We, the mango people
What comes to your mind when you hear the word ‘summer’? Sunshine, the heat, rafting, mountains, lakes, stargazing, hikes, ice cream, summer vacation? For me that word is mango. In my mind, mangoes even out all the challenges and travails of a typical Indian summer. Also, most other summer experiences can be directly or indirectly correlated to the mango experience.
It is common knowledge that California leads the United States in agricultural production. Driving down California’s coast from north to south, you get ample evidence of that — almonds, grapes, peaches, mandarins, lettuce, strawberries, tomatoes, walnuts and of course livestock and dairy — hey, but where are the mangoes? Obviously, despite all of California’s bounties and resources, mangoes are not native to its soil. Buying mangoes in California is like buying strawberries in Delhi.
Believe it or not, mango is indeed grown in the United States, its commercial production being of course very limited. Traditionally, Florida has been the main producer of mangoes in the United States, while India is the number one mango producing country in the world.
Figures related to agriculture in California read like the report card of a student who tops in every subject. The billboards along Interstate 5 as you drive down from the Bay Area to Los Angeles record most of these statistics — highlighting the contribution of California farmers to dining tables across the US and even the world. A sizable majority of many American fruits, vegetables, and nuts are grown in CA (for instance, over 95 percent of artichokes, walnuts, kiwis and plums!). Farmers and ranchers in CA produce over 400 commodities. Of course, the combination of soil and the glorious year-round-growing climate in California make it difficult for any other state to match its output per acre. Add to that the impeccable transportation and distribution network and other infrastructure facilities that increase agricultural efficiency.
Given such stellar statistics, it is somewhat unfair to focus on something not even native to California — mango, the Indian maharaja, our king of fruits.
I refuse to eat mangoes Made in Anywhere-Outside-India. For me, the hard, green-red-yellow fruit sold in California grocery stores or even Indian and Chinese stores across California is not mango. It looks like mango, yes, but the color, the aroma, the feel, the texture, the taste, the sweetness — even the best American imports do not match up to our dussehri, langda and chausa. A mango better be sweet and juicy — the heat of an Indian summer ready to burst into a frenzy of flavor and flesh. You should be able to smell a mango the moment it enters the house. Anything that is otherwise is simply not fun, it is not worth the calories, and it is not a mango.
When I first arrived in California, I found my neighbor’s story somewhat sentimental and exaggerated — the story of how she smuggled a peti of mangoes as cabin baggage from Vijayawada after making arrangements with the flight personnel. Given my third consecutive summer without mangoes, I understand her completely.
I personally feel that just like spiritual and medical tourism, there is a lot of potential for mango-tourism in India. Mango-guides can take tourists on trails along the mango-growing belts in various Indian states — our homegrown answer to wine trails, wine tours and tastings. Move over Napa Valley — nearly every Indian state has a local and regional variety of mango, adulated across India and exported throughout the world. The regional varieties are the masterpieces of local geography and climate.
Talking of summer memories, who does not remember their parents and grandparents going mango shopping. Much to my grandmother’s dismay, my grandfather did not want to be burdened by other groceries and would go to buy mangoes exclusively. Back home with at least 5 kg of mango, he would tell stories about his negotiations with the fruit-seller, the varieties he had and what gold he had struck. The mangoes would be washed and sorted according to ripeness — the ripe ones would be chilled for immediate consumption while the unripe ones would often be wrapped in newspaper to hasten the ripening process. Those were the days when relatives would come unannounced. They would often come with another 5 kg either from the local fruit-sellers or from their home state. Then again — stories would be exchanged about the fruit’s origins, levels of sweetness and the care it needed. There is no such thing as too much mango in the house.
And yes, the lucky ones among us have had a chance to visit a mango orchard — during summer visits to distant relatives in UP or Bihar, Maharashtra or Andhra Pradesh. The adventurous cousins would quicly climb up the trees, picking the ripest and juiciest mangoes for their gang — until of course, the frail watchman would wake up from his siesta and chase the gang out of the orchard. The afternoon loot would be enjoyed at a secret hideout and strategies would be made to fool the watchman the next day, all over again.
No Indian summer is complete without mango pickle, mango ice cream and kulfi, mango shake, mango chutney, mango sherbet, aam papad (dried mango), mango kheer, mango subzi, and of course the countless ways in which mango flavouring in used — from mango rasmalai to mango cocktails. Mangoes also have a class system — from the humble dussehri to the upmarket Alphonso. I personally feel the latter is a bit overrated, but obviously the rest of the world doesn’t agree with me on this one.
I strongly believe that our lives revolve around mangoes more than we care to acknowledge. No wonder, mango is called the king of fruits in India. It is not just a culinary delight but a matter of our cultural identity. In fact, I feel it is one of the few pan-Indian obsessions, like cricket or Bollywood. Mango is the lowest common denominator we all agree on — from Shillong to Surat, from Mathura to Munnar. You walk across any store in the United States where ‘mangoes’ are sold — you will find a box or tray of ‘mangoes’ in every Indian’s shopping cart — trying to find solace and gratification in what’s available.
Summer in California is a tourist’s dream — it has farmers markets loaded with juicy cherries and strawberries, sunny oranges and lemons, it has hiking trails lined with fragrant summer blooms, beaches bursting with cools waters and surfers, it has long, hot and sunny days and cool, foggy nights. California has an unbelievably large share of the blessings, beauty and bounties of nature. But there are no real mangoes in the state that justifiably prides itself in filling the fruit, nut and vegetable basket of the United States.
Though nothing compares to mangoes, I must say that there is one California fruit that comes close to filling the void in terms of uniqueness of taste, freshness and quality — the avocado. Are avocados to California what mangos are to us — in many ways, yes. But nothing can replace the modest fruit that makes our eyes sparkle, is part of our historical and cultural identity, is relished by toddlers and great grand parents alike, is like a permanent love affair — the simple summer pleasure of the aam aadmi, the mango people.