Green in many hues

A cluster of mango trees in the backyard was our second home. We were under strict orders never to venture out before finishing breakfast — but that never deterred us in the least. As soon as we could, we would make a dash to our favoured spot and picnicked under the trees with abandon. For these feasts, we would cajole mouth-watering snacks out of mother: idlis, besan ladoos, kheema samosas and luchies. There were also delicious home-made jalebis. The only thing mother insisted on was that we did not waste anything. So leftovers were carefully picked up and fed to the dogs and cattle.

We played games now forgotten, like kanche, gilli danda, pithu, kabbadi. And as we frolicked about, the sun would play hide and seek with us from under the thick mango leaves that sheltered us. The mango trees were also a witness to our frequent bickerings and subsequent peace forays. The games over, we would trudge back home, bone-tired and ready for a long siesta — until the fun and games began all over again in the evening.

Going home to Korba for the holidays was truly a delight. The vacations would slip by all too soon and then would come the time when my sister and I had to be bundled into a jeep and taken to the old railway station for the train back to school. From the jeep we would crane our necks to catch a last glimpse of our heaven on earth and we would send up a silent prayer for the speedy arrival of our next tryst with the mango trees of Korba.