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Aam Zindagi!
Me and mango trees are best friends forever types. We had 3 mango trees in our garden. The first one produced sour mangoes, suitable for pickles and chutneys. The second one produced the sweetest mangoes ever! And the third one was the king.
History repeats itself more or less the same, every year. In the first quarter of the year, trees give birth to baby mangoes, each the size of a pea-pod. They are the most vulnerable beings on earth, they can't do anything but hold onto their mama and hope for the best. I often put my life at risk, trying to save those babies from the monstrous monkey attacks.
Surviving dozens of waves, they grow into fine kid mangoes about half the size of your index finger. Life of a mango is full of hardships. After certain stages at life, they unlock harder bosses. Thunderstorms. When you wake up one morning to the sight of hundreds of kid mangoes lying on the ground, lifeless that couldn't survive last night's storm, is heartbreaking.
Then they grow into man-goes when they are recognized as mangoes for the first time in their life. A proud moment it must be. But this also brings a new enemy, the hoomans. They'd try to catch a few mango brothers (first of the season) and sell them for some quick money. Hordes of monkeys and thunderstorms are a part of life now. The life of a mango is so ridiculously tough. Only the toughest survive and the rest get devoured by nature.
Now the mangoes are getting old. The essence of ripe mangoes make the monkeys go mad and they make desperate attempts thrice a day to get their hands on some. We are their last line of defense, the only people they can count on. My father is the bombman, ready with 'patakhe' to scare them monkeys away, mom is the slingshotter and I am the gunslinger, ready with my 6mm pistol and hundreds of spare bullets.
When the great battle is finally over, mango tree gives us ripe mangoes as a reward for our efforts, bravery and sacrifice.
We respect every soldier we lose in a battle at any stage of life. The younger ones serve as a raw material to chutneys and pickles and the older ones go into lassi, aam papad. The rewarded ones are enjoyed fresh. And thus the lifecycle of a mango comes to an end.
© TheMaskedIdiot
#aamzindagi #youcancallitastory
#story #kidandfriends
History repeats itself more or less the same, every year. In the first quarter of the year, trees give birth to baby mangoes, each the size of a pea-pod. They are the most vulnerable beings on earth, they can't do anything but hold onto their mama and hope for the best. I often put my life at risk, trying to save those babies from the monstrous monkey attacks.
Surviving dozens of waves, they grow into fine kid mangoes about half the size of your index finger. Life of a mango is full of hardships. After certain stages at life, they unlock harder bosses. Thunderstorms. When you wake up one morning to the sight of hundreds of kid mangoes lying on the ground, lifeless that couldn't survive last night's storm, is heartbreaking.
Then they grow into man-goes when they are recognized as mangoes for the first time in their life. A proud moment it must be. But this also brings a new enemy, the hoomans. They'd try to catch a few mango brothers (first of the season) and sell them for some quick money. Hordes of monkeys and thunderstorms are a part of life now. The life of a mango is so ridiculously tough. Only the toughest survive and the rest get devoured by nature.
Now the mangoes are getting old. The essence of ripe mangoes make the monkeys go mad and they make desperate attempts thrice a day to get their hands on some. We are their last line of defense, the only people they can count on. My father is the bombman, ready with 'patakhe' to scare them monkeys away, mom is the slingshotter and I am the gunslinger, ready with my 6mm pistol and hundreds of spare bullets.
When the great battle is finally over, mango tree gives us ripe mangoes as a reward for our efforts, bravery and sacrifice.
We respect every soldier we lose in a battle at any stage of life. The younger ones serve as a raw material to chutneys and pickles and the older ones go into lassi, aam papad. The rewarded ones are enjoyed fresh. And thus the lifecycle of a mango comes to an end.
© TheMaskedIdiot
#aamzindagi #youcancallitastory
#story #kidandfriends
