Hand-rolled in the aangan, crisped on cast iron.
Six small-batch flavours. Stone-ground wheat, real ghee, zero maida — the khakra you grew up sneaking from your Naani's steel dabba.
Pick your poison, pyaar se.
A courtyard, a tava, and a recipe that refused to be written down.
It started in our naani's aangan in Rajkot — flour on her saree, sunlight on the tava, and six aunties arguing about whose methi was greener. We bottled none of the gossip, but we kept every gram of the recipe.
Today, the same eleven women roll every single khakra by hand. No machines, no maida, no shortcuts. Just dough, dum and dadi-ji's patience.
Read the full story →No maida. No shortcuts. No nonsense.
On a slow cast-iron tava. The crackle you hear in our reels is real.
Sourced from a single chakki in Junagadh. Lower glycemic, fuller flavour.
Hand-churned in small batches. No palm oil, ever.
Because that's all you actually need. The rest is marketing.
Real words, written by real people.
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