How to make mango pickle(my mother’s way)

1. Pray and wait for a stormy night in early summer, around mid May/early June, to give the mango trees a vigorous shake and drop the green mangoes to the ground because they will be very cheap the next day. Wait for the evening of next day to visit the subzi mundi (vegetable market) because the fruit/vegetable prices further go down with the sun. Smell the mangoes for tartness. Press them to make sure they aren’t ripe. Bargain with the vendors in a loud voice, stressing that you will buy 5 kilograms of mangoes. Then walk away with finality, saying the prices are too high for you. The vendors will start running after you, naming new prices, calling you ‘Memsahib’ or ‘Behenji’. Keep your ears open and turn around on the lowest price. If there’s a tie between two vendors, go with the one who promises to get the mangoes loaded in your rickshaw.

2. On reaching home, ask the rickshaw-wallah to unload the rice-sacks, now filled with mangoes, into the porch. Fetch two big plastic buckets from the storeroom. Empty the mangoes into them, spreading the load evenly. Take the buckets into the kitchen and fill them with water to soak the mangoes overnight to wash the sticky sap off their faces. Cover each bucket with a big thali and place heavy jars of rice or daal on them to keep away the small, curious animals/insects that are too timid for daylight.

3. Next day, get to work right after your morning tea. Inspect each green mango carefully: toss the ones that look rotten and keep the ones that look pinkish for chutney. Collect the good ones in two big copper kadais, which were part of your dowry 52 years ago, and set them to dry in the porch. Use the water leftover in the buckets to feed your potted roses, hibiscus, and other plants. Next, arrange the spices─ coriander, fenugreek and mustard seeds, aniseed, and dried peppers─ in platters and set them beside the mangoes in the sun to make them drier and crispier. Cover everything with big sieves to keep away the flies.

4. Start cooking lunch, keeping a watchful eye on the mangoes and spices from the kitchen window. The crows cannot be trusted, neither can the balls of children playing cricket outside. Keep a tab on the time: Make sure to grind coarsely the pickle spices in your electric grinder before 1:30 pm because that’s the time for the daily power cut. Eat your lunch of daal and rice. You will need energy for the tasks ahead.

5. It’s time to visit your neighbor, three houses down, to borrow her special mango-chopping equipment: a knife, sharp and sturdy enough to cut through the mango stone, mounted on a wooden chopping block. She lends it to everyone and though she never asks, she gets so much pickle in return that she doesn’t make her own. Spend the afternoon chopping the mangoes. After that,pat yourself ,and take a deep breath and a tea break. Then, pour the ground spice mixture and salt on the mango pieces in the kadais and shake them to coat the pieces well. Pour mustard oil on top and toss again. Fetch the two big white-and-beige ceramic pickle jars from the kitchen and ladle the mixture into them. Pour more oil on top and place the lids on the jars.

6. Next morning, search your wardrobe for the muslin dupatta, the corner of which the press-wallah had recently burnt. Cut two big square pieces and two long strips off the dupatta. Remove the lid of one pickle jar, place the square cloth on its mouth and tie the long strip around the cloth overhang to seal the jar. Make sure the knot is easy to open. Repeat for the second jar. The cloth cover will filter the sun in and the intruders out.

7. The Indian summer sun is in charge now. Carry both the jars up the steps to the terrace because the sun lingers longer there. Bring them down at sunset with the laundry to avoid the dew. Repeat this every day for a month, untying the cloth and peeking into the jar every few days to check.

After it looks and smells just right, take out a bowlful of pickle for the neighbor you borrowed the knife from, save some for you and your daughter who lives with you, and divide the rest into five jars for your five married daughters. Mentally, mark the months of their visits on the jars. The one showing March will be picked up the last.