Summer - Season of Mangoes and Pickles

Summer had a special attraction for us growing up. It meant visit to grandparents' place, where we could meet all our cousins and generally have fun. I don't know what the temperatures were at that time, but it never hampered us from having some fun. Might be we were more tolerant or global warming is really playing a havoc now.

Apart from all the playing and fun, food was something to look forward to, the solid and tasty curd, the special taste of grandma's cooking (not that my mom was a bad cook). And more importantly mangoes. So many varieties and in so many forms. My grandparents had 4 mango trees at home, all of different varieties. So we would start off plucking the small mangoes, pindelu, and just pop them into our mouths taking care to avoid the seed (jeedi). We would be caught and asked to keep off them, as they are "bad for your stomach" and wait till "they grow big they will be tastier". Then the raw mangoes, with salt and chilli; cooked with lentils (yummy, mamidikaya pappu); ground with coconut or yellow lentil (kobbari-mamidikaya pachadi, pesarapappu-mamidikaya pachadi); enough to give one a stomach ache. Not that we minded, after all grandfather had medicine for it. 

Then the pickles. It was a venture which would put the major industries to shame. The planning and effort that went into its execution. Chillies and mustard were to be ground, not using any appliance. Workers would come and use the mortar and pestle to grind them. Then came the men with long poles with a knife and net bag attached to their ends. This to pluck the mangoes from the trees without dropping them on the ground and damaging the fruit. We would all gather beneath the trees, try to spot and yell directions. Then comes the D-day. Grandmother would finish all her cooking early in the morning and would settle down with the workers, mangoes and other ingredients. And the work would start, it would be one week before we would be allowed to taste the pickles. Of course that wouldn't stop us from sneaking off with the dried and salted mango pieces. All the efforts finally pay off, when everyone tastes and praises the pickles, and grandmother packs them into bottles (no vacuum sealing then) for each of her children families.

Then of course the ripe mangoes. Mangoes would have to be ripened by putting them in a dark, hot room on hay bed. Every meal time, grandfather would go to this room and examine the mangoes and pick the appropriate ones of our consumption for the day. He would pick one of us to accompany him and we would all wait with bated breath. It was such an honour to be picked. The mangoes again of various types: kothapally kobbari with all the fibre to keep you busy after eating - picking your teeth for hours; cheruku rasalu with all the sweet and sumptuous flesh; and of course banginapally which had to be cut and eaten. Fights would be on for the seed, which could be slurped for hours on end, of course if cut by grandmother. If grandfather cut it then no one wanted the seed as he would cut it cleanly without any flesh left. After few days, we would be treated with mango juice in the evenings. We relished it till we saw grandmother make it. She would take the overripe and rotten mangoes and make juice from the unspoiled portion. That was goodbye to juice from us. She would also make mango cakes (thandra), layers of mango juice sun-dried.

Now that we are all grown up, we keep wondering how my grandmother managed all this in the hot summers, with no AC and only fans, if electricity permitted. And we miss all the fun, too. With apartments replacing independent homes, there is no room for trees at home. With Swagruha and other places boasting of home-made pickles, it is an easy way out for the fast-paced time-stressed current generation. And also with the increased awareness of cholesterol and other "eat healthy food" fads, no one is keen on these summer time binges. But ahhhh, those good old days.