The first thing that reaches you is not sight, but smell—a sharp, mineral-rich earthiness rising from the sil batta. It is warm, almost smoky, laced with the brightness of crushed green chillies and the deep, savoury note of garlic. Sixty-two-year-old Shashi Bahuguna’s hands work in a practiced rhythm, pressing, turning, grinding. Around her, other women follow suit, their sil battas working in sync, building a cadence that feels like music.
On the slab, coarse crystals of Himalayan rock salt slowly break down, absorbing the oils of fresh herbs—gandrain, timur, coriander, ginger—until what remains is not just salt, but something far more complex. A pinch of this pisyu loon hits the tongue with an immediate burst—salty, yes, but also citrusy, pungent, faintly numbing, deeply aromatic. For Bahuguna, it has always been more than seasoning. “Everyone loves a bit of salt seasoning in their food. Almost everything has salt, still it's one of the most overlooked seasonings,” she says, smiling. Known widely as ‘Namakwali’, she wears the name with pride.
In her home in Uttarakhand’s Tehri Garhwal region—far removed from any salt pans—salt was never sourced, but made. Recipes travelled through generations, from her mother to her dadi and nani, each adding instinct, craft, and a sense of place. “For pahadi people, it’s more than just seasoning. It’s like an heirloom recipe. We call it pisyu loon,” she explains, guiding another woman’s hands on the stone, adjusting pressure, perfecting rhythm.
For pahadi people, it’s more than just seasoning. It’s like an heirloom recipe. We call it pisyu loon.Shashi Bahuguna, founder of Namakwali
Pisyu loon—literally ground salt—is a cornerstone of Garhwali kitchens. It seasons everything: sliced cucumbers, guavas, bowls of curd, simple dals, even afternoon snacks. What defines it is not just the ingredients, but the method. Fresh herbs are crushed directly into the salt, their essential oils released slowly through friction, not heat. The result is textured, each grain carrying flavour.
When Bahuguna decided to build a business around this in 2018—aptly named Namakwali—it raised eyebrows. Salt, after all, is everywhere. But she understood something others didn’t—that this salt was not. It carried the specificity of terrain, of wild herbs that grow only in pockets of the Himalayas, of techniques that rarely left home kitchens. Namakwali’s pisyu loon now comes in several variations—garlic, ginger, mixed herbs—each blend layered with as many as 12 to 15 ingredients. But the process remains unchanged. In village courtyards, women gather in small groups, grinding for hours. Conversations ebb and flow. Laughter cuts through the rhythm. Work pauses for tea, then resumes.
Bahuguna herself travels deep into the mountains to source ingredients. “It might be just flavoured salt for many, but it’s a sacred secret passed on to me from generation to generation. I have been to many remote places in search of authentic Himalayan herbs like gandrain and timur. Many of these rare herbs are difficult to source, and expensive,” she says. Sourcing is only half the story. The rest lies in time and technique. “We have over 30 women who grind rock salt with herbs on traditional sil batta. Though it takes time, the texture and flavours compensate for the effort,” she explains. Stone grinding, she insists, is what gives the salt its depth. “Machines generate heat, and with it, you lose what makes the spice alive.”
Years of steady work brought an unexpected turning point when Bahuguna was invited to present Namakwali on Shark Tank India. “It just changed everything for us. Our small brand became a household name,” she says with pride. But even as demand grew, the process did not shift to machines. Over time, Namakwali expanded its offerings—A2 Badri cow ghee, pahadi honey, hill-grown rajma, millet snacks, dried hemp chutney—products that echo the everyday pantry of a pahadi home. Yet salt remains at the centre. It is, after all, where the story began. “We never wanted to grow at the cost of what makes it real,” Bahuguna says. “Opening a jar should remind someone of where it comes from.”
Over time, Namakwali expanded its offerings—A2 Badri cow ghee, pahadi honey, hill-grown rajma, millet snacks, dried hemp chutney—products that echo the everyday pantry of a pahadi home.
And it does. Twist open a jar, and the aroma rises instantly—herbaceous, sharp, unmistakably of the hills. It carries with it the sound of stone on stone, the chatter of women at work, the slow, deliberate act of making. Because here, salt is not just an addition. It is tradition, craft, and flavour—ground patiently into every grain.