Not-so-guilty Pleasures

 Mangoes are the one upside of summer in India. The various shades of yellow, the pervasive aroma of the fruit, the dramatic differences in texture and taste of the different varieties, mangoes are a truly treat to the senses. The improvement in the supply chain technology has led to an explosion of varieties available in the country. But it was not always like this. Appa would bring a box of Alphonso or Hapus (we called it Aapoos, I had to look it up now to find the spelling :p) when he traveled to Bombay, it was a genuine treat. We would get Neelam, Salem, Malgova varieties locally. A recently available variety that is delectable is the Imam Pasand. Badami is another one that is Alphonso, but can't be called that (it is grown in the contiguous stretch of land as the Alphonso, but called differently because of GI). Banganapalli receives a bad rap only because of it ubiquity in Bangalore, 

The saga of mangoes would begin long before the ripe fruits entered the scene. Before the fruit season was the pickle season. Vadu manga first, avakkai next and the other "quick" pickles - manga thokku and molaga manga, or instant manga salad, were on demand and through the season. Pickle making is a labor of love, and one that the passionate have strong points of view about. What variety is the best, what proportions work, how to pick the best mustard or the best chilli powder, is himalayan pink salt acceptable in pickle (this is one where more pickle aficionados agree on - no is the right answer), how often should you mix the pickle, etc. Mango pickles are among the simplest in terms of the ingredients (only four essential ingredients for all varieties - mango, salt, chilli powder and oil - mustard, fenugreek, hing, jaggery are other ingredients that distinguish the varieties). 

The pickle maestros in my household were Pattu Paati (my maternal grandmother) and Koma Patti (her sister). Pickle making, along with vadaam making were annual rituals they took to an art form and elevated to a science. My childhood memories include playing scarecrow to keep the drying vadaam safe from crows. The pickle making process though was sacred, and we children had no place in the making. I have always had a spicy salty tongue, and would look forward to the day the pickles were ready for consumption. When Paati would ask me for my assessment how that particular batch turned out, I got the opportunity to play Masterchef judge with critical and eloquent feedback - a game that both of us thoroughly enjoyed. 

When the time for ripe mangoes came around however, Appa was the true hero. He would go around to find the best mangoes, carefully sniffing and picking the best ones. He would bring them home and delightfully explain his process and how there were multiple varieties but some weren't there just yet. The first mangoes of the season would disappoint, for they wouldn't be sweet enough, but we couldn't wait. Yet it was necessary part of the process, for it set the tone for better mangoes to come. 

Appa would also take on the job of cutting the mangoes. He would carefully peel the mango, starting at the top and working his way through a spiral. His instrument of choice was the knife, and he could not be persuaded to use a peeler. There was pride in his workmanship, as reflected through how little flesh was still attached to the peel when he was done peeling, and on how unbroken the spiral of peel was. Sometimes, he had a partner-in-crime in Pattu Paati. She would lovingly select the ripest mangoes, all the while expounding the virtues of the particular batch, while also appreciating Appa's care that went into selecting the right fruits. She would wash, peel, and cut them into cubes. Her instrument of choice was the aruvamanai - the deftness with which she would move the mango to the knife to carefully peel just the right thickness of the peel was a joy to watch. It was a skill I never picked up. 

No matter who cut the mangoes, the function of distribution was always Appa's. He would distribute the cut pieces, prodding everyone to take a little bit more. The generosity and the selflessness he displayed in that simple act was representative of his attitude toward life. 

This year, I had been wanting to send Appa mangoes. I tried to find sources to order from, sitting half the world away. I did make an effort, but nothing seemed satisfying. So the first order of business when I got home a couple of days ago, was to find the best mangoes available in the market. I used to know when in the season is the right time for which variety, but that is rusty knowledge at the moment. So I picked up what appeared to be the best of the lot in the neighborhood store. It was a box of Alphonso mangoes that I brought home.

Appa's appetite is very minimal, and his ability to eat different textures and tastes has reduced dramatically. Even so, I sensed a small bit of excitement about the mangoes, just what I was hoping for. We evaluated which mango would be the first to try, we decided it was one day out, it would be ready to be eaten the following day. It so happened that Appa needed to be admitted in the hospital that evening. So the next day, I faithfully carried a mango to the hospital with a knife and a plate, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Appa was hesitant because it might end up spiking his blood sugar. We had tentatively conspired to eat it at lunch, but his sugar was high and we didn't want to add to the sugar load. 

When the doctor came to visit him that evening, we had a room full of people. An uncle, an aunt, a cousin, in addition to Appa and I. As Doctor was about to leave the room, I asked if Appa could eat some mangoes. Doctor said sure, he can. The room spontaneously erupted with joy. I brought out the mango and ceremoniously peeled it Appa style, cut into cubes and offered it to him. It was gratifying to watch him relish the few pieces he did take from the plate. All of us shared that one mango I had cut. 

When we were done eating the pieces and I was about to throw in the trash the peel and the seed, Appa stopped me and asked what I was about to do. He couldn believe there was so much fruit I was willing to 'just throw away'. In his opinion, I was treating it like someone else's mango - simply unacceptable. I sat with him and did the right thing with the mango peel and the seed. Licked and chewed the last bit of flesh from them. He nodded satisfactorily when I was done. Fun times!