It’s aam & it’s drool-worthy!

Mangoes have inspired kings, poets, travellers, and chefs alike. Garima Verma tells us why and how mango has been making every Indian summer worth it

I vividly remember those childhood summers being synonymous with my maternal grandparents’ place and mangoes. Every week, a middle-aged woman from a nearby village would come selling the most beautiful little sunshine yellow tapka mangoes sitting pretty in a cane basket on her head. While my mother would be concerned for our city-bred systems, the grandmother ensured our evident greed for the fresh tree-ripened local variety was never met with disappointment.

For, tapka literally means ‘fell’, in this case, the ripe mangoes which fell from the tree. Once the grandmother had soaked them in water for some time, one piece after another would be squeezed and sucked of its wonderful sweet-sour pulp. The sheer pleasure of having savoured those mangoes in the most basic neanderthal manner, sans social etiquettes or table manners that trouble the grown-up existence, was a satisfaction that could never be derived from the cut-and-eat way.

The amorous significance of mango dwelt on me much later. Kalidas’ comparison of mango blossoms to Cupid arrows, and Amir Khusro’s fair maiden indulging in shringaar (makeup) as mango buds open and koel birds sing from every branch, made me truly understand the bond our country has with mango. It is not a mere fruit; it is an emotion and a forever love affair. For, the world might have been introduced to mango only some 400 years back,but India is in a relationship with it for thousands of years.

Then, could we blame the Nawabs of Lucknow for zealously protecting the exclusivity of Dasheri mangoes for generations? Not letting their beloved aam (mango) going from khaas (special) to aam (common). The village Dasheri of Malihabad, some 25 km from Lucknow, boasts of the mother tree believed to be more than 300 years old. Legend has it that to prevent the reproduction elsewhere, the Nawab would ensure that the seeds of eaten Dasheris were destroyed. It is said that only when someone somehow succeeded in stealing a piece that it spread to the other parts of Malihabad and the country. The fruits from the mother tree, however, still go exclusively to the Nawab’s family.

The season of mangoes also provided the erstwhile royal families of India ample excuses to hold their lavish mango parties, introduce each other to their new varieties, and name them. The Mughals celebrated the ripe and raw varieties with equal passion; Jahangir and Shah Jahan’s khansamahs (cooks) introducing delicacies that still rule the Indian kitchens in summer — aam panna, aam ka lauz and aam ka meetha pulao. One can only imagine the extent of their displeasure at contemporary damage to the puritan love under the name of fusion or experiment — mango ice cream chaat, cheese and mango, or some mango curries with conflicting flavours thrown together.

Shouldn’t it be kept simple? À la Totapuri — its slices sprinkled with salt and chilli powder dominating many roadsides in Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. I also admire the Gujaratis’ commitment to aam-ras and the latter’s no-fuss reality. Aam-ras made from fragrant Kesar mangoes, first cultivated by the Nawabs of Junagadh in the early 20th century, is the envied delicacy. The saffron-yellow liquid, which is a simple mix of mango pulp and sugar, makes many queue up in front of shops since early morning and is a daily inclusion in the meals throughout the summer.

The king of mangoes — Alphonso, that golden yellow perfection, was also a result of love and efforts transcending boundaries. Afonso de Albuquerque’s, the second Governor of Portuguese India, took some saplings to Brazil to experiment with grafting. The quest for the ideal variety ended with one that was named after him and brought back to India in the 16th century. It came to be called Alphonso, or Aphoos in Konkani and Hapoos.

Nur Jahan’s fondness resulted in her celebrated wines using a mix of mango and rose. One of the most expensive varieties of mangoes, from Madhya Pradesh’s Katthiwada, is named after the queen and is a giant at 2.5-3.5 kg apiece. Sher Shah Suri named his favourite variety Chaunsa after his victory over Humayun at Chausa in Bihar’s Buxar district, from where its propagation in India is believed to have started. The Mughals’ infatuation with the fruit saw Akbar plant one lakh mango trees in Bihar’s Darbhanga; some trees rumoured to be still standing. In the 18th century, Raghunath Peshwa of Marathas did him one better by planting one crore mango trees in his region. While that affluence of the past is long gone, mango continues to bring people together. Lucknow’s Aam aur Ghalib festival celebrates the fruit and the poet’s love for it. Mirza Ghalib was such a fan that he was said to have devoured almost all the varieties that were popular or existed during his time. He could, hence, say with authority: Mujhse poochho tumhein khabar kya hai, aam ke aage nai shakar kya hai (you don’t know anything, ask me, even sugarcane is nothing in front of mango). The obsession of us all is, however, best captured in Akbar Allahabadi’s Aam-Nama: Naama na koi yaar ka paiġham bhejiye, is fasl mein jo bhejiye bas aam bhejiye. (Oh beloved, do not send any messages, this season if you want to send only send mangoes!)

Aamlicious

The Maurya kings planted mango trees alongside roads as a symbol of prosperity, and instant food and shade for
travellers.

Himsagar mangoes of West Bengal are bright as sunshine, thin-skinned, oozing with silky sugary pulp — great for juices and desserts. They are, however, available only for four weeks, anytime between May and June.

Malgova, which was legendary in the orchards of the ruler of Mysore, Hyder Ali, the fruit weighing between a kg and 1.5 kg, is a favourite in Tamil kitchens.

Ramkela from Malihabad is the first choice for pickling.