Author: Betty Joseph

What would we do without mangoes in summer?

Every year, I forget how brutal summer can be in a coastal town. And the humidity! The less said about it, the better. Yet year after year I endure the heat for the sake of the mangoes in summer – practically the only good thing about this season. There’s something about the sweet, jelly-like mangoes that makes the heat slightly bearable. Oh, and when you slice into a mango whose flesh is a perfect shade of yellow, it’s a feast for all the senses. But perhaps you already know that. So here’s a very relatable recollection of a summer that overflowed with mangoes.

Up the mango tree he went

My father is unofficially in charge of plucking mangoes every summer. The fruit needs to be plucked at the right time and spread out on rucksacks. The rotten ones have to be thrown out while the ripe ones have to be consumed on time (honestly, the eating part is the easiest). Then there is the matter of keeping off monkeys that visit when the mangoes are ripe. The whole process is almost a full-time job.

But my father was pretty diligent about his role. Whenever he went missing from his room, we only had to look up a mango tree, and there he would be, checking which fruits were ready to be plucked. The ladder propped against the tree with his footwear and a basket underneath was a dead giveaway. Other times it was the bag hanging from the tree by a rope that informed us about his whereabouts.

One year I tried taking on this role (because how hard could it be, right?). It did not go well. The second day I got a crick in my neck from unsuccessfully trying to wield a heavy fruit-plucker. Lesson learnt, I’ve stuck to what I know, and that’s eating.

From the tree to the table

So, once the season started, mango was a staple item at breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I could not get enough of them. The tummy aches did not stop me either. But when a whole basket of fruits ripened at the same time, we had to act fast. We hauled out big food-grade covers and froze the pulp in several packets. Mango in juices, milkshakes and ice creams became the norm. When Coco, my beloved indie dog, would not stop drooling at my ice cream, I upgraded her ice cream too, from plain banana and yoghurt to include a flavour of mango.

Before we knew it, the mangoes took over our lives. If anyone was hungry for something sweet, there were ripe mangoes in the fridge, on the table, or in the storeroom. If anyone wanted a spicy snack, there was always a bowl of tangy mangoes seasoned with chilli powder and salt. The fruit found its way into our curries as well. There was mango fish curry, mango in a yoghurt-based curry and the traditional mango pullishery. Jam was a given every season and so was the pickle – a sweet-and-sour kind and the regular raw mango variant.

When freezing the mangoes did not help, we made fruit roll-ups and spiced mango candy.

(While I haven’t gotten around to baking with mangoes this summer, you can try making an easy mango pound cake or a no-bake mango cheesecake.)

You get a mango, you get a mango

Despite our many efforts to preserve the fruit, we still had a lot more mangoes than we could consume. So, we sold some and gave away a lot more. From relatives, friends and neighbours to the milkman, fish vendor and garbage collectors, everyone walked away with bags of our summer fruit.

At some point, the argument at home centered around trying to find plastic bags in which to pack these mangoes. The best part was that we no longer had to figure out what to bring while visiting someone’s home, unless it was someone with diabetes. The answer to any question or problem this summer was mangoes.

They nibbled, they bit, they dropped

The bats, Rufus Treepies, rose-ringed parakeets, mynas and squirrels naturally claimed their share. The parakeets nibbled on the fruits on the topmost branches, leaving us fragments of mango to sweep every morning. The bats just took bites of every mango until they found one whose taste they liked. Picky eaters, I’d say. While it was heartbreaking to see a perfectly ripe mango, half-eaten and lying smashed on the floor, we consoled ourselves over the role we played in caring for the birds.

The rats were the cheekiest – they ran off with mangoes that were stored for ripening! Now, we did not want to care for rodents who bit through the wires in my car, so the mangoes shifted indoors. And the rats found something new to destroy. They moved to the vegetable garden where they dug tunnels under the soil.

