While talking to David Solomon my colleague and senior of journalism days the other day, talks veered around this year’s unusually ‘cool’ summer of north India. “The surprising thing was”, I told David, “muskmelons were quite sweet, despite lack of hot winds and dry weather.”

David caught me. “When did you start eating kharboojas, you were mango lover,” he interrupted. “Yes, mangoes are my obsession, but I eat muskmelons also.”

As soon as raw mangoes become available in Lucknow, sometime in February, I begin with mango chutney and end up with in late August till the last mangoes are available in the market.  In between all preparations of mangoes, raw and ripe, by my wife satiate my unending mango thirst.

During childhood, I would roam around with siblings from one orchard to another and eat raw mangoes fallen on the ground. Discarded shaving blade, salt and chili powder often accompanied. Excess eating of raw mangoes sometimes led to bleeding from nose. But who cared?

When fallen mangoes were not found, I was cajoled by siblings to pluck from the trees. I obliged them. Sometimes it landed me in difficult situation. Like one afternoon, I was stealing raw mango from a tree, whose owner Pandit Shyamlal, all around a quintal with huge tummy, was sleeping under the same tree on a cot. One mango fell just on his tummy. He woke up cussing me. But before he could catch me, I jumped off the tree and ran away. The complaint reached home, and I got a thrashing from mother.

I have fondest memories of mango harvesting at my grandfather’s village, Behta, some 20 km from Lucknow on Kursi Road. My first 14 years of life were spent at Rudauli, a town then in Barabanki district, now in Faizabad, sorry Ayodhya district, where grandfather was principal of an intermediate college.

So, every year between 20 and 25 June my grandfather, grandmother and I would start at 3 in early morning by train to Lucknow. By 6 in morning the train would reach Lucknow, where at railway station a tonga wallah, informed in advance by postcard, would be waiting for us. The tonga would take us to Behta.

Lucknow used to be a small city then. The tonga would cross Hazratganj, the Monkey Bridge (there was no Hanuan Setu then) on the Gomati (it was then spelled like it, now ‘a’ has been dropped), University Road, IT Crossing, where Lucknow limits ended then, and reach Behta in two-three hours. Road from IT Crossing to Behta and beyond used to be kutcha.

Mango harvesting would then begin. We had three trees, all huge, old and non-commercial, named Gudawa (pulpy), Khatua (very sour when raw, but equally sweet when ripe), and Bambaiya. Don’t know who gave them these names. I used to ask those on the trees harvesting mangoes to drop a ripe mango so I can have it. Sometimes they obliged with semi-ripe one. And if they found any fully ripe one, it would not reach me – rather skin and seed would come down separately. It was already eaten on the tree.

Next evening the same tonga wallah would bring us with mangoes, wheat, and other grains to Lucknow from where we would return to Rudauli. Then we would patiently wait for mangoes to ripen and savour them.

We had a mango tree at our home in Rudauli also. When it started bearing fruits once I was harvesting them. In greed to harvest as many mangoes as possible, my khocha (contraption used to harvest mangoes) touched a wasp hive. I could not see anything for the next three days as the wasps stung me all over.

The last time I climbed a mango tree was some 15-16 years ago to harvest mangoes at my friend Biswajeet Banerjee’s home. With increasing age and weight, I found it quite difficult. After that I stopped such an adventure. About a week ago, his son Joy, another mango enthusiast, posted photo of first ripe mango from his trees. I have not been able to visit his place because of corona restrictions but will visit his place to eat the delicious mango of his trees. Mangoes growing in his home have unique taste and flavour, unmatched by any commercial variety.

Probably last year, an online newspaper published a write-up about how to eat mangoes. The sum of the article was if one ate a cup of mango pieces in afternoon, it was okay. In the comments section, I took a dig at the article writer with the sentence: “Who eats mangoes like that. For over 50 years I am eating 1 kg mangoes every day throughout the season without any issue.”

And thus continues my love for mangoes.