Of Mangoes and Mango Chutney

Stories are like mangoes. You pick and pluck at will. Then, you eat them the way they taste the best to you.

Some use a spoon and as objective eaters experience the taste without getting their hands and heads too involved. I want to have some light fun. Plus, it’s just another mango!

Others trust and thrust their teeth deep into it; pull, gnaw, chew and with the first bites still in their mouths say ‘That was so sweet. Brilliant!’ or pucker up their faces instantly and spit out a ‘Hey! Sour and unripe.’ Quickies, so to say.

Often you find people chopping them into tiny pieces, then poking tooth picks into each geometric piece, tasting them that much longer, trying to understand the mango to pronounce verdict. I’d like to believe they know what they are doing!

One category does buy the mango just to prove the tree wrong. To prove that the guthlee is bigger than the juicy yellow part and the fruit a failure. They would pay just to prove that. Rich, but so poor. I wish them peace.

So strange how much I can metaphor-ise on mangoes and stories, isn’t it? I must be missing them a lot as autumn dawns. Or maybe …

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