The highlight those days, of summer vacations spent in Chennai, was plucking Mangoes in Grandpa's back yard cum garden - read tropical forest. What started out as being nurtured into a kitchen garden, grew up to be a cross between a mini Amazon(minus the Anaconda) , and a botanical garden.
It was a single handed effort by my Grandpa to convert a sandy backyard into this hybrid forest- exotic garden. Very commendable considering the harsh weather and water conditions in Chennai. For more than twenty years he had slogged over it.
There were the fruit trees that formed a vast canopy, the outermost layer - Coconuts and Mangoes, then the smaller fruit trees which were the secondary rung of foliage - Papaya, Chiku, Guava, Lemon, Curry leaf plants that were now small trees, on the larger trees were creepers and runners - Beans and small Melons, that made it quite difficult to tell the tree from the creeper! The sandy ground was taken over by flowering plants, Berries, kitchen spices and one solitary Pineapple bush. Sunlight always managed to streak in and the entire forest would glow Emerald and Gold! Amidst all of this were colorful little beetles and bugs, dainty butterflies, shiny snails, scurrying squirrels, the ever color-changing chameleons, crows, sparrows, the odd pet cat and a stray dog. It was quite an assortment.
As a little girl, I would wait to run out and walk through it, to be taken in by its enchantment.
It was the perfect stage for the unfolding of the "Mango plucking ceremony". In summers the Mango trees sprouted bunches of light yellow flowers, harbingers of the Mangoes that were coming! Grandpa's garden had close to eight Mango trees as far as I can remember now. Each of these would be laden with healthy, heavy, delicious smelling Mangoes! He would let some to ripen, and bring some down earlier.
My grandpa would easily tend to his garden and bring down the produce himself, but when the grandchildren were visiting, he would give them a little something to do and learn from. Most of my maternal cousins are boys, with only two other girls, besides myself. Until the age of seven or eight, I wasn't considered up to the task of climbing trees and it was mostly the boys that were the official nominees for the "Mango plucking ceremony". Boy! was i thrilled when my turn came.
There were the fruit trees that formed a vast canopy, the outermost layer - Coconuts and Mangoes, then the smaller fruit trees which were the secondary rung of foliage - Papaya, Chiku, Guava, Lemon, Curry leaf plants that were now small trees, on the larger trees were creepers and runners - Beans and small Melons, that made it quite difficult to tell the tree from the creeper! The sandy ground was taken over by flowering plants, Berries, kitchen spices and one solitary Pineapple bush. Sunlight always managed to streak in and the entire forest would glow Emerald and Gold! Amidst all of this were colorful little beetles and bugs, dainty butterflies, shiny snails, scurrying squirrels, the ever color-changing chameleons, crows, sparrows, the odd pet cat and a stray dog. It was quite an assortment.
As a little girl, I would wait to run out and walk through it, to be taken in by its enchantment.
It was the perfect stage for the unfolding of the "Mango plucking ceremony". In summers the Mango trees sprouted bunches of light yellow flowers, harbingers of the Mangoes that were coming! Grandpa's garden had close to eight Mango trees as far as I can remember now. Each of these would be laden with healthy, heavy, delicious smelling Mangoes! He would let some to ripen, and bring some down earlier.
My grandpa would easily tend to his garden and bring down the produce himself, but when the grandchildren were visiting, he would give them a little something to do and learn from. Most of my maternal cousins are boys, with only two other girls, besides myself. Until the age of seven or eight, I wasn't considered up to the task of climbing trees and it was mostly the boys that were the official nominees for the "Mango plucking ceremony". Boy! was i thrilled when my turn came.
My older brother, a cousin brother and I were to pluck Mangoes under Grandpa's able supervision.
The boys stripped off their shirts to escape stains and got into their shorts.
I stripped off my fear of the first organised tree climbing expedition and got into my shorts.
Once geared, we were led to the rear balcony that housed the ingeniously designed in-house tools. Grandpa the Metallurgist, had customised them all to suit his purpose and that of the garden's. There were hooked poles of various lengths, knives, crow bars, spades and sickles among others. Today we needed only the hooked poles. Carrying the longest pole and a foot-long knife, tucked into his dhoti at the waist, Grandpa led the way, resembling a chieftain marching his tribe down to battle. Between the four of us we had three poles of varying lengths with hooks or "kokkees" attached to the ends, and three large aluminium tubs to hold the loot in.
The trees stood ahead, tall, large and majestic. They were all more than twenty years old.
Two of us were to climb and one would stay on ground with Grandpa to run around, gather and deposit the Mangoes. The three of us took turns at ground duty and at climbing trees so all of us got a shot at each task and didn't tire. Grandpa, the chief presiding officer of the mission, of course decided who got to do what and when.
So, up I went. The terrain had its hurdles. The tree trunk was coarse, there was sticky tree sap flowing out of cracks in the bark, that I had to avoid, and there were half an inch large red ants all over! Grandpa shouted out instructions when he saw us faltering. A foot here and a foot there, and slowly I got the hang of it (pun intended). The climb had to be slow, steady, deliberate and calculated. Some branches were weaker than the others. One had to be cautious about distributing one's weight between the footholds on different branches.
Also very frightening were the columns of red ants marching along. The ultimate scary moment being when you caught an extreme close up of red antennae, feet and all of it on a leaf/branch precisely four millimeters from your left eyebrow! Breathing comes to a halt, muscles tense up, and Mangoes are forgotten.
Of course ants are much too purposeful to abandon their chartered route and pounce on neighboring creatures for cheap thrills, but one can never be too sure right???? Right???
