A mango lover in Calcutta is spoilt for choice these days. He or she gets to savour the king of fruits — apart from its pristine form – in a hundred assortments of experiments. Be it mango puddings, mango salads, mango kulfis, mango meringues, mango shortcakes, cheesecakes, tarts, mango souffle, crumble, mousse, custard, pie, flan or sorbet. You can either take a stroll down to your neighbourhood patisserie or sweets shop and be bombarded with exotic delicacies — slivers of mangoes lending colour and flavour to them. Or, you may wish to seek help from delivery apps and, soon enough, unthought-of desserts, coolers and ice-creams will reach your home.
Once upon a time — literally — days were simple and households were conventional. Mangoes, luscious, juicy and delightfully affordable, and sliced by kitchen blades — aamsattwa apart — ruled supreme. Even if there were a few fancy varieties available, they existed in unreachable price stratospheres. I remember once having a mango ice-cream that came in a yellowish-white, penguin-shaped container. The tub was later used to store precious erasers and sharpeners.
A variety of mango-based sweets Barnini Maitra Chakraborty
Between 4pm and 5pm — on most spring and summer afternoons — the sky turned an ominous inky-grey. Trees stood still, lifeless, as if enshrouded by the looming darkness. And then a storm rose.
We were in school then, waiting for our bus drop home. Those trees, imprisoned so long in waiting and laden with mangoes, shed their fruits with the advent of the high winds. We rushed into the fields, the heady smell of green, raw mangoes drawing us out. How many fruits did we gather — strewn on the grass — from the tiniest to those of reasonable size, and our tiffin boxes looked rich with the harvest.
Raw mangoes at Lake Market Ashim Paul
Those were the merry, stormy, mad days of kalbaishakhi, when juicy, young mangoes ruled our afternoons. The simplest of recipes came handy — a bit of oil and salt and how yummy they tasted! We had no Google in those days to seek newer and newer recipes, so there we were, with our steel tiffin boxes full of tender little fruits and gobbling them up, whether making the preparation ourselves or gathering around the street vendor, rustling up delicious snacks in minutes. Mothers in various households tried out pickles of all kinds — dripping with mustard oil, vermillion with the most sinful of spices and so on.
As I reminisce about those days, I can nearly feel the fruit’s dainty shape in my fist. A delicate dimple at an angle, a luminous cheek to be kissed, often coming with one or two shy leaves — how we cherished the kaancha aam! And the storm that tossed them from branches with phantom fingers used to be rather generous! Not fair, the uprooting bit, but what else could pluck the magic crops from trees in the school field and drop them into our palms?
What else but a kalbaisakhi storm could pluck the magic crops from trees in the school field and drop them into our palms? Shutterstock
As summer days lengthened and holidays crept in, the green, raw, baby mangoes ripened — colours enhancing their cheeks, peach-red lending a shade to pastel yellow or coy green. Very often we trudged back home after missing the school bus. We thoroughly relished getting drenched in the temperamental thundershower. As we walked along the neglected yet intimate pavements of Calcutta, we noticed leaves, baby fruits, familiar and unfamiliar petals, or sprouts lying crowded on them. The glistening, whimsical twilight seemed to shelter a storm-tossed city in its hands. A few raw mangoes looked trampled by hurrying feet or squashed by unseeing wheels of various vehicles, and we felt sorry for them.
As summer days lengthened, the green, raw, baby mangoes ripened — colours enhancing their cheeks, peach-red lending a shade to the pastel yellow or coy green TT Archives
Calcutta seemed a youthful city then — spruced up by tangy mangoes, spicy-sweet, a random mix of emeralds and sapphires and jades. Come summer, and that holds true even now. Mangoes occupy an indispensable place in our afternoon snacks. In our childhood, the pulpy and soft fruits used to be soaked in water (often in bucketfuls of water) and mothers sliced them neatly, while sharing stories of their childhoods with us. So far as memories travel, that seemed the only way to binge on cool, sweet mangoes — whether lyangra or bombai or himsagar or chausa or dasheri. Begunphuli and golapkhaas were two other easily available varieties. One year, our caretaker from Hazaribagh brought the small madhukulkuli mangoes for us, along with fajli which were quite big and fibrous. My mother sliced madhukulkuli with a wooden knife. We liked it. None of us preferred fajli, only my father praised it out of sheer loyalty to the gachher aam!
Begunphuli and golapkhaas mangoes
There were no magic apps in our childhood. Bland days, you would think. Perhaps. But like all biased nostalgia-clinging Bengalis, I feel kalbaishakhis were our doorstep couriers and rainy, slothful summer dusks the bestest time of the year — at least so far as mango-gorging was concerned. The city sold no fancy assortments (aam sandesh used to be a sad effort in sundry sweets shops), nor did we hanker after any; it’s just that the miraculous mango lived on with us as an extravaganza — and we loved every stage of its glorious life.
‘In our childhood… the city sold no fancy assortments (aam sandesh used to be a sad effort in sundry sweets shops), nor did we hanker after any’ Ashim Paul
While stirring up such vivid memories, one feels like looking ahead as well. With so much creativity and innovation invading our taste buds, do not be surprised if one day you are served mango biryani or mango kabiraji in your favourite eatery. Who knows! And Calcuttans, always pampering evolved choices so far as food is concerned, will lap them up and recommend them to their friends and families strewn across the globe.
