| Sunday, 07 July 2024 |
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Good morning [%first_name |Dear Reader%],
Good morning dear reader and welcome back to Sunday!
We’re now officially in monsoon season across India. Which, alas, means that mango season is pretty much over for us down south. While I’d hate to be classified as a mango purist or supremacist, the fact is that the varieties that are available now (I’m not naming names!) are a poor way to end the mango season.
I like to think of mango season as the time between the appearance and disappearance of my favourite mangoes—Imampasands, Malgoas, and occasionally, Hapus.
For about a month now, you could see the season ebbing away as the availability and quality of mangoes started to become erratic, even as prices rose (to capture the season-end premium from mango lovers). I’d stop at a few shops every day while driving back from work, checking for Imampasands and Malgoas.
I didn’t find any for the last 10 days. And that’s my solemn goodbye to both. I’m not substituting them—or their memory—for others that are merely available.
In my woeful state, I did end up picking up a box of nostalgia.
Mulberries! (But also, overpriced, gentrified mulberries.)
Growing up in Delhi in the 1980s, I lived next to a giant mulberry tree that grew in a small, enclosed yard that sold coal (yes!). We called it “koyle ki taal” and the tree was a “shahtoot ka pedh”.
There was something mysterious about the coal yard even though, to this day, I do not know the exact dictionary definition of “taal” (if you do, please email and tell me).
Curt, grimy, and scary looking men seemed to come and go. Its gates were always closed, with no easy way for us kids to peek in. Naturally, rumours abounded that it was a dangerous place where men and kids disappeared, never to be seen again, probably buried under mounds of coal.
But the mulberry tree that grew from within seemed magically and inversely correlated to the darkness that was around it. It soared into the air, rising as tall as the drab yellow three-storey apartment blocks that surrounded it and the yard.
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