The mango 🥭 story

On one side, summer would be unwanted for the sweaty hottie weather and on the other side, I would be desperately waiting for the yellow pulp hanging out there. When the man is in full swing to clone himself, I would bet on him to duplicate the delicious taste of mangoes in lab. Mother nature has her own equations and reactions to pop out with that kind of aroma and flavour. With the warm winds blowing all round, my winds would be in the direction of mamache gaav Nandgaon. And we would be seventeen cousins going snakes and ladders in our old heritage building of grandpa. My cousins never let the 'single child' feeling fog around my radius and so I know all of it viz., 'hit and run' , 'katti batti', 'hiding the toys', 'run-away-lanes', 'refuse and abuse', 'star counting ', Jealous on the famous ' and so many other; of them, was massaging grandpa's legs and eyeing on his strawed tokri full of the yellow pulp. Grandpa would hand-loosen the mangoes and give one to each of us. But when it was about the juice to serve then we would pull each other down to pounce upon the mango seed and jaw it for depulping. That's when we would butter grandpa for getting maximum ones. Mangoes in Nandgaon were juicy, orangish inside-green outside and would be sugary sweet. Mangoes were the reason for us to gaze at the door for grandpa to arrive, the joy on our faces would make him blush and smile, it was a reason for all of us to sit in round with each other, it taught us sharing and enjoying the joy of feasting together, it taught us the concept of recycling the seed and planting it deep down to shoot another giver. The hanging yellow king up there taught us 'his highness' and our patience to reach up there. Aah! Want those days once again, mangoes take me back to memory lane, my near-dear ones, the warmth, the mesmerizing taste and with the determination for a hopeful wait until the next summers.