Free The Mango Season by Amulya Malladi Page B

manager of the large Hyderabad branch. His never-say-die spirit was also mine. I was his blood; there was no denying it and when our tempers flared I knew that I was a lot more like him than I would like to admit.
    “In several arranged marriages, couples don’t fall in love with each other, they merely tolerate each other,” I told him. “I know some women who are unhappy with the husband their parents chose . . . but they can’t do anything about it. Why condemn anyone to a lifetime of unhappiness?”
    “Lifetime of unhappiness?” Thatha said loudly, mockingly. “Priya, you are talking like we marry our children off to rapists and murderers. Parents love their children and do what is best for them.”
    I shook my head. “I think a lot of parents don’t know their children very well and if they don’t know their own child, how can they know what would be best for them?”
    “You think you’re smarter than your parents?” Thatha asked pointedly.
    “Sometimes.”
    Thatha laughed, a big booming sound, reverberating from inside his chest. “This hair didn’t get white in the sun,” he said, patting his thick white hair, which refused to give way to baldness despite his age.
    “You think you are very smart?” I asked.
    Thatha just grinned.
    “Well . . . what do you think about Lata being pregnant for all the wrong reasons?” I asked because it was nagging me.
    “I said I was smart, not broad-minded.” Thatha arched his right eyebrow, in the way my mother could, I could. “But it also depends upon what your reasons are. I believe the family name has to be carried on.”
    “At any cost?”
    “Not at any cost ” Thatha said, and smiled.
    “Neelima is pregnant, you know,” I informed him, and saw his eyes darken with anger. “What if she has a son?”
    “Then she has a son,” he shrugged.
    The calm way in which he declared a grandchild inconsequential to his plans angered me. “What if . . . Nanna was not a Brahmin? What if Ma and Nanna had fallen in love and had gotten married? Would you not be my Thatha ?”
    He stood up then and I knew I had crossed some imaginary line he had laid down. “We will never know,” he said coolly, and then he broke into a smile. “You are here for another few days,” he urged brightly. “I don’t want to argue over something that does not concern you.”
    I was defeated but I knew I had to choose my battles. “Let’s go inside,” I suggested. “It’s time for lunch, maybe I can help cook.”
    “Make some avial . You make the best avial , ” he ordered sweetly.
    Avial was the only South Indian dish I cooked that tasted the way it should. Thatha loved my avial , even more than he liked Ma’s.
    TO: PRIYA RAO
FROM: NICHOLAS COLLINS
SUBJECT: RE: RE: GOOD TRIP?
    HAVEN’T HEARD FROM YOU. YOU MUST BE AT YOUR GRANDMA’S PLACE MAKING PICKLE. JUST WANTED TO TELL YOU THAT YOU ARE MISSED.
    NICK

Part Two

    Oil and Spices
    Avial (South Indian)
    1 cup sour curds (for yogurt)
150 grams of yam or yellow pumpkin
2 raw bananas
2 drumsticks (an Indian vegetable available fresh or
canned)
1 potato
½ cup shelled peas
½ teaspoon turmeric powder
¼ cup coconut oil
a few curry leaves
salt to taste
    For Paste
½ coconut
6 to 7 green chiles
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
    Grind together the coconut, green chiles, and cumin seeds to make a fine paste, adding very little water while grinding. Mix the curd with the ground paste and keep aside. Peel and chop all the vegetables and cook separately with a little water. Mix all the cooked vegetables and salt and turmeric powder. Add the paste to the vegetables and heat through—take care to prevent curdling. Remove from heat and add coconut oil and curry leaves, and mix well. Serve hot with rice.

Thatha and His Merry Women
    Thatha was not supposed to have married Ammamma in the first place. It had happened by accident. Thatha had gone to Ammamma’s village with his parents to see Ammamma’s