Kurukkan, Malgova and memories

Radhakrishnan K T

I looked longingly at the few mangoes that I collected from our compound today, savouring their smell. Here in Kerala, this year’s mango season is all but over. The taste of these mangoes invariably takes me down memory lane.

In the backyard of our house where I spent my childhood, was a 'grandfather' mango tree. It proudly stood there with its head held high-- higher than any other tree around it. Most climbers tasked to pluck its mangoes would shy away when they saw its height! In the afternoons, while playing in front of our house, we always kept an ear out for that alluring “thud” sound of the falling ripe mangoes. We would then race to the backyard to pick them up. They fell from such a great height; we could clearly hear the sound. With very sweet and fibrous orange pulp and a bit of sap at the stem, I would devour four or five of them at one go!

Back then, we had a “Malgova” mango in front of our house, a stout one that cooled the whole area under it. Its fruit was the size of a coconut with very thick skin and sweet yellow pulp. One mango was enough to fill one plate.

My aunt and uncle lived next door with no clear boundary separating the two compounds. My uncle would sometimes call me from his office room upstairs and give me three almost-ripe mangoes from the tree in their house. When I ran back and gave them to my mother, she would gleefully say, “Ah, mundappa mango.” I remember that this tree always had three mangoes in one bunch.

They had another mango tree on the north side of their where their pet monkey used to frolic. We called those fruits kurukkan mangoes. Kurukkan is Malayalam for fox! Those mangoes did not change to yellow or red when ripe; rather, they turned a pale yellow on one part of the skin. When fully ripe they were very delicious but extremely sour otherwise. Could this stealth in advertising their ripeness be the reason for their name?

I remember that my father, when he returned from a plot of land that we had, would bring with him mangoes like Kaalappaadi and Alphonso. Kaalappaadi had a pronounced beak-like projection at its tip with darker bottle-green skin. It had an oily taste but was sweet all the same. Worms were its main bane, though.

Who would have planted those trees whose fruits we enjoyed so much? Did those who planted them have the good fortune of enjoying the fruits of their labour? Perhaps they planted them for future generations! Two of the mango trees that I planted several years ago have still not borne fruit. Are they waiting for the next generation?