A Doctor,
a Craving, and
a Pot of Kacchi

Born in Dhaka.
Living in Berlin.

I came to Berlin to pursue my German medical license — juggling the demands of study, a young family, and life in a new country. It's a reality many immigrant families know well: the chaos, the joy, and the deep hunger for something from home.

That something, for me, was kacchi. Real kacchi. The kind you get in Old Dhaka — sealed in a dum pot, fragrant with saffron and kewra, with the whole potato that absorbs everything. I searched all over Berlin. I found nothing even close.

Between studies
and motherhood.

Millions across Europe share that longing — Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, Arabs, and Germans who've tasted kacchi once and never forgotten it. The craving is real, and nobody was answering it in Berlin.

So between medical studies and raising a young family, I started Dhaka Kacchi. Not as a business first — as an act of love. For the community, for the memory, and for the joy of watching someone take that first bite and close their eyes.

The recipe is my family's — unchanged and uncompromised. The same spice balance, the same overnight marinade, the same patience. The only thing new is the city.