looking for commonalities between now and then.

 Looking for commonalities between now and then 

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I can write a 1000-word essay on this fruit and its associated yaadein, but the anticipation of peeling and savouring its unique taste right now is too strong to resist.

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Childhood:

Every year, for a fleeting period in late May, we were blessed with the presence of this extraordinary fruit. It's not just a regular fruit, mind you. It's a fruit plucked, cut, and sold by the same person, ensuring it travels from the countryside to our hands almost on the same day. Once opened, its short shelf life adds a sense of urgency to the vendors (harvesters), who are always in a race against time to cut, sell, and return to their villages by night. If they brought the whole fruit, they would stay back for the night, but with peeled fruit, they left for their homes in the evening with whatever was left in the basket.

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These days, the transaction model has evolved; some intermediaries bring the whole fruit to urban vendors, or in some cases, the urban vendors venture to villages to procure the fruit. 

This fruit never has regular buyers around the stall/cart as it is not mainstream. 

The customers are primarily passengers from speeding cars on the highways where the vendors park their carts on the roadsides, and transit tourists near the bus junctions/auto stops.

The fruit enters and disappears from the market within a 15 to 20-day window, leaving the market long before word-of-mouth publicity reaches the neighbourhoods.

People getting off buses or waiting for autos consume them as a thirst quencher and coolant in the hot summers. The juicy flesh is also very hydrating and filling.

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As a child, I yearned for this fruit, and a friend's father(Laxman Rao uncle) used to send it to my house exclusively for me.

 That uncle has passed away, and I've lost touch with Swapna, but the memory of Laxman Rao uncle and the fruit he shared with me every summer remains etched in my heart.

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I recall the teacher Aunty from Rajmundry and her children, Pandu, Sunita, and Luther, because we shared this fruit on the verandah of their government-provided quarter. Hailing from Rajmundry, they had a wealth of stories about this fruit. 

On summer evenings, we would gather in a circle, savouring the fruit peeled and served by their father.

 He would return from work, summon us all from our play in the large playground of my house, and serve us the fresh, juicy Munjalu. 

One of the rituals that brought us together was this fruit and the long jump and high jump practice we did in our playground. 

Maybe Pandu's father involved me in the fruit-eating process to return the favour of keeping their children engaged until they returned from work in the evenings.

 They lived in government accommodation, a row house facing our bungalow. Both uncle and aunty were government employees. I hope they are alive and in good health.

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During my only summer visit to my aunt's (Mamis) parents' home, we were served an abundance of this fruit fresh in the afternoons. The boys in the family and the farm help would bring home the harvest of one tree per day, and every person involved in serving, explaining, and discussing is so fresh in my mind. 

Those afternoons of that particular summer are so dear to me. I visited that village once, but the love and warmth showered will be remembered forever. 

 Unfortunately, most elders associated with this recollection are no longer there.

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Sharing food with the community was a regular feature of my growing-up days. No one ate anything in isolation; anything excess or exotic was always shared, which left a treasure of memories.

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Now:

Every summer, while the vendor cuts open fruit for me, I indulge in a chat with him to learn about his association with this fruit.

I love listening to the stories, intent on looking for commonalities between now and then. I seldom find any.

I ensure my household and drivers are fed a good portion of it to serve my nostalgia. I want them to taste it and weave stories around it for their posterity.

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Please share your stories of Ice Apple/Thati Munjalu, palmyra palm, or whatever it is called in your region.