Summer games: Dodge the falling mango

This summer season I wasn’t just eating mangoes. Every day I got the chance to play mango dodgeball whether I liked it or not. When the bats flew crazily around the mango tree, I dodged them. When it got so windy that the mangoes started falling, I dodged it quickly. When overripe mangoes dropped from the tree, I dodged that too. Some days I heard a rustling before a fruit fell, but most days it was sheer luck that I managed to escape unhurt. The last thing I wanted was to end up in the hospital with a head injury. Imagine this on my medical chart – cause of injury: struck by a mango! No matter how much I love mangoes, I don’t think I’d ever live that down.

Thankfully the season ended with no serious harm. While I’m sad to see the mangoes quickly dwindling, I can safely say that we’ve had a good run. Now all that is left is for the heat to go away so I can bake a mango cake to finish the season.

What was your favourite mango memory from summer? And don’t forget to sign up for updates.

August 28, 2026
I blame the crows

How I started backyard bird watching

The daily interactions with the friendly crows in my trees brought out the bird watcher in me. Not the one with a fancy camera that disappears into the woods for days in search of an elusive bird. No. I am a proud backyard bird watcher. Funny, isn’t it? Until two months ago, I never knew such a thing existed. Now, I can’t help but notice the other birds in the yard. Backyard bird watching is an all-out obsession now. My search engine is filled with phrases like “black bird with long forked tail” or “small bird with long beak looks kinda green.”

All I need for this hobby is a small yellow notepad and in it is a growing list of birds. Sometimes I add a random description – Rufous Treepie, the bird someone thinks says ‘Kunjumon chacko’.

Rufous Treepie – Photo by Mosharraf Hossain on Unsplash

All my life, other than the commonly seen crows, pigeons, or kingfishers, I’ve only ever named birds by the sounds they made. The bird that made a koo-ooo sound was a cuckoo. I couldn’t be more wrong; it’s actually an Asian Koel, folks! But now, with my newfound hobby, I can spot an Asian bee eater as it swoops down to catch an insect. Or know it’s a group of Yellow-Billed Babblers hopping around, not sparrows. I can follow the sound of whistling to find warblers on my chilly plant and their cousins, the tailor birds, that have been stitching up nests on our crotons for years.

Bee eater – Photo by Neel Parikh on Unsplash

Warbler – Image by pevank01 from Pixabay

Asian Koel – Photo by viswaprem anbarasapandian on Unsplash

Babbler – Photo by viswaprem anbarasapandian on Unsplash

What’s so great about bulbuls?

Red-vented Bulbuls, a commonly found bird in these parts, are my favourite species. Ironically, these territorial birds swoop on my cat whenever he passes by. The bulbul does not know that I raised a cat who needs his chicken cut into bite-sized pieces or that he prefers a Kerala-style fish curry to raw fish. Eating a bird with feathers? Nah, he can’t be bothered.

And yet, I am invested in the life of the bulbuls. It was just a few years ago that a pair of them built a nest on a beanstalk during monsoon. The wind was terrible that year and threatened to blow the nest away. The mama and papa birds could only helplessly watch while the nest with their precious hatchlings swayed dangerously in the wind. To everyone’s relief, they survived. The bulbuls have stayed on since, building nests in the oddest of places. (More on that in the next newsletter, so do remember to sign up.)

When peacocks move into a town

Did I mention the peacocks? Thanks to all those school years trying to perfect a peacock in arts & crafts class, I had no trouble recognising a muster that landed in my yard one day. Fine, they are hard to miss being our national bird and all. And yes, I admit, their tails are a dead giveaway. Still, an exciting find, don’t you think? These days I find peafowl perched on coconut trees, terraces, and tall towers all over the neighbourhood. They know they are welcome in everyone’s yard. Although the last time, a peahen stopped by to sample our mangoes, Coco, my dog, would have none of it and chased it out.

Peacock Photo by Ricardo Porto on Unsplash

Red-vented Bulbul Photo by Ugyen Tenzin on Unsplash

There are a few birds that are proving more elusive since I only know them by their birdsong: the creepy RaaZ bird and the early morning bird.

