(contd. from here)
‘What? Why? Then what will you do with these mangoes if not sell them?’
‘Here, take one.’ The man offered a mango to Rajat. ‘There’s only one condition. You have to eat it right here.’
Rajat looked around them. A plume of dust arose as a bus rolled past them. With one hand waving the dust away from his face, he looked at the mango … mango man. Couldn’t even call him a mango seller. ‘Here?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘Take this,’ the man offered him a jug of water, ‘you can wash it.’
Rajat washed the mango and scrubbed it as clean as he could. He pulled out his handkerchief and tucked it under his chin. Never in his Ivy League days would he have imagined he’d be eating a mango on the road-side. Rajat put the mango to his lips and, with caution, dug into the juicy flesh.
It was only after he had devoured the third mango that he looked up, satiated. Streaks of mango juice painted his handkerchief and shirt.
‘Will you come again, tomorrow?’ The man called after him as he walked off towards his car.
With a huge grin plastered on his face, Rajat turned around to look at the man and nodded.