You seem to be deep in thought, observed my husband as we were having breakfast.
Not exactly, I am quite unhappy about the increasing lack of communication among the family, I said.
Now which family are you talking about? Whose heads are going to roll? He asked in his usual sarcastic manner.
It has all to do with our mangoes to start with, I said.
What do our mangoes got to do with lack of communication among the family? He said giving me a quizzical look.
Everything, for that matter, they are the root cause, I stated.
Why don’t you tell me what happened, he said sounding impatient.
You know I sent the mangoes grown on our tree to more than half a dozen of our friends and relatives and excepting two of them the rest called me up to thank me.They went into raptures about the unusual taste of this rare variety which they said was generally not available in the market.
Did you tell them about the origins of our mango tree? My husband asked proudly.
Yes I did. I said a sapling of Imam pasand was brought from Rajamundry by your grandfather and planted in our compound almost 70 years ago and we have been enjoying its fruit for the past few decades.
I still don’t understand its relation with communication or lack of it, stated my husband.
Well, I had sent almost a dozen fruits to our neighbours but haven’t heard from them at all. For all I know instead of the house hold members the house hold staff would have consumed them and the former wouldn’t have known that I sent them, I rued.
Now I understand your grouse. Since you mentioned it I remember something one of our neighbours said the other day about having tasted an extra sweet juicy mango. When I asked him where he had picked them up from, he said his servant who normally does vegetable shopping for them had bought them from the market paying an exorbitant price.
I wonder what this other neighbour of ours is going to say if and when you meet him, I lamented.
My husband didn’t appear to understand and I didn’t bother to explain.
n.meera raghavendra rao