Moms Mango Pudding

The koel (Asian cuckoo) celebrates the summer in the mango tree. Her wave of melody is interspersed with the ‘plop’ of the ripe falling mangoes. We call this mango “TapkaAam”, means dropping from the sky. There is a competition on who gets to these small juicy balls of juice first.

 

Finally, there is a green mountain in the kitchen and we set to work. Streams of golden juice flood the vessels when we cup the mango and press, very like milking the cow, which has to be done next. Ours is the Indian breed of cow. Her milk is packed with the same vitamin as our mother’s milk. As the white stream foams into the golden Ashtadhatu (8 Metals) bucket; the cow butts us in a gentle reprimand. “Don’t crowd so”, her eyes are loving even as they shoo us away.

 

Now the milk is set to cool and then the ice trays in which the juice was frozen are into levered up. A stream of small golden suns are showered to   swim into the moonlight milk.

Ah! Every golden drop on the tongue is a burst of joy and love, a sweetness to be locked and savored everyday, in our beings.