An ode to Avakaya: how raw mangoes turn into a rich pickle in a Telugu household Premium

In summer, mango pickle is made at homes across India using recipes and techniques that span generations. Here’s how one family rediscovered the joy of Avakaya with tangy local mangoes and new ceramic jars

To call Avakaya a mere pickle is doing injustice. It is the mythical Amrutham or elixir of my life. On days when I’m down and out, avakaya mixed with hot rice brings me back to life.

Avakaya is a pickle—mostly from the Telugu-speaking states—made with raw mango, mustard powder, chili, salt, and oil. The vinegar substitute varieties in stores are merely poor its cousins. And I believe my mother makes the best version of it. It is not empty bragging; anyone who has tasted her pickles will vouch for their divine taste.

I have vague childhood memories of her mixing spices in our cramped kitchen and filling big ceramic jars with the pickle. But my knowledge has remained purely theoretical. I’m better off eating than attempting culinary feats.

The Covid years disrupted her annual pickle making, so it had been three years since she made her last batch. I was craving for her version, and my own stock of avakaya gifted from relatives had dwindled. So, I urged her to restart her tradition, offering my full support and cooperation.

There are just six ingredients that need to be put together; how hard could it be, I reasoned. So, my parents and myself—with a helping hand from my ten-year-old—started gathering them.

It starts with buying the naati variety mangoes—picked carefully, the right kind of raw and the right kind of tangy, without a hint of sweetness. After much back and forth, my parents ended up with about 10 mangoes instead of my humble aspiration of three or four. Well, it didn’t seem too much when my mother bragged, “Those days I used to make it with 35-40 mangoes.” In comparison, a mere 10 seemed doable.

While my mother washed each mango, my father and I wiped them clean with a towel. The skin of the mango had to be dark green in colour and thick. The shopkeeper cut them into pieces that were almost one-inch each. Each piece had to have a part of the seed coat or hard shell.