Bygone Season of Mangoes( Oru Mambazhakalam)

One fine evening I was taking a stroll along the Anna Nagar Bougainville park with my niece. Being bored during day time (common for house wives – who have typical IT guys as husband. You won’t see those creatures unless and until its late night), I made it a practice to go for a walk at the park to get away from boredom. It was a good pass time for me as could observe a lot. There were young college couples romancing openly under the trees, the old uncle who walked briskly every day like a young boy, the fat north Indian aunties jogging, young girls and boys walking with ear phones plugged in to their ears, pregnant wife made to walk by her husband, the old couple who sit by the park bench observing the kids play( may be missing their grand children,) ladies wearing saris and snickers walking as if they are going to burn all the fat in a day, cute kids playing along the slides, fighting for the swings, and much more. It was then that my niece asked "Aunty did u have a park near your home back in Kerala" munching the mango which she just bought from the fruit shop. (aunty- you heard it right, a tag that comes along as soon as you are married, though i don't like it, well that is the fact i am still trying to come in terms with").Even my husband proudly took me to the park (during initial months of our marriage), as he was so proud of Anna Nagar and the surroundings.


Her question took me back to my childhood days. Yes we did have a park, but not near our home, in the town 5 km away. We used to go there once in a while and most of the play equipments were not under working condition.

But that was not the answer I wanted to give her. As kids we never felt the need for parks. We had individual houses with large courtyards and the entire village was our play ground. We did not have iron swings, we swayed on the banyan tree roots, and we jumped over fences and walls, climbed trees. And we never bought our mangoes for money, we had to earn it. We threw stones not missing our aim, to see the mangoes fall and then grabbed it from the group of kids who gathered before the trees to get hands on the mangoes. You fight, you push and pull and at the end of the day share and eat all the mangoes filling the stomach with the pulp for breakfast and lunch. You squeeze them; lick them, with the juice oozing out on to your face hands and dress. And in the evening when you reach back home inspite of your amma forcing you to bath, when you go to bed that night peacefully because of the happiness you got from sharing you still smell mangoes.

But now kids sleep complaining of the other kid who did not give them the swing, inspite of repeatedly asking or the boy who pushed them from the top of the slide. As I was munching my own thoughts I heard a familiar voice arguing, when I turned I saw my niece fighting for her turn to sit on the swing ‘aaahhh these kids I tell you”. But some where back in the mind I feel are these kids not missing those seasons of mangoes, that mambazhakalam?