The creepy Raaz bird: Now, if you’ve watched the Hindi horror movie Raaz, you might remember hearing a bird screech just as the ghost shows up. I hear a birdsong that remotely resembles the one from the movie every now and then and it spooks me every single time.

An annoyingly early morning bird: I’m keen to know this bird’s name only because I loathe it. The birdsong starts slow, then quickly increases in pitch and ends in a staccato. Sure, it is melodious to the ear, but it reminds me of many school nights when I had to stay awake to complete a project or cram for a test. And the birdsong signaled that it was time to wake up and get ready for school!

That being said, I’ve really begun to enjoy this hobby and would recommend it to anyone with access to a little bit of green cover.

Why it’s worth bird watching in your backyard

For one, this bird watching business in your backyard is a really inexpensive hobby, and if you can sketch a bird or two, that’s a bonus.

In case you are wondering where you could use this hobby, let me suggest a scenario: You’re at a gathering, probably tired of the commentary on your life. Mid-way through a conversation, you call out loud, “Did you guys see that Eastern Barn Owl? Let’s hope it doesn’t carry your chickens away.” And chuckle. It doesn’t matter that neither the owl nor the chickens exist. Your audience will be shocked into silence, at least for a moment. Try it. Be weird. It’s 2026.

In the meantime, I am going to continue bird watching in my backyard and add to the list of birds on my yellow notepad. A local bird watching forum for my town states that around 100 species of birds were spotted last year! I hope to be able to spot at least a fraction of that this year.

Note: The pictures in this article were sourced from other photographers. Coco, my self-appointed guardian, insists on sticking close by. She thinks I need rescuing from spiders and tree frogs, who have decided that the best time to jump is when I’m already on edge!

So, what birds can you spot in your neighbourhood? Drop a comment below and sign up for more updates.

June 23, 2026
How to befriend a crow – like my mother did

Something strange happened this summer. My mother befriended a couple of crows and didn’t even know it. Did my mother unknowingly become an expert on how to befriend a crow?

You see, every summer, we place a bowl or bucket of water for the birds and animals that frequent the yard. Be it squirrels, yellow-billed babblers, mynas, kingfishers, red-vented bulbuls, crows or a whole host of other birds I don’t recognise. In the past, it was the territorial bulbuls or the babblers that dominated the water bowl. But this time, two crows have taken over.

For days, I observed the crows hanging around the trees closest to the house. One crow seemed plumper and bolder, while the other looked younger and unsure. It’s not that we have never had crows linger around, but it seemed like they were getting bolder. The birds cawed at us if the water was not filled to the brim or whenever they ‘accidentally’ knocked the bowl over. Several times, I caught them watching me from the tree and even spotted them on the washbasin outside the house.

Decoding the mystery of the crows

Like most South Indian homes, we have a basin installed outside the house, where we clean fish or chicken, basically, anything messy or stinky. In recent years, we raised the basin onto a platform and started using it more frequently. As I watched the crows, it struck me. The washbasin had suddenly become the centre of attention.

There was another reason, too.

How to befriend a crow?

Whenever my mother cleaned meat, the scraps got portioned out immediately. Some went to the dog for its service in chasing away the mosquitoes and flies bothering my mother. The cat got a share too. And no. The cat offered no help and always tried to swipe a piece of two.

The cat mewing non-stop

Coco the dog helping with chores

The crows got the pieces that neither the cat nor the dog wanted. While we used to bury unwanted scraps in the past, these days we are less keen to dig a hole. Backaches, weak muscles, a summer-hardened ground, the heat, perpetually misplaced spade – the reasons are endless.

But that meant the birds were getting more. And that is how my mother managed to befriend a crow. Curiously, the crows have started asking for more lately. Perched cautiously on the tap, they watch us keenly to see how fairly we distribute the scraps.

The crows are, in reality, well-fed by our religious neighbours who set out an offering of fruits and rice for these birds every morning. And yet, the crows choose to sit on the mango tree and watch all that goes on in our house– from the fish vendor at the gate to the trips to the chicken shop, they see it all. What’s worse, they want a part of it. And I know I shouldn’t feel bad when the crows caw at me for the piece of chicken I want to give the dog, but I still feel guilty. Perhaps the crows have learnt to play tricks on my mind.

