Mango Fever
It’s summer. That can only mean one thing. Total and utter mango madness.
Normally I never actually see any Maharashtrians in Essex, but this is the one time of the year where herds of Maharashtrians queue up at every possible Indian store with their life savings to buy as many crates of mangoes as possible. Now I don’t mean the green slices you get in plastic bags in Sainsbury’s or the fancy “mango salsa” you get in Marks & Spencer. I’m talking about those massive, aromatic, bright Alphonso mangoes. Every car journey to the Indian shop would be aai and baba telling my brother and I legends of how the Alphonso mango is every single Maharashtrian’s pride and joy especially as it grows in Konkan.
There are four specific steps on how we obtain these mangoes:
Baba will drive like a maniac with whole family early in the morning or late at night to an Indian store, preferably to Ilford Lane so we can casually pick up some coriander, and a 50 kg bag of rice too, because you know, “just in case”. (For those who don’t know, Ilford Lane is a street with ONLY Indian shops, think of it as Southall’s little sister.
Walk to the back of the store where somebody resembling a shifty paan-chewing smuggler with a menacing look stands with crates of imported Alphonso mangoes. Nod at him, wait for nod back. This is code for “you may approach and haggle”.
Never accept the initial price per crate. Pretend to leave but come back and accept price. Haggle again just to test his patience.
Pick up a MINIMUM of ten boxes and run to car as if carrying gold or something illegal; and drive even faster back home before somebody outside the family realises you have mangoes.
Once we actually bring the mangoes home, for the whole month no other dessert may be eaten after dinner unless it is a mango. In fact, wherever possible every meal must be a mango. If I decide to have a cup of tea during the day I literally have to eat a mango with it rather than a biscuit. If I don’t eat a mango or if I ever make the mistake of saying I am bored of eating them…then it’s a matter of bringing complete shame on the family, it’s a crime. When I was younger, if I dared to do this I would see “the look” in my parents’ eyes, as if I had forgotten who I was… it was at this point that I knew I would be told to do another maths paper or to do some sort of chore so I’d eventually eat the mango.
The only other time I remember seeing a similar look in my baba’s eyes was when our neighbour told us that we should try Kesar mangoes since they are as good as Alphonso, this is probably the most hurtful thing you could say to a Maharashtrian and it took a few weeks for my baba to start trusting our neighbour again. In fact I have never tried another type of mango in my life apart from Alphonso and I don’t think I ever would, it would be as if I were cheating on them. The custom for everybody in my house during mango season is to eat a mango “the way it is supposed to be eaten”, not with a spoon, definitely not with a fork, but by the following steps:
Smell mango to make sure it is ripe, roll up sleeves and find a steel plate – commonly at least fifty of these are found in all Indian households. If do not have steel plate, you are not an Indian. Proceed to go back to Ilford Lane and buy them.
Use your own teeth to rip off mango skin. If mango juice droplets start rolling down wrist, ask aai to hand you a tissue, hardcore mango eaters just keep going.
Take a deep breath, grip firmly in hand and stare into the mango’s soul and bite, making absolutely sure that half your face smashes into it.
Must make sure that every bite creates more mess, the more mess the better.
Must NEVER leave mango unfinished unless you are trying your absolute best to disrespect your culture.
If unable to finish mango, wash hands, go upstairs and study. Do no reappear until the next morning.
By June, I have basically turned into a mango and suddenly the last crates have been sold and regretfully the last mango is eaten, it’s back to basics. As much as I do get overwhelmed with the constant requirement to eat mangoes during summer, I do end up missing them, and there will never be a summer in my home which does not include eating at least 15 crates of fresh Alphonso mangoes…or an overflowing supply of rice.
