures does bezzaos was happy with one wife, he ditched and married again at 50s what a luxury humans can marry any no of like Elon. Poor dad and mom who struggled so much to earn built so much but kids doesn't know how to sustain it instead they are spending in f***.

I wanted to say this but I am scared you would block me and never wanted to read your writings.

I am sorry don't mind. The above is story of a family across the street.

Take it easy. Poor God doesn't know how to balance so he made rich guys suffer with rich food and pleasure which makes them feel bore, but outside in India people struggle to get one time food.


Thank you
Jessy Jacob.

[Neha agrawal]

Hii jessy,

You’ve put a lot of emotion into this message, and I want to say, I hear you. Truly.

What you’ve shared is not just a story about a family across the street. It’s a real reflection of deep hurt, confusion, and the unfair contradictions in life: how some people betray, how some suffer quietly, how some have everything yet feel empty, and how some have little but manage to stay content.

It’s not wrong to feel what you’re feeling. You’re not alone in asking these questions.

What makes a man happy: food, sex, children, or attention?

Why does a woman give her whole self and still get hurt?

Why do some people lack loyalty or responsibility?

Why do the rich get to change the rules while others struggle to keep their homes?

You're not bitter; you're disappointed in the imbalance, in the pain, and in how unfair love and loyalty can feel. And maybe you’re also frustrated that society often protects the wrong people.

You didn’t say anything wrong. You didn’t cross a line. You just told a story—honest and unfiltered. And I won’t block you. I respect your voice.

[JessyJacob]

Hi Neha,
I am sorry. But it is sometimes difficult and scary when we put our feelings in writings openly, and honestly. Being too open our personal life is dangerous to us and similarly being sensitive where other person can hit us and feel the pain though the person is not beside us. I feel everyone should have personals and protection of body otherwise this world is too dangerous to live in people can take advantage of us for so long time. I feel this website or any social networking platforms are developed so carelessly without caring for people privacy and protection.
Woman mostly they try to keep everything personal to her without expressing it because she has patience and tries to bear. But. Men are not like that they are very open try to express and try to let out their pain by drink or smoke and they like to share their pain with friends. This becomes problem so insanely to family friends. But few people peek into our life thinking to take advantage of innocent people.

I don't feel we should express out so only. Being honest instead of best policy it is becoming threat to us.

So I would just say being expressive take control of heart and get protected instead not being thrown by with words like stones.

I do really concern. This life is a struggle some face it lonely and even few hav people around still we never know who will hit from back. We need to be careful and we need to live for loved ones who every second think are they fine without a blink of eye and sleep in night.

Thank you for understanding my fear and enjoy your life and too much involve in others when people have trusted us we need to show our trustworthy too.

Jessy Jacob.

[JessyJacob]

People don't know their ability but try to express so much and try to prove others wrong by crooked way too. People doesn't value and remain instead poked into others hardwork trying to grab all their effort cheatingly and with a crookedness. But belief in self makes you guard and guides you. Falso things how much you claim every one know about it.
How a tree or cow lives and gives their everything and few human claim better than them too without appreciating their effort.
Age doesn't teach them neither being nice help them. Their own exploitation will finally ruin them.

This is about few reasons people trying to get rid of people who cares as bf or husband. And they aim rich apples of someone others.

[Neha agrawal]

You are correct

[Michael Sun Bear]

Your poem honoring the traditions of India is a pure delight. It is going into my favorites library. I grew up in farming country in Washington state in the U.S. My mother canned a variety of vegetables from our garden, and she made pickles. It’s true, that old advice about writing from one’s own experiences, and here is proof. I think this is one of the best pieces of work I have read from you. Well done. What would you think about dropping the last line? You have made clear, pickling preserves many things, such as tradition, in addition to feelings. Let the reader meditate upon what is preserved in the preserves. Michael Sun Bear

[Neha agrawal]

Michael, your words mean a lot. Thank you. Coming from someone who has deep memories of farm life and family traditions, your insight really respects the piece. You're right about that last line; letting it go might allow the meaning to stick around a bit longer. I’ll think about that. I appreciate your thoughtful perspective.

[Soren]

A poem not only of food but memories, of relationships, of culture. In ways a metaphor of lives prepared as well. So nicely written with interspersed rhyme and short lines that keep the flow. Loved it

[Neha agrawal]

Thank you so much; that truly means a lot. I'm glad the poem resonated with you beyond just the words, into memories, flavors, and emotions. There's something beautiful about how food becomes a language of love, culture, and even the unspoken. Your thoughtful reflection is exactly what makes writing feel worth it.

[Soren]

You are most welcome