The gift-giving crows

Funnily, though, these crows have started bringing little treats for the dog. The same dog who would rush out the door if you say, “Coco, the crows are taking your food,” is now finding crab legs and fish heads under the tree. Once, we even found a piece of fried fish. The latest was a piece of jalebi that I had to pry out of the dog’s mouth.

I try not to think of the distraught person from whom the crows have been stealing. Instead, I only wish the crows would bring us an occasional treat. It’s not too much to ask, is it? Surely there must be a way to train them. Aren’t there stories of crows gifting humans with hair ties and coins? I’d like a coin too, especially in this economy.

But then I sometimes wonder: Was the jalebi actually meant for my mother? Did the dog beat her to it?

My mother can’t be bothered to check, so I have to go now and look under the tree.

While I do that, what would you do to get better treats from your friendly neighbourhood crow? Let me know in the comments.

May 15, 2026
The day I passed through a spider web to get to the new year

Just when I thought I’d left the dramatics behind in the old year, a few silly spiders showed up – and before I knew it, I’d driven through a spider web. Thrice. I’ve had my fair share of spider drama. Have I walked through cobwebs? Yes. Have I cleaned out a web with my hair, unwittingly? Far too many times. Have I been chased by one? Also yes. But the feeling of driving through a web felt worse.

It all unfolded last December during a stay at Eagles’ Rest, Valla. The place has everything a tourist could desire – proximity to beaches, streams, quaint little towns and shops, and scenic drives, like the Promised Land loop. And then there was Eagles Rest – a paradise of sorts in itself. No honking or screeching tyres for miles. Just bell birds and kookaburras laughing in a delightfully lush and green landscape.

But after the incident with the spider web, I’ve come to approach any green space with a modicum of fear. Because now, green equals spider territory.

One night, we were returning to the Eagles’ Rest property after a trip to the beach. The brightness of the stars in the sky was a stark contrast to the darkness of the night. So we strained our necks to look out the windows of the car and trace constellations, hoping to see a shooting star.

That’s when a scream resounded from the front of the car. The car came to a halt. My sister. in panicked tones, pointed forward and repeated, “SPIDER! Roll up your window.”

“Eh!”
“What mumma?”
“Why are you screaming?”

The nieces and I did not catch on to her sense of urgency until we too looked out the windshield.

There it was – a silky, glittering web suspended between two trees. Two rather large spiders were busy at work spinning the web further at different ends. Panic is the best word to describe what we felt in that instance. We frantically pushed and pulled the button, willing the window to close faster. And the only person who remained calm throughout all this was my sister’s husband.

There was no way around the web. We could only drive forward, which meant driving through the web. The car moved forward, and our voices joined in a chorus of screams. And in the middle of it all, I heard a small voice saying, “Dada, you destroyed the spider’s house!”

Just when we thought we were safe, another massive web loomed in front of us. This time, we drove on. Before we reached the house, we passed through two more webs. Scenes from Harry Potter and the scene in the forest flashed through my mind. My active imagination conjured up images of being tangled up in a web, waiting to be devoured by a giant spider. After all the holiday snacking, I’m sure we seemed like plump pieces of meat.

The ordeal was far from over. Were the spiders stuck to the roof? Did one slide down the window? None of us wanted to be the first to open a door and find out where the spider was hiding. So we sat there arguing for a while and refused to let the only brave person step out.

Eventually, my patience ran out. I flung the door open and bolted, leaving the others to their fate. We learnt a valuable lesson that day.

Keep your windows up in the countryside, especially at night.

But the spiders were not backing down because I learned a new lesson the next day.

Keep your eyes open when you stroll through a garden.

