I know I maybe sounding already old but that's the way I feel now. with boredom inspite of having innumerable tv channels and internet at disposal.
We were foragers as kids. Especially when we didn't have anything gainful to do. We used to get excited to sit on the big wooden swing at one of the houses near us since the day the lady of the house used to grant us permission used to be rare.
When bored with the hide and seek, dabba spice etc, the small group of gals and smaller guys (bigger ones would be playing cricket) would be out for foraging. My sister and her friend one of the bigger girls would be responsible for us all. We would collect honeysuckle flowers to suck honey at the base of them (only to get fired at by the owners if they found out)
or collect and eat desi amla (indian gooseberry) which were mouth puckering tangy, the ripe ones a sweeter delight and still my favourites. Their seeds were edible too and so were their tangy leaves (coming to think of it, we were definitely goats then). Since we used stones to bring them down, a missed stone would mean another slew of harsh words, for which were were rarely in place.
There was also another delight, the one that I recently found here in US. Mulberries. This plant died an early death, not in our hands but that of the owner, who didn't want any more assaults on his windows by stone pelting kids.
The Fruits had three colors, out of which green found no use for us as it was grassy in taste. But the red ones were lovely tangy and black ones absolute sweet. Much to the shock of the parents we ate them unwashed. My sister always gave me red ones. That cute nasty gal. The one who incidentally got me hooked to dark chocolate, palm jaggery and red chilly sprinkled banana wafers.
We were foragers as kids. Especially when we didn't have anything gainful to do. We used to get excited to sit on the big wooden swing at one of the houses near us since the day the lady of the house used to grant us permission used to be rare.
When bored with the hide and seek, dabba spice etc, the small group of gals and smaller guys (bigger ones would be playing cricket) would be out for foraging. My sister and her friend one of the bigger girls would be responsible for us all. We would collect honeysuckle flowers to suck honey at the base of them (only to get fired at by the owners if they found out)
There was also another delight, the one that I recently found here in US. Mulberries. This plant died an early death, not in our hands but that of the owner, who didn't want any more assaults on his windows by stone pelting kids.
The Fruits had three colors, out of which green found no use for us as it was grassy in taste. But the red ones were lovely tangy and black ones absolute sweet. Much to the shock of the parents we ate them unwashed. My sister always gave me red ones. That cute nasty gal. The one who incidentally got me hooked to dark chocolate, palm jaggery and red chilly sprinkled banana wafers.
Recently I found a mulberry tree in the process of full bloom or shall I say full fruit on my daily walk path. Out of nostalgia, I plucked a few of the reds and blacks. The sweet taste seemed so much watered down, just as the tang. It really did set me wondering, was that sweet taste really a memory of something so long ago, something glorified or did it really exist?
