There are but a handful grocery stores that are real grocery stores. And even then, they’re not all encompassing Shoprites, or Wegmans or Whole Foods. My Indian expat friends (in the States) used to tell me that you get the freshest produce in India and that’s true, but it’s grown in the shit by the slums. In real honest to goodness I don’t even what to think about whose shit, shit! Maybe the fresh manure is what makes the produce taste so good, maybe it’s the pooplets you’re eating because unless you wash that crap in bleach water, you’re eating pooplets. And the grocery stores, because I’m a total fail at haggling with the vegetable guy for a dollar; some carry meat, others don’t have the right mawa cupcakes. (My son is teetering on the brink of mainlining mawa cupcakes.) For those, I am forced to swing like a pendulum between Malad (freaking Malad) and Powai.
After a sputtering end to winter (snicker) we’re knee deep and sinking into summer. It’s hot, like Africa hot, like shower 3x a day hot. I’ve turned into a shameless water waster to avoid drowning in my own sweat. Most days my goal is to move as little as possible to avoid generating any excess body heat. It pains me to confess, this is impossible. Like hope, sweat finds a way.
My love affair with pomegranate continues. I love that devil fruit, it takes an insane amount of time to get at the jewel seeds AND eat them surreptitiously to insure that my dastardly son doesn’t come and give me those hazel mopey dog eyes…that’s my kryptonite and before I know it, all that effort and that little pipsqueak is happily eating my prize. No wonder Persephone ate six of those little jewel seeds and condemned herself to the underworld for 6 months of the year. Speaking of fruit, it’s near hysteria at my house with the Alphonso eating. I’m going through at least 6 mangoes a day. Morning noon and night the kids, eat one after another then come to me all orange mouthed and sticky begging, “Can I have one more?” Having suffered through the insipid flavor of the Kent mango all those years in the US, it’s like a revelation (well only to the kids because I’m still pretty meh about the mango).
Summer is marked for us by the mango, and the heavy too sweet scent of jackfruit being cut and bagged in the grocery store. I am waiting anxiously for the mango season to really get underway, I’m paying an obscene amount of moolah to keep the kids in cupcakes and mangoes…And then of course, the lifesaver, some time in May the 2 giant crates of mangoes will arrive from N’s village. And then I expect, true hysteria!