It was while savouring pieces of Mallika and Amrapali mangoes laid in front of me in a large plate, it occurred to me that most progeny of mango hybrids in India had female names. Sample these names Ratna, Sindhu, Arka Aruna, Arka Puneet, Pusa Prathibha, Pusa Lalima and many others.
Is it because most horticulture scientists happen to be men? And thus responsible in christening the progeny.
Mangoes are the best-looking fruit around. Endowed with a very sensual shape (alphonso being too ovoid and langra, as if wrapped like a mummy, fail to be members of that club), posses a smooth, soft skin (Katrina Kaifs of the world would die to get a skin like them) and with the just the right amount of blush (you’re unlikely get it despite helpings from L’Oreal or Garnier). Their aroma is divine (if someone could make a perfume like that) ; you could hold one all day, caressing and sniffing at it. And still not get jaded. Thanks to its shape with a seed inside and the act of sucking it, the fruit, rightly so, has been eroticised.
One of his five flower-tipped arrows which Kamadeva, the Vedic cupid, is said to shoot at gods and humans alike holds a mango blossom, inspiring lust, love and the rainbow in between.
It was E M Forester who in A Passage to India referred to mango to a part of human anatomy. “For you,” Dr. Aziz tells Dr. Fielding in 1924 classic novel, “I shall arrange a lady with breasts like mangoes.”
Forester, I’m sure, was referring to the Totapuri.
Incidentally, the ‘queen of fruit’ happens to be an aphrodisiac? The Vitamin E in mangoes helps regulate sex hormones and boosts sex drive. With a low glycemic index, this delicious delicacy is unlikely to increase blood sugar levels, but it does increase one’s eco-sexiness