Mangoes hung in ones, twos or threes. Once I was perched close enough, a hook of suitable length was raised to me from the ground. I had to then balance on my feet, hang on with one arm, take control of the hook with the other and steer it towards the Mango(es).
It was not just pulling viciously at it once the hook was around the Mangoes. There was a method in that too. The hook had to be placed slightly above the mangoes, from where the stem came out, and tactfully with the right amount of force the Mangoes had to be tugged at such that the skin was not scraped or disturbed.
Caution was to be maintained when several Mango bunches hung close to each other. One had to be very careful to not bring down the raw ones with the ripe ones. The ripe ones were preferred over the raw Mangoes, and the latter where usually left behind to ripen. There was a backup plan anyway. In case we brought down a Mango that was not ripe enough, it was made into pickles and chutneys :) Super combination with curd rice. Such joy!
And so from one mango laden branch to the other, we would move deftly and carefully, getting better with each attempt. The sight of the mango filled tub on the ground below, gave an immense sense of accomplishment. By now the tension had lifted and we were relaxed enough to enjoy the breeze redolent with Mango aroma!
The chap on the ground would have his own set of tensions too. He had to ensure he caught the Mangoes and broke their fall as far as possible. Though the beach sand in the garden was soft enough to not do much harm, the Mango's own ripe weight and momentum of fall, would split it open upon impact. Nothing displeased my Grandpa more.
Some Mangoes were left behind in the trees for the squirrels, parrots and crows. Grandpa was an intelligent gardener and knew that the Eco balance was needed to keep the garden happy.
The descent was trickier than the climb, but the job was done, and there was no fear of the unknown.
Our little procession marched back indoors triumphantly, with my Grandpa commenting on how with each year the number of Mangoes were reducing.
The boys stripped off their shirts to escape stains and got into their shorts.
I stripped off my fear of the first organised tree climbing expedition and got into my shorts.
Once geared, we were led to the rear balcony that housed the ingeniously designed in-house tools. Grandpa the Metallurgist, had customised them all to suit his purpose and that of the garden's. There were hooked poles of various lengths, knives, crow bars, spades and sickles among others. Today we needed only the hooked poles. Carrying the longest pole and a foot-long knife, tucked into his dhoti at the waist, Grandpa led the way, resembling a chieftain marching his tribe down to battle. Between the four of us we had three poles of varying lengths with hooks or "kokkees" attached to the ends, and three large aluminium tubs to hold the loot in.
The trees stood ahead, tall, large and majestic. They were all more than twenty years old.
Two of us were to climb and one would stay on ground with Grandpa to run around, gather and deposit the Mangoes. The three of us took turns at ground duty and at climbing trees so all of us got a shot at each task and didn't tire. Grandpa, the chief presiding officer of the mission, of course decided who got to do what and when.
So, up I went. The terrain had its hurdles. The tree trunk was coarse, there was sticky tree sap flowing out of cracks in the bark, that I had to avoid, and there were half an inch large red ants all over! Grandpa shouted out instructions when he saw us faltering. A foot here and a foot there, and slowly I got the hang of it (pun intended). The climb had to be slow, steady, deliberate and calculated. Some branches were weaker than the others. One had to be cautious about distributing one's weight between the footholds on different branches.
Also very frightening were the columns of red ants marching along. The ultimate scary moment being when you caught an extreme close up of red antennae, feet and all of it on a leaf/branch precisely four millimeters from your left eyebrow! Breathing comes to a halt, muscles tense up, and Mangoes are forgotten.
Of course ants are much too purposeful to abandon their chartered route and pounce on neighboring creatures for cheap thrills, but one can never be too sure right???? Right???
Mangoes hung in ones, twos or threes. Once I was perched close enough, a hook of suitable length was raised to me from the ground. I had to then balance on my feet, hang on with one arm, take control of the hook with the other and steer it towards the Mango(es).
It was not just pulling viciously at it once the hook was around the Mangoes. There was a method in that too. The hook had to be placed slightly above the mangoes, from where the stem came out, and tactfully with the right amount of force the Mangoes had to be tugged at such that the skin was not scraped or disturbed.
Caution was to be maintained when several Mango bunches hung close to each other. One had to be very careful to not bring down the raw ones with the ripe ones. The ripe ones were preferred over the raw Mangoes, and the latter where usually left behind to ripen. There was a backup plan anyway. In case we brought down a Mango that was not ripe enough, it was made into pickles and chutneys :) Super combination with curd rice. Such joy!
And so from one mango laden branch to the other, we would move deftly and carefully, getting better with each attempt. The sight of the mango filled tub on the ground below, gave an immense sense of accomplishment. By now the tension had lifted and we were relaxed enough to enjoy the breeze redolent with Mango aroma!
The chap on the ground would have his own set of tensions too. He had to ensure he caught the Mangoes and broke their fall as far as possible. Though the beach sand in the garden was soft enough to not do much harm, the Mango's own ripe weight and momentum of fall, would split it open upon impact. Nothing displeased my Grandpa more.
Some Mangoes were left behind in the trees for the squirrels, parrots and crows. Grandpa was an intelligent gardener and knew that the Eco balance was needed to keep the garden happy.
The descent was trickier than the climb, but the job was done, and there was no fear of the unknown.
Our little procession marched back indoors triumphantly, with my Grandpa commenting on how with each year the number of Mangoes were reducing.
All that mattered to me was that I had brought down several of those, that I was going to feast on them soon, that I was richer by knowledge and experience, that I had been a part of Grandpa's much sought after Mango Plucking Ceremony.
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