A light when it gets dark

You see, to no one’s surprise, I walked into a spider web the next day. This was the score at the end of the year –

Spider: 4
Betty: 0

April 11, 2026
The season I stepped on Jacarandas and ran into trees and bees

The months tumbled on like the clothes in my washing machine, and before I knew it, the biting winter cold gave way to a glorious spring, and, finally, a summer that feels like it might melt my face off has set in. Yet, this is my love note to spring. The colors of spring, the scents, and the emotions it evoked deserve long essays of their own. I was mostly grateful I could feel my fingers after the brutal winter. And, ah, the Jacaranda season! The landscape erupted in color as purple Jacaranda flowers bloomed everywhere. Whenever I passed by a tree, it felt like I was walking on my very own carpet of purple.

How could I forget the fluffy yellow flowers of the Golden Wattle? Inhaling the sweet, sticky scent of these flowers as I walked past them every day was a treat in itself.

Despite the watery eyes and the ‘achoos’ that punctuated my day, sometimes triggered by the mere sight of the flowers and their pollen, I loved all that spring, or as I like to call it, Jacaranda season, offered. For one, I was glad that the sun was no longer setting at 4:45 pm anymore. By November, the sun began setting between seven and eight. I got more time to walk around the neighbourhood and exercise my lungs and legs. Each day, I picked a new route and enjoyed going through paved footpaths lined on each side by trees and shrubs, each trying to outdo the other in color and fragrance.

Sure, there were times I walked into long hanging branches and spider webs. But it was alright. After all, I was being paid handsomely by the sight of flowers and the smells that spring offered. And every time I walked into a web, the reaction was the same. A frantic brushing of the face and arms and shaking of the body, followed by a throaty ‘ARGH’. Imagine my horror when someone I met later at an event recognized me from my walks! I hid at home for a week.

The funniest incident happened on a fairly hot day. I was walking to a shop down the street. Before leaving the house, I grabbed the umbrella by the door, one that I hadn’t used since the rains stopped. The shade the umbrella provided was a relief. I was pretty smug about it until I noticed a small spider hanging by a web from the edge of my umbrella. The spider was probably harmless, and yet I could focus on nothing else. I shook the umbrella, moved it closer to the trees and bushes, but the spider hung on. It occurred to me much later that I probably looked like a crazy person as I swayed a large beige umbrella erratically, first to the left, then to the right, and back again. The yelps that followed might not have helped either.

That evening, I switched my walking route to avoid anyone who might have seen me in the morning. It was the only time I wished for a face mask. The spider returned home with me, where I used a twig to get it off the umbrella, and watched it reluctantly move to a vine. Did the spider love my umbrella and, more importantly, living inside my house?

In between all this, two of God’s creations became synonymous with spring for me. Magpies and bees. The magpies appeared as winter ended. I didn’t think much of them until I saw a boy riding a bicycle. He had spikes on his helmet, which turned out to be for deterring magpie attacks. Social media, the people at my lunch table, and even the local news dished out tips. From befriending the bird with morsels of meat to dark warnings of not turning your back! Now that sparked a new fear.

To protect myself, I carried my trusted umbrella. Due to its size, doubled as a walking stick on steep hills. This fear inspired new antics. Once, I crossed a busy road twice to avoid a magpie minding its own business by the roadside. That day, I realized how Hershey, my sister’s dog, must feel when swooped by mynas.

The bees are second in my list of honorable mentions. Well, I did expect the bees since it was spring. But the constant buzzing around my ears when I stepped out turned me into a spectacle. It’s almost like I had my own portable fan as my hands worked overtime to swat the bees away from my ears. An idea struck me – I could wear earphones! They worked superbly until the day I stepped to the side of a walkway to avoid some bees fussing around a branch. My feet came in contact with small pine cones strewn across the floor. If my guess is right, they are pine needles from Sheoak trees. I slipped and shrieked louder than I intended to, thanks to the podcast playing in my ears. Sigh, I had done it again.

And so, that’s why I’m staying indoors this summer. At home with the air conditioning on, perfecting the art of folding an origami kangaroo. I am optimistic about it. One day I might create one that actually resembles a kangaroo. But trust me when I say, I’ve had enough of this Jacaranda season.

December 9, 2025