Our orchards line the village road, greeting passers‑by with ruby lanterns each festive season.
Fruits are hand‑twisted from branches to keep the crown intact—a sign of royal quality at the mandi.
They rest on beds of straw woven by local women whose laughter fills harvest mornings.
No wax ever touches the rind; we polish with cotton scraps from wedding saris, a splash of celebration.
Bulk orders travel in hardwood crates stamped with our family crest burned in by cousins.
If you listen closely when you open one, the seeds tinkle like distant temple bells.
Share them at gatherings and you’ll scatter a piece of Rajasthan in every bowl.