The magnificent 130 odd year old Malgoba tree
In one corner of the compound grows Grandpas Malgoba tree. Its not a graft, its a monster tree as were trees in the time before man invented grafts. He was a Karnataka man in his choices of mango trees and thats truly lucky, that he used logic to choose and not emotions like I did, choosing trees for my Hoskote Bella Vista. The Malgoba and the Raspuri are Karnataka brand mangoes and Hayes road was never short of any sort of fruit ALL the year round with his gardening skills.
So, every time we came down from Delhi or Shillong where Dad was posted, we came to a fragrant smelling house. The smells of ripening mangoes and jackfruit, avocadoes and custard apples wafted through the open store room door into the house. For me a fruitarian, it was heaven to be able to eat as many fruit as I wanted. Dad was a very strict Dad,a typical service man and insisted that I eat "ONLY One"of whatever I was wolfing down. But Grandpa heard him instruct me and called me to him and said "You can eat as many mangoes as you want. Mangoes are here to be eaten not to be given to the servants." That was music to my ears and shamelessly I would bring out the biggest and juiciest for Grandpa to cut open for me. It was a grand ritual. He would call out for a quarter plate and one of the servants would come scurrying with it wiping it on his towel.
So few now as the bats make a meal of them every night
Then like a maharaja that he was, he would slowly wipe the blade of his special mango knife and very deliberately carve out the cheeks from the seed. Each mango was over a kg in weight so you can imagine how much flesh there was in the cheeks! Then Grandma would take over cutting the cheeks into cubes and turning it inside out. "Come my girl!" she would say and I was hoisted into a chair by a helper next to them and with a spoon I relished every single cube of mango, while they watched me indulgently! Thats what grandparents are all about! Those are my memories of my wonderful grandparents who spoiled me rotten on both sides, both in Bangalore and in Baroda.
Our Raspuris in Hoskote which are delicious as well
Then came my farm in Hoskote which I bought from Davids French teacher -- Miss Davenport. It was rubbish piece of land which I paid a princely sum for, by saving from my school fees that I made from my pre-school nursery. I bought and registered it on their word, before I saw it, in my impulsive fashion not realising what one person calls a farm would be a barren piece of land water less for me. I cried when I first saw it, but then as is my usual fashion, taught by my resilient parents -- make the best of what you have and work towards what you want.
After 30 years we have a Shangrila which has been decades of hard work and savings pumped in. The mango trees that I have are all grafts. Dad insisted that I bought and planted ONLY grafts and I did from Lalbagh. At the time Mallika was all the rage being a Karnataka hybrid. So I have mallikas and raspuris. I was stupid not to plant malgobas like grandpa did. I might be a mango queen today.
Thickly flowering Mallikas
From the 2nd year itself they began to flower and fruit and we get literally tons of mangoes now. But my heart is with the malgoba as I have memories of eating them with my grandparents. They are nowhere as delicious as they were as the poor tree has been chopped in half while building the apartment block. The roots are below concrete so we do NOT feed it like my trees are fed and fussed in Hoskote. The poor thing manages valiantly unlike the other tree on the other side of the gate which had Dads orchid collection blooming on it. People who walked on the road looked in and admired his Blue Wanda and golden yellow Paleanopis, brought from Shillong.
Today we bring car loads of Mangoes from the farm and since I am diabetic I cannot misbehave sadly and eat only mango for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sadly I can eat only ONE fruit for the day which is also not good for me. The house is redolent with the smell of ripening mangoes during the season like the old bungalow was and memories of my parents and grandparents who have given us what we have today come flooding back -- and I am grateful.
Mango jam with hardly an sugar in it.
Now since my own grand children live abroad I scoop out the flesh and freeze cartons of mangoes for them. Then when they arrive, like they did recently they sit down to glasses of mango lassi and mango ice cream. Arthur just eats it plain and says its as good as eating a mango. He also loves the jam lathered on his chapatti. Nat is a fruitarian like me and enjoys any and every kind of fruit. Waiting now for the Americans to arrive. Andy loves fruit like his Mum and often I have carried chickoos and mangoes for them. They enjoyed the malgobas with their grandparents in Hayes which was a second home for them and so the tree has seen FOUR now FIVE generations of Furtados enjoy its fruit.
"Ofcourse you are half Furtado,"I tell them and they smile at me indulgently as they know the memories that I hold of my childhood here in Hayes. My name might has been stupidly changed but I am so glad today that my DIL have not felt the need to do what I did. They are proud of being Cardoza and Cutinha and rightly so.
