The idea of pickling

I like the idea of pickling — picking out the ingredients, cutting, marinating, testing, tasting and finally waiting. The very thought makes me drool. Although I have never indulged in this elaborate ritual, I have tried my hand at it one odd time or two. It is at this precise moment that I thank all the forces of Nature for the miracle called packaged pickles.

Maagai or the traditional Andhra Mango pickle has been a staple in my household for many years. I have heard stories of how these are made and stored. But I have never been part of the process nor have I been witness to the whole making.

So, when the pickling expert in the neighbourhood Lakshmi Aunty took to it, I couldn’t resist. I wanted to dip my hands in, learn, cherish and experience everything there is to pickling.

Lakshmi Aunty takes the process very seriously. She is a sacred worshipper of this ritual and never lets a summer slip by without pickling. She hails an auto rickshaw and I follow her cue to sit next to her. The farmer’s market where the mangoes are laid out is hot and humid. A thick blanket of sweat lingers in the air. I wonder why Lakshmi Aunty has to brave these conditions.

“It is easier to buy a jar in the market” a thought crosses my mind. She meanders through the crowd and gets to the stall with ease. A heap of mangoes greet us from large straw baskets. She picks one mango and sniffs it. She nods with approval and flicks a fruit or two.

She listens to the sound before she drops the fruit into the large white bag. She is not done yet. She has a shopping list she has to cater to. She buys spices, oil and what not — sniffing, haggling, observing with a keen eye.

Back home, I deposit the shopping bag. I don’t know what to expect. I wait because pickling is also about patience. A few minutes later I find Lakshmi Aunty cleaning the fruit. She then lays out the mangoes on a long dry cloth. Her son, daughter and her grandson sit around and begin to peel the skin of the fruit.

Getting into action

I sit with them and get into action. Lakshmi Aunty is watching us. She then picks one mango and slices through the thick white flesh. “You hear the sound?”, she looks at us eagerly. “This tells you that it is sour. Perfect for pickling”, she observes. I notice her large bright eyes dance with joy.

I wonder why she should be excited about a routine, boring chore of mangoes and spices. She squats on the floor along with us and leaves through the mango slices. Something about her demeanour changes. She straightens her sari and chuckles. She recalls a part of her childhood when she did something similar.

She regales us with tales of how mangoes were part of her younger days. She recalls the varied spices her grandmother used for pickling. She laughs with more stories where her childhood, her memories merge with this magical breed of mango pickle called Maagai.

We laugh with her even as we peel the mango rind and then slice them into thin pieces. I wait for the last piece of fruit to be peeled and then I get up. I step back and I see the whole family huddled around the pieces of mango. It is then that I finally smile.

It is not about pickling at all. Every summer, people in this part of India come together to celebrate their bond over mangoes. It is then that my thoughts come full circle. Yes. Pickling is not about the mango or the spices even. It is also not about the sun or the sweat.

It is about the whole family coming together. It is the laughter, the stories they share, the nostalgia, the tradition, the little secrets for the next generation. After all, that is how families stay together and bond over a jar of pickled Maagai.

Sudha Subramanian is an author and writer based in Dubai. Twitter: @sudhasubraman