Indian Mangoes

It’s a glorious morning and I am glad I am not out walking. I was this close to a sun-stroke the other day, so now I am happy to be taking the back seat in the big man’s car. Don’t really mind the waiting either. A long-long journey lies ahead, and a few minutes here is not going to make a massive difference.

I sit there staring at nothing in particular. I think of the long journey ahead – 3 hours in this car, 8 hours in another, over-night in a hotel yet to be found, followed by 6 hours on train the following day. Then two more hours in another taxi before I finally reach home in Delhi. Part of me is telling me to read, the other saying I should start making sense of this trip, to reflect. But I simply sit there, staring out the window.

Then suddenly I hear an unexpected voice coming my way. Startled, I realise I really am being spoke to, and now also find a hand stretched out right in from of my face.

‘Le lo, Sir. Indian Mangoes. Very good, sir, very good.’  

I look at this face, half way in through the car window, and instinctively reach out and the take four pieces of fruit in my hands. I stare at them. The mangoes here look very different, I think. And a moment later I realise they are in fact oranges.

I smile. I am amused, and am strangely reassured. I don’t mind being referred to as sir. And I know for a fact that I am going to enjoy the journey ahead. This and the many others I hope will come.