Mangoes hold memories – The Hindu

Why are mangoes so special? Summer after scorching summer, they are the small mercies that bring us solace. The harsher the summer, the sweeter the mango, we are consoled. Mangoes are both common and exotic, affordable and expensive. Be they the fruits from the tree next door or from vast orchards far away, their presence during mango season once a year brings great joy.

When the mango trees bloom, the fragrance fills the surroundings. Then the blossoms turn into tiny dots of green. As a child, I would stare wide-eyed in awe at those specks of green and wonder how each would grow into a big, beautiful mango!

In my imagination, I see a picture of the bounty: I am on a train with those square windows. The coaches are passing through dense forest, the branches of trees forming an arc over the train. I lean out and crane my neck to watch. In that unforgettable wall of green moss and slate-grey tree trunks, suddenly there are mango trees laden with fruit. The train is fast, loud, thunderous. But I am still able to reach out to those big, green mangoes, grabbing them with one hand and pulling with all my strength. Other passengers are amazed and asking me to pluck some more, almost as if I have a super power over mangoes. Perhaps, it was all a dream.

On my mother’s side of the family, for some reason, girls did not survive beyond a certain age. My mother was the first girl child to survive, thereby dispelling the supposed curse. She was fiercely protected. Just as she was taking baby steps, she fell very ill. Her stomach could not hold any food, she threw up everything she was given to eat. In a remote Indian village of the fifties, primary health care centres were almost non-existent. Much of the treatment was either through natural remedies or by quacks. The family tried everything and, somehow, found that mangoes helped. My mother remembers, day after day, sleeping through sweat, sickness and exhaustion, and waking up to find pieces of cut mangoes kept next to her by her mother. She grew better.

Often there would be summer storms. A few brave hearts in her village, with lanterns in hand on the dark nights, would step out to collect the fallen mangoes, unheeding of the whooshing of the wind and the risks from snakes or other animals. The flame in the lanterns often went out but the gathering of mangoes in the dark never stopped. My mother was not allowed to go on those adventurous expeditions. The girl who owed her life to those very mangoes.

Stories from the village recall that many generations ago, one of her ancestors collected discarded mango seeds and planted them all over the village. When those trees bore fruit (at least ten varieties, in different shapes, colours, texture and taste), her family collected them. The Land Ceiling Act of 1956 abolished the Zamindari system which made the tillers owners of the land, and they also became the owners of the trees on those lands. Most of the new owners cut down the mango trees for farming the land or to prevent the previous owner from claiming the fruits. Thus many mango varieties were lost forever.

My brother and I came into the world with a special love for mangoes, almost as if it was a genetic trait or in gratitude for saving our mother. All mangoes were valued for their uniqueness, from a humble Chausa to a large Banganapalle. Summer vacation in my grandparents’ house was marked by heaps of mangoes rolling on hay inside a cool room. We would go into that room several times a day to check for ripe ones and soak them in water for a few hours before eating them. Cutting a Banganapalle was a special privilege. The tacit understanding was that whoever cuts it, gets to suck the seed, and so is allowed to let some extra flesh remain on the seed. The lion’s share.

When I left home to pursue higher studies, it was in the month of May, at the peak of summer and during an abundance of mangoes. My parents were miserable. I was terribly homesick. Mangoes were avoided. It was my brother who quietly bought some and said, “We will eat them and she will too, wherever we all are.” And our love for mangoes continued.

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