A madness for mangoes

A few days ago, when I returned home from work, the first thing that came to my notice was the tangy fragrance. While untying my shoelaces, I kept breathing in deeply to pick up the aroma. Later, while heading to the kitchen to check on what mom was cooking, I could see the plump, juicy, sweet and obviously tangy king of fruits: the mango, back in my house after a year.

Who will not be fascinated with its shape, colour and fragrance? Who will not love to grab one from the red box full of Alphonso mangoes? But alas, before I could do so, my mother instructed me to wait for a couple of days — the mangoes had not yet fully ripened.

Mangoes and memories go hand in hand. Their arrival heralded the beginning of the summer vacations, something that my friends and I, like all children, awaited eagerly. For my friends and I, summers only began after the mangoes arrived. We enjoyed plucking raw mangoes from the tress and eating them. When the season started and the mangoes appeared on the trees, we used to climb a mango tree near our house and pluck a few. As the tree grew taller, we resorted to using stones. It was fun to aim for the big mangoes and bring them down without damaging them. We would pick up at least 20-30 a day. Later, we would divide mangoes before going home.

Then would come the best part: slicing the raw, green mangoes, applying a mixture of salt and chilli powder, and eating them, starting from the edges, pulling in your cheeks and making the tart sound as the sourness hits the taste buds…

Not only raw mangoes, but even the ripe, yellow ones with a tint of pink are yummy to gulp down. I love mangoes in any way.

In my opinion, a mango is the most delicious of all the fruits. For me, just a bowl of mangoes, or the eternal favourite — aam ras and rotis (or puris) is more than a complete meal. I could do this every day, but of course, my mother would never permit. So I compensate by eating them at least every other day while the season lasts.