Legendary Achari Gosht

As I walked into Juni’s family’s apartment, which looked out over the Arabian Sea, I was met with a strong aroma of achar pickling spices. The small kitchen was right by the door, and straight away I could see the back of a short woman, hunched over a gas hob. Her hair was wavy, and she wore a starched white kurta shirt and shalwar.

When she turned around, I could see that heartbreak was deeply etched into Naseem Aunty’s smile. (In Pakistan, ‘Aunty’ is the polite form of address for any woman much older than yourself.) The death of her middle son at eighteen had made her fiercely protective of her remaining children; Juni’s mum was a woman who lived and breathed motherhood.