It was 9:45 pm on a Saturday. Just as I was shutting down for the night, the soft creak of the door broke the silence, followed by footsteps that carried the scent of damp rain and a hint of curiosity. A woman in her early forties walked in, rain-dampened hair clinging to her face, but her voice was brisk and clear.
“Hello! I want kokum juice.”
Our store manager, Manju, ever the practical fellow, looked up from his counter and asked, “Sugared or sugar-free?”
That’s when she laughed—the kind of laugh that carries history, irritation, and resignation all rolled into one. “Everywhere—sugar or sugar-free! Coffee? Sugar or sugar-free? Tea? Sugar or sugar-free? Life itself seems to come with this binary now,” she said, brushing droplets off her dupatta.
She was right. From airline meals to marriage proposals, we have turned choices into checkboxes. But kokum? That’s a rare checkbox in Bangalore.
She smiled knowingly, “Sir, very few people in Bangalore know about kokum. But we Goans—we are fans of this.”
That caught my attention. “Goan, ha?” I said, locking the clinic door again. “I’m from coastal Karnataka. Our house had two kokum trees in the backyard. We made juice, khadi…”
“Ohhh! You know amsol khadi?” Her eyes lit up.
For the uninitiated, amsol khadi is a Goan staple—a warm kokum broth with garlic, jeera, hing, and chillies. In Konkani, they say, “Hya khadyaneri potachem dukh shant zata.” (This khadi soothes all stomach problems.) It’s a bowl of tangy comfort, especially after a heavy or indulgent meal. And it’s one of those rare things that Ayurveda and grandma both approve of.
I told her how kokum is more than just a summer cooler. In Ayurveda, it’s described as amla rasa pradhana, ushna virya, and laghu. It pacifies vata and pitta, especially useful during the hot, sweaty Indian summers when tempers rise with the mercury.
And science? Oh, it loves kokum too. Rich in hydroxycitric acid (HCA), kokum has been studied for its potential to suppress appetite and aid in weight management. Its anthocyanins and garcinol are potent antioxidants that soothe inflammation, heal ulcers, and even protect the heart. It’s like your quiet friend who’s good at everything but never brags.
I remember a patient named Abhinav—a young IT professional who came in with recurring acid reflux and mild fatty liver. Pizzas, late nights, and stress had taken a toll on his agni. I didn’t overwhelm him with powders, tablets or kashayams. I asked him to have kokum sherbet before lunch for two weeks. He came back with a lighter stomach and a brighter face. “Doctor, your pink drink worked better than my antacids,” he said, grinning.
What most people don’t realise is that kokum juice, when made right, doesn’t just cool you down—it cools the irritation from within, whether it’s your stomach lining or your overheated temper.
Kokum juice, like people, comes in many personalities. Some refresh, some pretend, and some are just bottled disappointment.
“Doctor, I once drank kokum juice from a restaurant and had bloating and burping for two days,” said another patient. I asked her what kind she drank. Turns out it was loaded with preservatives, synthetic flavours, and a truckload of sugar.
Pro tip: Real kokum juice doesn’t punch your throat with syrupy sweetness. It has a sharp, tangy taste, almost like it’s winking at your taste buds. Add rock salt, cumin, and a dash of jaggery if needed, and chill.
Goans also make solkadhi with kokum and coconut milk—a pale pink digestive drink that not only tastes heavenly but cools your gut like aloe on a sunburn.
In my pharmacy, we sell both sugared and unsweetened kokum concentrate. And yes, we ask customers that dreaded question. But perhaps it’s time we reframe it. Do you want the childhood version with jaggery and salt? Or the diabetic-friendly one that lets you enjoy kokum without guilt?
Back to the woman at 9:45 pm. She picked the sugar-free bottle, saying she’ll make khadi at home. “My teenage daughter calls it Goan miso soup,” she joked, and I had to admit, that’s a brilliant analogy.
As she left, the drizzle outside turned into a steady pour. I stood at the door, breathing in the damp evening air. Kokum. A fruit from the Western Ghats, used by Konkanis, Saraswats, Marathis, and Kannadigas for centuries. A fruit that’s still relevant in a world of vitamin waters and probiotic shots.
Sometimes I wonder why we stopped talking about these things. Why did our food become anonymous? At what point did our kitchens get outsourced to packets?
There’s hope. People like her—showing up at Ayurvedism just as the shutters begin to fall—remind me that food memories never truly vanish. They linger quietly, like kokum rinds basking in the sun, waiting for the right moment to unfurl their flavour in warm water.
What is kokum juice good for?
It’s good for your digestion. Your heart. Your weight. Your skin. Your mood. Your nostalgia. Your identity.
It’s good for remembering who you are.
And maybe—just maybe—it’s suitable for Ayurvedic doctors like me too. Because in every kokum conversation, I rediscover the joy of being not just a healer of bodies but a keeper of stories.
I stepped into the rain, a kokum bottle in hand. The street was still, the night soft.
Her voice lingered—amsol khadi—not just soup, but home.
Healing is not always in pills or powders. Sometimes, it’s a taste. A memory. A tree you grew up under.
“Tuka kokum vatlam?” (Did you crave kokum?) I asked the universe.
It replied with thunder and the scent of wet earth.
Yes. Always.
