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Orange Musings
I was walking across the market snuffing out the stench of the city's infamous garbage, when I caught the piquant smell of an orange being peeled. And in the midst of multitudes, the whiff of the much-loved fruit reminded me of little orange-eating pleasures. So what's so special about an orange, one might ask! But when the fruit first makes its appearance, it's wonderful – just like the mangoes and watermelons of summer. In fact, you don't even think about them until one fine day, you see them spilling over baskets, and you know that they have finally arrived as the flavor of the season! The fruit reminds me of languorous afternoons, of basking in the reluctant warmth of a pale, wintry sun, gorging on oranges from Jatinga. Apart from the world-famous mystery of the birds, Jatinga then had the most luscious oranges with sprawling orchards in the foothills of the beautiful Barail Ranges. We usually did not buy the fruit from the market because the women from Jatinga would come all the way to town carrying their wares in bamboo baskets. Some were rosy-cheeked and freckled, some were wizened and sun-burned but they were all cheerful and friendly. They would sit on the verandah while my mother sorted the fruit and they would talk about the yield, the weather, and every generation's favorite topic--the signs of the times! When we went visiting, we took oranges and people brought oranges when they came a-calling. When the sun was strong we had oranges outside, where the pretty hills displayed varying shades of green or blue according to the mood of the weather gods. So it wasn't only the rainbow that came with the hues! When the cold seeped in and the air carried a hint of winter rain, we sat near the charcoal brazier feasting on them! The trees with the golden fruit can be a delightful sight. One orange tree did grace our garden slope. Peach and plum were a dime a dozen, but an orange tree occupied a pride of place. It stood regally next to ancient and gnarled lemon trees. Whereas its immediate neighbors would supply lemons by the basketful year after year, the orange tree bore fruit for three years or so. Maybe the conditions were not conducive, so it withered away and finally died. No other orange tree adorned our garden later. So much for memories! I've gorged on my fair share of oranges this winter. The piquancy is almost gone, but maybe next winter, I'll catch the magic in the same transient smell in a crowded market place. That will definitely put the zing and the tang back into the start of another orange-flavored season! Chillibreeze's disclaimer: This is a contributed article and was published on Chillibreeze in December, 2009. The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author(s) and do not reflect the views of Chillibreeze as a company. Chillibreeze has a strict anti-plagiarism policy. Please contact us to report any copyright issues related to this article. The relevance of the facts and figures cited (if any) could change after a period of time.
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