Kairi
It’s quite a windy day today and my dad is late from work, wondering where he might be. .
I was about to dial his number only when my phone screen lit up with
PAPAZI Calling.
“Haan papa!”
“Kahaan hain tu?. . . . Bahar tak aa zara, samaan lejana hai”
“Aayi”
Putting on slippers without looking down I rush to the foyer where the entire neighbourhood parks their cars. Lose pajamas and flip-flops is the new daily wear. I walk up to our car as my dad unloads the car of grocery bags and a poly bag of probably 6-7 kgs of mango. A little bit for everyone, season's goodness as we called it.
For those of you who don't know, Indian summers are incomplete without Mango, ripe and unripe both. Sweet ripe fruit is relished for it’s magical sweetness while the unripe ones are pickled and dried, a common sight on most household terraces.
I help him unload the car and we carry the fruits home. Leaving in a tub full of water we leave the mangoes to soak and cooldown.
“Main jara hun chhat pe, pani la dio beta. Dhoop bahut tez hain, plants ko dekhna padega”
“Papa yaar dhoop kitti tez hai abhi bhi, chhat pe aur zyaada lagegi. Maybe sit inside a while, have a lemonade then go”
“Achha, mehnat kharab hone du apni. I can’t risk my plants. I’ll go, tu nimbupani bhi le aio bottle mei”
“Chaska Chaska, Laga hai chaska chaska” [ I did a little dance from a bollywood movie]
“Upar aake instagram k liye jaise tu to photo legi nahi, butterflies & bumblebees OMG karke”
[My dad mocked me in his version of fake influencer accent that he was no accustomed to thanks to our neighbours 6 yo who made him sit through DIY makeup for Barbie]
Four flights of stairs and I finally reach the little haven by dad, with a green tarpaulin cover shed and an array of flower pots. Some store bought some DIY and others makeshift from broken paint buckets, mop buckets and oil cans. It was a lovely spot, borderline artistic. One could see broken, and ugly pieces of rotten cans and broken tupperware housing the most beautiful flowers and hovered by butterflies. There is more life to seemingly discards. All they need is a little change of perception, like my dad here had done. Not much of a handy man all through his life, but thanks to the nation wide lockdown and forced leave, the dormant artist in him that we had only heard of from grandma, had finally risen.
As I marveled at the beautiful lines of vines, roses, lemon grass and eggplants, my eyes wandered off to the boundary wall, on which a straw plate was balanced. I did not need to go much further as the tantalizing waft of unripe mango slivers covered in salt caught my nose. The sourness in the air filled my mouth and I couldn’t help myself. I leaped forward and picked one, it probably took me less than a second to pop it in my mouth and savour the electric relish of it’s sourness.
“ Didi ye to achaar ka ambi hai, mummy ne sukhaya. Aap kachcha kyun khare ho”
“Badey mazey ka hota hai betu, aap bhi khaogey ? Ye lo try karo” [The little child stares with anticipation in her eyes]
Her eyes close momentarily with the sourness shock. Dad looks our way and smiles, back to business; watering his peppermint and basils, the shock of his third stevia dying this month is gripping on his heart real tight I suppose. With the right care, even plants feel like pets to some. I wasn’t one of those though. But, that one bite into the Kairi [Unripe mango] took me down the memory lane to when my cousin and I little and one summer ate up half of my Buaji’s [Paternal aunt’s] unripe mango on the pretext of checking on the sun dried fruit whether it had dried or not. My cousin brother Mehul and I took turns after we found out she had spread the delicious goods on the roof of the single room above the terrace, with a wooden ladder as the only way. I had helped her spread them out and tasted one, the first bite to the ultimate addiction of that summer. I realized how tastier the slightly dry, curled up slivers were compared to the fresh ones. I sneaked a few in my nicker pocket, and brought some to mehul too. We became partners in crime and almost smuggled the dry pieces in nicker pockets.Mehul did the deed after Preet Bhaiyya caught me.
“Anu, itna khatta kahogi pet dukhega. Bas aaj k liye itna hi, aap abhi chhote ho”
“Ok Bhaiya” [ I made a face behind his back, I knew Mehul would bring more]
Within two days, we had had more sour mango slivers than in that entire year. Buaji was confused how come the mangoes, almost two buckets full, were now so less. Her husband suggested it must be the water loss due to salting and drying. Mehul and I exchanged some not so sneaky smiles and Preet Bhaiyya’s laughter on our kiddy prank gave it away. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now that Mehul and I were both grown ups and he had a kid of his own on the way. I picked up a few dry mangoes from the straw platter and went downstairs. Priya, his wife was there in the hallway reading something, when I went looking for him on their floor.
“He’s on an office call, anything urgent?”
“Naah, just had to bring him these” [I opened my hand to show her the dry mango I had picked, she looked at me with utter confusion]
“Just give these to him, Usko samajh aajaega. Nahi aaye to mera naam le dena” [I did a little mastaan bhai action waving one hand in the air]
Growing up together, and getting up to all kinds of nuisance every summer break we cousins always felt like siblings and while we cribbed and quarreled as kids, we now missed those days dearly.
Smiling, I went back to staring at my laptop and tallying data points from my team. Work is work, can never escape that for sure. A little break thanks to Papa had taken me years back, if only momentarily to a simpler, cuter, and fuller childhood. A time when I was carefree, all thanks to a little bit of Kairi that my neighbors put out to dry in the summer heat.
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