“ Is there absolutely no way, Papa?” pleaded Sanju, glancing up at the spreading mango tree. He was standing beside his father and uncle who were seriously discussing the property they had inherited. It had been divided equally between them and they had decided to tear down the old dilapidated house and build separate houses on their individual portions.
The mango tree stood on Sanju’s father’s portion. But the tree wasn’t the problem. It was that nobody, except Sanju, thought the tree was worth saving.
His uncle dismissed his concern with “You can plant as many mango trees as you want.” “You can get a variety of mangoes in the market,” added his father, “but in the years to come when you inherit the house I plan to build, you will understand its value.” Childhood memories Yes, he could plant mango trees and the market was overflowing with mangoes and a house was invaluable.
But, whenever Sanju thought about the mango tree, memories of his childhood spent with his grandfather came rushing back. Like the time when, as a little boy, he couldn’t reach the juicy ripe mangoes. Watching him leap up and down below the dangling yellow fruit, Dadaji would hoist Sanju onto his shoulders.
As he filled his t-shirt with fresh mangoes, Dadaji would tease, “Enough Sanju! These ageing shoulders can just about support your weight; not the added weight of a ton of mangoes.” He’d grown up watching cheeky squirrels play hide-and-seek among the leaves and colourful w.