Amidst lush green paddy fields and River Churni, a tributary of River Ganges, flowing nearby is a small village called Gangnapur — my ancestral village where my entire family has lived for generations and still continues to live. Even our neighbours were our own relatives. Our house which was called “Narayan Villa”, my family being devout Vaishnavas, was partly cemented and partly made of mud and thatched roof. We had land in the village, which was used for growing paddy and some were converted into orchards. Farmlands were on the outskirts of the village and the orchards were next to our house beside a small village pond.

The orchard had many kinds of fruit trees — Mango, Litchi, Papaya, Jackfruit, Coconut, Water Apple (Jamrul), Starfruit (kamranga), Banana, Muskmelon, Black Plum (Jaam), Guava, Palmyra (Tal), Bel, Berries (Kul), Date (Khejur). All these fruit trees were well suited to the local conditions and produced lots of fruits every year. The surplus of fruits sufficed the family and the neighbourhood in all seasons. I include our neighbours because they were important consumers too. This reminds me of village during Kalbaisakhi; the storm would make the fruits fall off from trees and the children would run to the orchard to collect the fallen fruits. The onset of the Kalbaisakhi was an alarm and even if it is early dawn they would be ready with all the paraphernalia to rush as soon as the storm subsides. It would become a competition of who could collect more fruits and conflict of “I-saw-the-fruit-first” would arise. Teams would be formed — one picking up the fruit and the other putting it in basket (Jhuri). At other times, because the fruits would often get damaged because of falling on the hard ground, we tied old sarees with trees and after the storm most of the fruits would be collected in it and the bundle would be carried back home. The fruits were delicious by themselves but the efforts would add to the taste.

The Black Plums (jaam) were most fascinating to us. It was the answer to the wierdiest riddle of my childhood — “Aakash theke porlo buri, holo rokte makhamakhi” — which translates to — “the old woman falls from above and gets smothered in blood. Who is she?” The ground below the Jaam tree would always be coloured in dark red which inspired the riddle. The orchard was a great play area for us. We would climb up the trees in groups to pluck fruits. My favourite pastime during early summers would be sitting beside the pond, looking at the mango trees in the orchard and trying to get a sense of the number mango flowers coming up in the trees which would decide the number of fruits that would come up that season.

Once in six months, the climbers of the coconut trees would come. I would watch intently how these men would climb up the trees effortlessly like spiders and get the coconuts for us. He would remove the top covering of the coconut so that we can drink the water inside. We would rush to get glasses and spoons from kitchen and stand in line to get our coconut. He would invert the coconut on our glass, cut the fruit into half and hand it over to us. We would drink the water and then use the spoons to extract the soft flesh inside the fruit (domala). The coconuts which would have been hardened were used for cooking. The remains would be kept for use in earthen kitchen as fuel. The whole family would join in this coconut-eating-festival for which we used to wait for months.

The coconut fries which my grandmother used to cook on these days of coconut surplus left the deepest impression in my mind. She would serve us rice, Black gram dal (Biuli Dal), Poppy seed (aloo posto) and coconut fries (narkel bhaja). Years later, when we moved out of Gangnapur and my mother would cook the same meal with fried coconut, I would be reminded of my village, my family, the orchards, the fruits, flooding my mind with the memories of childhood. A sense of pleasure with loss of sense of time would creep in as if I have been transported to my past.

• Priyanka Basu