IN PRAISE OF MANGOES

EVERY SUMMER, THERE'S a magical moment when mangoes make their entrance. Their aroma lingers in the air, thick with sweetness and sun. Outside, the koel sings, the heat settles in, and you know—it's mango season. This is the reason I wait for summer: to taste nostalgia, one slice at a time.

- SADAF HUSSAIN

Eating a mango is not merely about taste. It's about the ritual. There's a sensual precision to how the fruit fits perfectly in your palm and how it gives way with a song when sliced. Some prefer to squeeze and slurp; I like to peel, slice, and savour slowly. Each method has its poetry.

A mango farmer in Bihar once laughed when I told him I eat mine neatly, with a knife and a plate. "That's not how it's meant to be eaten," he said. "Mangoes are supposed to be messy. You let the juice run down your chin. That's how you honour the fruit.” I smiled and told him I must be a funny person then. For me, there's no shame in the neatness—just as there's none in the mess. Food should help us slow down. However you eat your mango, eat it with intent.