When we speak of addictions in our country, we usually think of alcohol, tobacco, narcotics, sweets, bargaining with vegetable vendors, poking our noses into friends’ affairs and discussing the mileage of anything with engine on wheels—except an aeroplane. This list deserves another addition- the mango. I have yet to come across someone who has said, ‘I don’t like mangoes.’ Mango is the king of fruits, the emperor of desserts, the monarch of motifs and the undisputed don of temptations. Yours truly is also an active member of the mango addicts’ association. Indian summer may feel like an oven from April to June and like a steam sauna during the rainy season, but it offers the golden fruit as compensation. It is early September and I have begun to dread the ‘bye bye tata’ from my beloved mango.
Fortunately, there is comfort in the promise of its return next summer—and this is one promise that is always kept, in the grand tradition of pran jaye par vachan na jaye. Although mango pulp is available throughout the year, nothing matches the pleasure of slicing a chilled mango, biting into it and then reaching heaven in an elevator which travels at the speed of light. Others put sophistication into a locker, throw away the key, puncture one end of a local mango, squeeze firmly and suck it non-stop. Mangoes are rich in flavour and nutrients, but they are also generously loaded with fructose and sucrose (roughly twenty percent of the pulp’s weight) which is nature’s way of saying, ‘Beta, enjoy it within limits.’ The warning that excessive intake of mangoes can worsen pimples is not entirely a myth, unlike the instruction to avoid milk after eating fish. If someone gains weight only in summer, mangoes remain the prime suspect, even if the person blames it on slow metabolism. I often advise my patients to limit their one-time mango intake (one small mango or half of a large one).
The pliable patients nod in affirmation, as if signing a surrender treaty. The assertive ones widen their eyes like that of Amrish Puri (after he discovers treachery by his henchman) and say, ‘Doctor sahab, should we stop living!’ I also have a childhood memory- my parents often bought a basket of mangoes from an orchard. The whole family would then finish it quickly, allowing just enough time between two mangoes to breathe and blink. Mango is everywhere- in shakes, candies, pickles, salad dressings, ice creams, memories and even in diplomacy. After joining Indian Foreign Service, all diplomats should find a good supplier of alphonso. The box of alphonso has sweetened many agreements and may have prevented misunderstandings too. Sometimes, mangoes can also create bitterness.
Devotees of alphonso, banganapalli, langda, kesar and chausa varieties defend their favourites with the ferocity normally reserved for arguments over religion and cricket. Last year, I tried to prolong the mango season by freezing a large quantity of mangoes. The experiment, however, turned out like that of an alchemist- demoralising. Once thawed, the mangoes had lost much of their charm- both taste and texture had left them without giving any notice. Do spare a thought for the mango growers. The mango tree is famously moody—one season, it delivers fruit like a drunk uncle showering currency notes during a wedding dance and the next season, it acts like disgruntled workforce!
