It’s Mango Shower Time

I turn nostalgic for our old house

In April-May, sometimes in the afternoon, storm clouds float in. The wind picks up speed, and it starts raining wildly. Sometimes, hailstone fell hard, damaging the clay tiles on the roof.

The wind and hailstone break branches and drop the raw mangoes. The house is surrounded by trees, so it turns dirty.

My parents don’t complain. They know it’s nature doing its job.

My father loves sweeping. He picks a reed broom and sweeps for 1-2 hours, creating piles of litter. It’s a workout for him.

This was a way to exercise, my readers, before marketing made you take protein powder, steroids, gym memberships, etc.

As he swept, sometimes he found interesting things. Once he spotted a tiny colorful bunting bird. He called me and my sister to see the bird. I held the bird in my palm and hoped that it would survive. But the tumultuous wind had battered it hard, and it succumbed to the injuries.

Now, this is a bird’s death we will not feel guilty about because it’s decided by nature. But a bird dying due to fertilizer and pesticide exposure or by hitting lighted tall buildings is directly our fault.

Meanwhile, my mother sees that the ground is blanketed by raw mangoes. That’s the reason, the weather phenomenon is called ‘mango shower’.

Anyway, she grabs a bamboo wicker basket and calls me to help with picking the mangoes. If exposed to water, they will be ruined.

So, we have to peel and chop them, and marinate with salt and turmeric. The pickled pulps will be shared with family and friends.

It is a tribute to the simpler times.

My father is gone now. Mother does not live in the house anymore. The old place must be desolate. Nobody lives there to appreciate the changes in nature.

Thank you for reading my memories of the mango shower.