Sweet 'n' Sour Sagas

Summer was leisurely easing into the fall. The nip in the air was getting sturdier with a tincture of earthiness and the emerald sheen of the green-clothed trees was delicately fading into a caramel hue. Every time the chilly wind blew the golden rusty leaves took to the air in a graceful dance, pirouetting around in their own orchestral rustling. The night was ready to cast its spell of darkness and sew the stars on the dusky sky like pearls on an ink black curtain. “Grappy!” called someone in a mellifluous voice from the lawn. “Yes, my Zoya baby!” said Nasr looking over his shoulder at the little tot who had a small old book in her hand. ‘The Diary’, he whispered struck with pure nostalgia which zoomed him back to 80’s when he had the first rendezvous with it. 13 th October 1988 “It’s 3 already”, groaned Nasr as he scurried across the lawn. The shrill noise of doorbell was unanswered, a slight tug on the doorknob left door wide open. The living ro...

“Stop fidgeting around Numa”, said Mr. N helplessly. “I can’t Nasr! I just heard a rustle in the yard.” “Get off the tree you damn kids!” she yelled as she ran towards the tree with a cane in her hand. Mrs. N turned 57 this year. While every year brought new changes, summer heat and Mrs. N’s obsession for her mango tree was something everyone in Aditya Nagar could count on. Every passing year greyed few strand of her hair but nothing could grey out her fixation towards the tree. As the days rolled by and the heat rocketed up, so did her fascination for the tree. Well, who could blame her! She had the tree with rosiest mangoes ever. As the summer approached the tree would blossom and get stocked with mangoes so shiny and yellow that they seemed to burst with juice. Just the thought of sitting and leaning against the trunk of the magnificent tree and sup the succulent amber fruit would water one’s mouth. To Mrs. N it wasn’t just any mango tree, it was an old ...