Writing from my kitchen

Come January and one starts to notice little white flowers, peeping out from the dense foliage of mango trees. They seemed to reassure the departure of frost and welcome the spring which would later wither into a great Indian summer. These little flowers also hold promises of greater pleasures sweet or sour. Not too long ago, most yards around Indian homes would shelter at least one if not more mango trees. We grew up accepting this tree and its fruit as a granted aspect of everyday living. The canopy that threw a blanket of shade under which children could play in the sunniest of afternoons, strong branches that supported swings, dense greenery of the leaves where parrots played hide and seek, and the sweet anticipation of the fruit, once the blossoms begin to show. These days, I point out a mango tree to my four year old, for her to comprehend that her favourite fruit is born to this beautifully green tree. Yet I wouldn’t be surprised, if anyone asks her “where do you ge