God’s own fruit
Aam meethe hon aur bahut se hon,” said Ghalib while describing this succulent fruit. As children we never understood why we gorged on them just once a year, but were happy to be able to pounce on them. The aromatic alphonsos, the green dasheris, the luscious chausas and the golden-skinned langdas, sparkling in their red, yellow and dark green tones, had a magical spell on us. During summers there was seldom a day when we did not have a mango. This irresistible fruit not only makes hot summer days tolerable, but also stirs in a whole lot of memories. Mangoes are here today, gone tomorrow. So mom found ways to keep them as long as she could. Though I have forgotten the names of endless dishes she used to make, the taste lingers. Decades later, mango still has such a charismatic hold. To get that heavenly juice spurting all over one’s chin reminds one of carefree childhood days. One of my mango memories includes the endless wait for a gush of wind to waggle the branches laden with mangoes