The Mango Pickle

The Mango Pickle It was a bright morning and the sun was shining, it seemed as if absolutely nothing could go wrong when, ‘Tring, tring, tring, tring!', the telephone rang. Papa picked it up and answered. “Hello?”, he said. “Is this Ramesh?”, came a gruff voice, and, almost immediately, a frown spread across Papa's face. “Anna! Would you like anything?”, he asked, suddenly becoming polite and, instantly, I knew who it was, it was Mahesh Uncle, Papa's most feared elder brother who always managed to find fault in things no matter what. “I have some work to do in Chennai and I don't want to stay in one of those cheap hotels where they make the curry too spicy and the curd too sour. So, I want to stay in your house for two days, is that alright?”, Mahesh Uncle continued. “O-Of course, Anna!”, Papa replied, he was trembling all over, by now. “Good. Thank you!”, he answered and put the receiver down. “Gauri! Gauri! Anna's coming to stay tomorrow!”, he yelled, running into the kitchen where Ma was making dosas and chutney. “What?!But, that means I have to make your mother's spicy mango pickle that he loves!”, Ma cried out, who knew Mahesh Uncle was so hard to please? “Arre!Just find the recipe and make it!”, Papa answered, trying to make it sound like it was the easiest thing to do. “But, the maid accidentally threw it out, two months ago!”, Ma yelled back, frantically pacing back and forth until she realized that the dosa on the pan had become burnt. “Then go ask Shalini Akka!”, Papa retorted, literally stomping out of the kitchen, by the way, Shalini Akka was the launderer who was always humming whenever she was seen with a heavy bag of dirty clothes on her head. When we were just sitting down for lunch, Ma saw her strolling down the street humming one of her usual tunes. “Shalini Akka! Shalini Akka, wait!”, Ma called out from the balcony, waving her hands wildly. “Who called me?”, she wondered out loud and looked up at Ma. She was at our door, before you can blow out your birthday candles. “What happened, Amma?”, she asked innocently looking around. “Do you know how to make mango pickle?”, Ma almost screamed, desperately. I think Shalini Akka, who's hearing and eyesight was not to good since she was a bit old, heard as mango halwa. She quickly dropped her laundry bag at the doorstep and walked into the kitchen. She put all kinds of things into it while Ma sat on the sofa muttering thankfully. Here is the list of the ingredients Shalini Akka put into our delicious mango halwa: * freshly chopped up mangoes * salt (she thought it was sugar) * peas (she thought they were cardamoms) * salty butter milk (she thought it was milk) * a stack of cheese (she thought it was butter) Shalini Akka walked out beaming with pride and happily dusting her hands. Ma didn't even look at it before closing the jar with a lid. After one hour, Ma started to fret. “Shalini Akka has an uncontrollable sweet tooth. What if she made it too sweet? Mahesh Anna won't like that. I'll call Mrs. Vohra from next door to check if it's too sweet and fix it if it is.”. In five minutes, Ms. Vohra, our neighbor, came and opened the pot while Ma was glamouring herself for a friend's wedding. Mrs. Vohra was inexperienced when it came to the art of cooking and didn't realize that it was actually mango halwa, only that this mango “pickle” was too sweet like Ma had thought. Immediately, she got down to work, here are the ingredients she put into our mango “pickle”: * sliced green mangoes * hot chili powder * whole chillies * salt Done! Another version of our mango pickle was completed! The moment Mrs. Vohra left, she left Ma in a pensive mood. “What if she made it too spicy? Mrs. Vohra loves spice what if she put extra spice into it? Mahesh Anna won't like that either. Let me ask Mr. Rastogi to come and check if it's okay.”, she thought out loud and her hands flew to the telephone. In one second, the doorbell rang. And in an old man came shuffling with a sturdy wooden stick held firmly in his wrinkled hand. Mr. Rastogi was old and experienced in cooking but, unfortunately, his hearing and sight weren't as good as his hands. Next minute, he was in the kitchen stirring and chopping and adding every single ingredient, here is exactly what he added: * bitter gourd (he probably thought it was an oversized green chili) * ketchup (he probably thought it was chili sauce) * green bell pepper (he probably thought it was a green mango) And yet, another version of our mango pickle was completed! He went away with a triumphant grin on his face, seriously, I thought that his jaws would break if he smiled any longer!Ma put it in the fridge and crossed her fingers for the very best. Next afternoon, Mahesh Uncle arrived. His “grand” entrance was made by yelling at the taxi driver for placing the fare too high, while the poor driver was shivering from head to toe. “Hello, Mahesh Anna!”, Papa greeted him, putting on a polite tone, while Ma stood behind him with her hands folded respectfully. “Is lunch ready? Have you made mango pickle?”, he demanded, deliberately ignoring both of them. “Yes, Anna. Please have a seat.”, Ma gestured him towards the dining table. Later, Ma brought the mango pickle and served it with curd rice. I hoped fervently that he wouldn't storm off and declare that he would never come back. Ma produced a shiny silver spoon for Uncle to use. He scooped half a spoon of the mango “pickle” and shoved it into his mouth. And then, came the unexpected reaction that I hadn't even dared to hope would happen. “Mmm!Delicious! Superb! This is the best mango pickle I've ever tasted in ages! I don't really think I want my mother's mango pickle anymore, ah, yes! From now on, you will make only this mango pickle and nothing else!”, he beamed at all of us, while, shoving another spoonful of the “pickle” in his mouth. Oh My God! Who could ever like such a thing! Then again, instead of complaining, I should be thankful he didn't box Pa's ears. Maybe you should try this recipe! (Warning: Don't really make it! It tastes horrible! I just tasted it!)