As the noon winds turn harsh, the gels rest under a lattice of neem leaves that act as nature’s cooler.
We hand‑fillet each leaf, guided by calluses that read the plant’s maturity better than any gauge.
The gel is stirred with wooden paddles carved from local keekar, imparting faint forest notes.
When the mixture turns pearl‑clear, we sing a folk tune—an unspoken timer passed down by mothers.
Sunlight slips through jute screens, bleaching out bitterness while sealing in desert minerals.
Before jar‑filling, we whisper a short blessing for the women who raised these plants like children.
Open the lid and you’ll feel a Rajasthan sunset melting softly into your palms.