Mango Republic

In this land of scorching and punishing summers (enhanced by global warming) people look upon me for solace. Not that I offer any cooling effect, but for my taste. Though we are grown in Thailand, Indonesia and Brazil my cousins there do not command the kind of yum factor which we desis enjoy. Sweet, tangy, succulent are some of the adjectives bandied about to describe the taste and we always occupy prime position on shop shelves.

The obsession with mango truly lives up to the credo of unity in diversity as it cuts across all class and regional barriers in the country. While my most famous version the Alphonso charms Maharashtra and Goa, it is the sweet Himshagor that has Kolkata residents salivating. For UP and the denizens of cow belt the fragrant Langda holds them in thrall, while the whole of South India goes ga ga over luscious Mallika and Neelam.

Even my unripe versions are in great demand for pickles and also eaten raw with salt, chilli powder and other masalas. In fact among most Indian women I am the prime object of desire during pregnancy cravings. For teenager boys growing up in small towns there is no greater thrill than surreptitiously plucking mangoes from a tree in neighbour's property.

However, now I am caught in an messy controversy which has more to do with craving for quick bucks than taste. The European Union banned the import of all mangoes from India, because last year pests were discovered in some consignments. It is a loss of face for the country, but as a positive fallout prices have fallen in India and some of the pricey varieties are within striking distance of aam janta's reach.

But sadly on the domestic front also I am under a cloud over the use of harmful chemicals like calcium carbide for early ripening. It makes me acquire a misleading ripe look with uniformly yellow skin, though discerning buyers can find that the aroma is missing. After cutting one may realise that I am lacking in juice compared with naturally ripened ones as the latter would have sucked more water from the tree. The ill effects include mouth ulcers, gastric problems, diarrhoea and skin rashes. In one incident it even caused death to hundreds of fish in a lake after rotten mangoes, that were artificially ripened, were dumped into it.

However the root cause of all this boils down to a malaise that plagues our agricultural sector across the board - lack of good post harvest management, including a proper storage system. Hence farmers and traders resort to early harvesting to avoid a glut, which leads to a decline in prices. It is the same story for all agricultural produces and the consumers bear the brunt.

Also Read: Bangalore Beat

A Moveable Feast

Think of Mumbai and the picture of milling crowds trooping in and out of trains comes to my mind. I guess for this 'maximum city' it has been a constant for at least three to four decades. Moreover with the city eating into adjoining suburbs and villages, the residents are spending a good part of their day (or for that matter their lives) in these trains.

Back in early nineties when I was staying there, these trains were bursting at the seams and then I had thought that it couldn't get any worse. But on a recent visit to the city I was in for a jaw-dropping surprise. Even at 11 pm on a Sunday it was difficult to get beyond the doors of a Virar local at Bandra station. The Western line travel seemed a mission impossible exercise - though mercifully I did find some toehold while travelling at the Central and Harbour lines.

Whether it was due to the advancing age or sheer lack of practice, I was woefully lagging behind the nimble-footed Mumbaikars in making a dash at those trains. After three-four unsuccessful attempts, thoughts of taking and auto or bus cross my mind, but I banish them after considering the agonizing traffic snarls. Almost the whole city seems to be dug up for some flyover or the other.

The trains have undergone a makeover from the nineties. Gone are the days of drab maroon and yellow compartments with small windows. The current wide-bodied bogies with larger windows seem less claustrophobic and more colourful. Most of them now have in-train public address system announcing the next station. But amid the saturation crowd one feels little inclined to appreciate all that. Probably it may be of interest only to someone like me on a short visit.

Another redeeming feature is the ticket vending machines and smart card. With them one can bid goodbye to long queues. Back in the 90s I remember sweating it out in those queues, which often used to snake out to the car parks or even adjoining streets and tempers would rise if any particular queue was perceived as 'slow' or if someone tried to sneak in. Really used to wonder as to how those railway clerks coped with such high-voltage pressure while dispensing tickets, especially in eternally-crowded stations like Dadar.  This particular station had (and still retains) the uncanny ability to populate any train that comes its way and at any hour!

My cousin had lent me his smart card and I found it quite easy to use and was a great time saver. However, the only downside was the moment I was done with it, I used to get surrounded by people with cash at hand asking “bhaiya, please get me a ticket also”. The sentiment of altruism does come to mind - but no room for so many.

While trying to meet up with a friend he told me to take the 'skywalk' on the Bandra East. Left me wondering what the Dickens that meant. After alighting at the station I climbed on the overbridge on the East side and it seemed as if the station has developed some huge tentacles. Those longish foot overbridges helped commuters avoid crossing those clogged roads adjacent to stations. Later I discovered many other suburban stations too had it, though it was conspicuously absent at Dadar, where probably it is most required.

The city seems perpetually on the edge, thanks to umpteen terror attacks. It gets almost paranoiac while travelling in trains, the target of some of those attacks. In the stations there are frequent announcements in Marathi, Hindi and English warning the commuters to avoid touching any unfamiliar object and requesting them to alert the police. Within the trains too these announcements keep coming ad nauseum. It all gives one an anything-untoward-can-happen-any-moment feeling. Makes one look gingerly at the motley assortment of bags, suitcases and lunch boxes placed on the luggage shelf of the train and pray to Almighty that no RDX lurks in any of them.

Back in the 90s it was not all that hunky dory either. The city was scarred by post-Babri Masjid demolition communal riots and a deadly 1993 serial blasts. The image of Mumbaikars being obsessed with the dhanda of making money, with little interest in politics got severely dented. Pehle aisa kabhi nahin hua, used to be the constant refrain among long-time residents and newspaper columnists had begun comparing the city with Beirut. Those were perhaps the early days of terror and with hardly any lessons learnt, these bloodbaths keep happening with agonizing regularity.