‘Falsay-wala! falsay-wala!’ A shrill chant could be heard on most early summer afternoons. The falsay-wala sold nothing else but falsa berries and small bags of chilli masala for sprinkling over them.
Falsas, found only in Sindh province, were a little larger than blackcurrants. They had the darkest purple skin, and when ripe you could squish them between your fingers, exposing their surprisingly pale insides and their ever-present round seed that was so large it made no sense to spit it out. Besides, I enjoyed the satisfying noise it made when you crunched into it, even if it did give you jaw-ache.