It isn't often when a daughter gets to stare down her regal nose, wag her accusing finger and tell her parents very pompously, "I told you so". Like any sane daughter I found this experience most gratifying.
Well, sort of.
As the summer rolled by, along with the heat came the countless mangoes.
Mangoes grow throughout the better part of the country and everywhere the eye stretched, all that was visible was one Pacific Ocean of mangoes. My parents, like all other Indians, hurried to get the juiciest, plumpest mangoes on the market.
On one such mango safari, my dad hit pay dirt.
In the local market, he (God knows how!) got hold of this scrawny old man selling mangoes at an incredibly cheap rate. It wasn't until later that I found out why he was so eager to get rid of them.
My dad wanted to buy one box, but (un)wisely, he waited for my mom's opinion. My mom loves the fruit more than my dad (if its even possible). I mean it. She eats it at every chance she gets, especially her hometown variety.
I have to admit, I was a great fan of the fruit too.
So that's how we ended up with the preposterously too many mangoes.
I was quite pleased that she had such high opinions on my gluttonous capabilities, but I my reservations. That mother lode of mangoes looked a tad too many for three people to me.
So, I was against buying the box right from the moment I ever laid my eyes on it. I knew that it was a proverbial bomb about to explode. Being parents, they ignored all my warnings and dark, evil glances directed towards it and bought the damn thing. We were assured the mangoes would ready to be eaten within two days.
Well this part turned out to be true.
After two days, the mangoes were ready to be eaten all right.
Ready to be eaten by worms.
After weeding out the real bad ones, my parents and myself reluctantly started a mango-eating marathon so that the money spent will not go to waste. I swear for every one mango that was eaten, another two popped up. We couldn't even give them away to some neighbours and friends because of their less-than-pleasant appearance.
Finally, we all realized, enough was enough.
After three days of surviving on mangoes, our stomachs were in mutiny. As we bid farewell to about 40 odd mangoes in the trash bin (after all that eating, we barely made a dent in the loot), I stared down my regal nose, wagged my accusing finger and told my parents very pompously, "I told you so".
I guess the gratification part didn't turn out well considering the state of my digestive system... So, I'll tell you one thing. If anyone wants to get rid of me in an shake, just utter "Hey, you wanna have some m****?"...
Well, sort of.
As the summer rolled by, along with the heat came the countless mangoes.
Mangoes grow throughout the better part of the country and everywhere the eye stretched, all that was visible was one Pacific Ocean of mangoes. My parents, like all other Indians, hurried to get the juiciest, plumpest mangoes on the market.
On one such mango safari, my dad hit pay dirt.
In the local market, he (God knows how!) got hold of this scrawny old man selling mangoes at an incredibly cheap rate. It wasn't until later that I found out why he was so eager to get rid of them.
My dad wanted to buy one box, but (un)wisely, he waited for my mom's opinion. My mom loves the fruit more than my dad (if its even possible). I mean it. She eats it at every chance she gets, especially her hometown variety.
I have to admit, I was a great fan of the fruit too.
So that's how we ended up with the preposterously too many mangoes.
I was quite pleased that she had such high opinions on my gluttonous capabilities, but I my reservations. That mother lode of mangoes looked a tad too many for three people to me.
So, I was against buying the box right from the moment I ever laid my eyes on it. I knew that it was a proverbial bomb about to explode. Being parents, they ignored all my warnings and dark, evil glances directed towards it and bought the damn thing. We were assured the mangoes would ready to be eaten within two days.
Well this part turned out to be true.
After two days, the mangoes were ready to be eaten all right.
Ready to be eaten by worms.
After weeding out the real bad ones, my parents and myself reluctantly started a mango-eating marathon so that the money spent will not go to waste. I swear for every one mango that was eaten, another two popped up. We couldn't even give them away to some neighbours and friends because of their less-than-pleasant appearance.
Finally, we all realized, enough was enough.
After three days of surviving on mangoes, our stomachs were in mutiny. As we bid farewell to about 40 odd mangoes in the trash bin (after all that eating, we barely made a dent in the loot), I stared down my regal nose, wagged my accusing finger and told my parents very pompously, "I told you so".
I guess the gratification part didn't turn out well considering the state of my digestive system... So, I'll tell you one thing. If anyone wants to get rid of me in an shake, just utter "Hey, you wanna have some m****?"...
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