The Fruit of Wonder

by Suhani Garg

Another summer in this slow town in Western India. I don’t understand why we have to come here every year! It’s so boring, nothing ever happens. Why can’t I just spend  the holidays with my friends, back in Cambridge? I could’ve even stayed back on my own if they wanted to go, I’m 15 years old!

With these thoughts in my head, I knocked on the door of my grandparents’ house, where I was doomed to waste my entire break. Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandparents, and the only good thing about this experience was getting to see them. But why couldn’t they come to Cambridge instead of my parents and me coming here?

Just then, my grandmother opened the door and her face immediately broke out into a smile. My mum and dad stepped forward and hugged her tightly, before picking up the luggage and walking into the house while she pulled me into a hug too. “Hi, nani, how are you?”, I asked her, as I stepped inside.“How’s nana?”.

“Very good beta, very good.”

I walked into the house, it hadn’t changed at all since last year. It was the same old, small, cramped house with paint peeling off the walls and no air conditioning. I groaned, I’m really stuck here, in the middle of nowhere, when I could be partying and exchanging gifts with my friends right now.

We greeted each other and I helped unpack the clothes. My grandmother told me lunch would be ready in an hour and so, I decided to get out of the house and see if there was anything interesting at all, to do here.

I walked through the narrow streets and gullies, crossing more than one rain gutter overflowing with trash, stinking up the whole place. I came across a fruit vendor who asked me, “Bhaiyya, fruits chahiye, bahut sweet hai?”. As if I would buy fruits from the roadside… Who knows how clean the fruits are, what if they have bugs?? Blegh.

I made a face and started walking away when she called out again, “Ek aam, take one aam. It’s good. Take. No money. Free.” I hesitated for a moment, the mango did look mouth-watering. It was perfectly ripe, a beautiful orange colour. It didn’t look dirty at all and I was so hungry. It was free anyway, so I took it.

I walked a bit before peeling off the side and taking a small bite. Expecting a sour or rotten taste, I cringed, only to have my mouth flooded with the most delightful taste. Ever. Sweet and juicy, yet slightly tart.

I finished it within minutes, my hands dripping with mango juice, mango smeared all around my mouth.

I brushed off my hands and mouth as well as I could and continued walking. It’s like I’m seeing everything in a new light. Instead of focusing on the gutters and narrow roads, I focus on the beautiful plants all around and the happy people.

There are so many colours everywhere, all bright and happy colours. The bright greens in the trees. The reds, oranges and yellows on people’s clothes and the food sold by street vendors. The bright blue of the sky and the fluffy white clouds.

I slowly walk back, marvelling at everything around me. As I reach home, I see my grandmother on the doorstep, calling me for lunch. I wave to her, smiling. She goes back inside but I stay outside for a bit, observing the house.

The little things I was noticing earlier, all the cracks and flaws of the house, they just add character to it. It has held up for so many years. Through storms and droughts and floods and part of the war, my grandparents have filled it with love, life and laughter. It’s beautiful.

That night, as I am about to go to sleep, I overhear my parents talking.

I hear my mother saying, “What happened to him, he seems like a new boy. Not once has he complained about being here since lunch?”

“Don’t worry about him. Does it really matter what happened, as long as he’s happy and we’re happy here? Now sleep, you’re tired,” my father responds, softly.

I smile at that. As I drift away, I know what I’m going to dream about.  

Sweet, tart, ripe, juicy, magical mangoes.

This story was written as part of the Writer’s Gym program for those who have completed the Short Story Writing Workshop with Rashmi Bansal

photo credit: Savita Sawant, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons