सर्वम् Mango Pickle मयम्

Veeru and Vijay, the monkey duo, have migrated probably to greener pastures. The buzz is no more monkeys. It is mangoes, Mangoes and MANGOES. Messages flash past several groups: “Is any mango seller coming today?”  “The ripe-mango seller will be at Gate 5 from 11 to 3,” or “Tender mango seller Gopal will be at Gate 3 from 11.30.” In addition, some residents bestowed with expertise handed down by their mothers churn out pickles in right proportion and sell them to co-residents. 

One long-time Delhi-ite and now in SFV like me, prepared an authentic Punjabi type Mango pickle using sarson ka tel. It has come out very well  - only aloo paratta, gobi paratta or puri chole that make a deadly combination is missing. 

Her mother, 88, is an expert in Andhra achar. She gets all the ingredients including gingelly oil from her hometown in Andhra. The staff in GKVK (Gandhi Krishi Vigyan Kendra) calls her when the mango is ready for plucking. She personally inspects, have them plucked and cleaned, and cut them in geometric proportion using her own cutter. She distributes the finished product to her daughter, grand- daughter… and keeps for herself just enough for one year, though its shelf life is easily two years.

Yet another has already prepared it in Palakkad style, wrapped and stored in air-tight bottles for her sons in Europe and Singapore. 

All this takes me to another page - the poor Paru Mami of my village. Her husband’s income was insufficient to feed the large family. Mothers in other houses mitigated Paru Mami’s misery to the extent their own situation permitted, ensuring simultaneously that Paru Mami’s dignity was preserved.

Most houses sought Mami’s services for the annual pickle event – mango, lime, naarthankai (dried lime), or veppala katti. And every lady relied on Mami’s hand to add the final heap of salt and spice for two reasons. First, she moderated the quantity of spices depending on the blood pressure level, ulcer or other problems plaguing members of the house in question. Second, the ladies firmly believed that under any other hand the pickle would get sour and develop fungus sooner than later. 

When done they would give Mami a bottle of the prepared product, haldi-kumkum, a blouse piece, and money. Mami thus had a good collection of pickles on hand at any given time. Sometimes when the family had to make-do with a bare minimum meal – rice, and thin buttermilk - Mami made up for the absence of a full course with an offer to her children to choose their own pickle: Karikkar Mami’s mango pickle; Karimasseri Mami’s lime pickle; or Kolathu Mami’s hot kadugu mangai… This effort to divert her children often worked – the children forgot what was missing on their plates in their eagerness to grab the pickle of their choice.

Decades later while on duty travel I visited Mami and her son in Kozikode where they had shifted. Two of her five daughters also lived there, and one of them was into pickle-making as cottage industry. I called on her too. After offering me coffee and snacks, she said: “We hear your uncles are selling their ancestral house in the village. I would be keen to buy it, just to perpetuate my childhood memory. Can you put in a word to them please?” I promised to convey her wishes. Yes, at that time all members of my grandpa’s family had moved to cities, and the house remained vacant, on the verge of dilapidation. My uncles were seriously thinking of selling it. As I prepared to take leave, she asked me to wait. She went inside and returned with a shopping bag full of assorted pickles – easily 12. I had a tough time convincing her that it would be a problem for me to carry them either as a check-in or cabin baggage.

What a wheel of time. The family that had endured nothing but hardship in the village was keen to own a house there; and my uncles, who had nothing but pleasant memories, were trying to sever all connections. Yes that is what life is all about, I thought, as I got her to agree that I would accept just one bottle (mango pickle, my favourite) and headed to the airport.