a.k.a Me, the Mango Assassin.
May of last year, I was depressed. Very, very depressed. You see, I was born during the wonderful month of may (the 20th). Now you may not take your birthdays seriously, but I love mine. I like being the centre of attention (agreed, it lasts for about 5 minutes) I like being told how amazing and important I am (funny how that never happens). I enjoy seeing my parents surprise me and shower expensive gifts on me (I am talking about the years they remember buying me gifts). I love seeing my friends drop everything to spend time with me (I think I should tell them to do this). And most of all I love the awesome parrties that are thrown for me (although I don't really remember what happened, it was just so long ago...)
Anyway, forget the details, the reasons why I love May are:
1. I was born in May.
2. Schools in Maharashtra are closed in May.
3. I used to visit my grandparents and cousins during May.
4. May = Mango season.
I love mangoes. I could live on a diet comprising of just mangoes. I could marry a mango tree and not ask for an annulment. Alponso mangoes trigger an overflow of love endorphins in me. They make hate the world a little less.
My parents know about my clingy relationship with Alphonso mangoes (or Haphoos). They understand the pain of Long-Distance relationships. And as parents, they just can't see their little princess unhappy. And so, they sent a box of alphonso mangoes with a friends's mom (who unlike my parents, actually visits her daughter). When the lady arrived, I, like many of my friends went to meet her. Of course, I went just for the mangoes, the beautiful, soft, juicy, firm, orange mangoes. Oh mangoes! Thou knoweth not how much I craved thee! I couldn't wait to pick one and eat it.
That's when I realized there was a teeny tiny obstacle stopping me from attaining Mango-induced Nirvana.
I didn't have a knife.
Shit.
I was one of the only two First years who lived on the fourth floor. With fourth years. Scary, intimidating fourth years. I decided that it would be best to drop the idea and go shopping the next day. But I couldn't drop the idea. In my head I could see mangoes in Hula skirts dancing, I could see them placed seductively on a plate screaming EAT ME EAT ME EAT ME! You understand, don't you, I just couldn't say no.
So somehow I mustered up enough courage to ask a couple of seniors for knives. The only thing I managed to find was a little plastic butter knife. And yes, that didn't help. It took me fifteen minutes to cut the top off. And that was the easy part. The fucking knife refused to slice the beautiful Object Of Desire in my hands.
I was out of ideas, I had to do something. Anything. That's when I decided to do something awful. I started ripping off the peel ruthlessly.
Soon enough, a beautiful, naked mango lay in my hands.
And that's when I realized something.
Peeled mangoes resemble human hearts.
I continued staring at the mango. It was as orange as a heart is red. My hands were covered with its juices. Had it been blood, it would have looked the same. I was holding a fruit that looked like a bloody heart.
So I did something any intelligent human would do.
I ate the mango.
Gawd, that was awesome.
