on Friday, May 18, 2012
My earliest memories are that of Thatha buying kilos of it during our summer vacation as my sister and I stood and watching as he bargained almost every day in the morning at about eleven-ish with the dusky , betel nut chewing woman who sat our spacious verandah in Salem, with its classic black and white mosaic asking one of us to get water to quench her thirst.

The mangoes were mostly consumed post dinner, with my Ajji insisting that we had huge glasses of milk after the mango. My aunt would cut huge pieces and pass it on and ceremoniously ask which one of us wanted to eat the fruit stuck on the seed.

The seed was sucked, until it had little juice left, till it was pale yellow and there were mango stains on our dresses and little pieces of straw stuck in my teeth.

Bck home in Bangalore,Appa of course bought boxes of mangoes as summer arrived– Alphonsas and Malgova from the Malleswaram market and each mango was cut with utmost care ,sometimes it made me wonder if the mangoes really tasted that good only because Appa is so perfect with the knife. He cut the mango into perfect little pieces ,the taste of mangoes cut by Appa still tastes very distinct to me. It would of course be too cheesy to say it was flavored with his infinite patience.

This summer most of the mango I have eaten is with friends, not surrounded by family and after a sumptuous dinner like it has been all these years . The Mambalam market of course is flooded with mangoes, but I tread cautiously, buying half a kilo of Banganapalli , making two blunt cuts on the cheeks of the mango and eat with friends. The taste of course reminds of all those endless summers, with cousins, thatha and I wonder what happened to the betel nut chewing lady who gave us mangoes all those summers ago.

Read more mango stories here


soda said...

This post oozes mango sweetness :)