I do NOT mean Man goes Bananas, although that would be an apt description of the recent exhortations of Indian Finance Minister Mr. Chidambaram that inspired this post. I shall not get into the merits of Mr. Chidambaram's economic wisdom here. This is just about mangoes and bananas as fruits, of which the First Son-in-Law seems to display a considerable knowledge, not to mention much astuteness about what it all means.
There are many fruity comparisons and analogies in the English language of which Oranges and Apples is a favourite amongst Management Gurus and practitioners. The fashion page writers prefer Peaches and Cream to describe the complexion of their favourite page 3 set. Wodehouse preferred a "Fruit cake" to describe many of his creations. Our own Man in Black, politico-business guru, all-round business maestro and First Son-in-Law (outlaw is more like it) prefers Mangoes and Bananas. What is good for the first family is good enough for me - I know which side of my bread is orange marmaladed / mixed fruit jammed / fruit-preserved / jellied.
Mango is the common Indian fruit much beloved of all Indians from the steamy South to the Himalayan North and from the jungles of the East to the deserts of the West. Each region has its own unique and preferred variety, be it the exalted Alphonso (where did that come from? The name is not Indian), the humble Langda (what sort of name is "lame" for a fruit? There is no accounting for these northerners' tastes. We in the South call our mango "blue" because it has bluish-green tinge before it ripens) or the whole lot in between. More than even languages which tell one Indian region from another, I dare say it is the mango variety that signifies the uniqueness of each region; its soil, climate, people, monsoon patterns and seasons. So much so it is used to designate the Ordinary folk in Hindi : Aam Aadmi. I apologise for the sexist usage of the male gender by the Northerners despite not being a Northerner and not sharing the sexist ways of those people. In Tamil Nadu we have our own brand of sexism but we do not insult our much-loved Neelam Mango variety by naming it after our men.
The First Son-in-Law's reference to "Mango People" is spot on: the mango is a lowly fruit, vulgar in the sense of being too common, notwithstanding the hideously expensive Alphonso variety. The latter phenomenon I rather suspect is due to the rich and the famous wanting to set themselves apart by buying something so common at a price so few could afford. The mango tree is also not treated with a lot of respect. We decorate our front doors with a garland of mango leaves on auspicious or festive occasions. Otherwise the plant gets a rough treatment.
Really rough. Years ago when our much-pampered mango tree failed to yield any fruits we were advised to give it a sound thrashing with an old footwear and crucify it, Christ-like, with nails. I was happy to oblige and drive a few rusty nails into its trunk in with an old shoe. Believe it or not, next spring it burst forth into a profusion of white blooms and early summer we had a plentiful crop of fruits. It wasn't exactly Alphonso to taste, but it wasn't too far behind. The following season the fruits were fewer and then the next summer there were even fewer until there were none at all by the fourth summer. Back to square one. We had stopped beating it after that first time - we thought it deserved better and did not need any further "shaming". How wrong we were.
The trick to keep mangoes coming is to constantly shame them, beat them up with chappals, drive nails into them, and generally treat them like something you wouldn't step on. First son-in-law understands this which is probably why he refers to ordinary Indians as "mango people". Which is also probably why his in-laws have been running this country for over six decades.
Bananas, which come in various shapes colours and sizes, are never beaten. We respect them enough to eat off their leaves on festive occasions, their dried outer skins can be fashioned into wrapper for food and even disposable receptacles. Fully-grown banana plants are a symbol of welcome at venues celebrating important occasions. Their flowers are a special delicacy and their stems are credited with special cleansing powers. A Tamil adage has it that the humble banana stems are eaten by a dieting elephants. This last piece of wisdom is highly questionable (do elephants have self-awareness? do they know when they are overweight? do they even care if they did? do they want to do something about it? etc etc) although elephants are known to ravage banana plantations for their succulent stems.
Leaving the botanical aspects of mangoes and bananas aside, what exactly did the First Son-in-Law mean when he referred to mango people and a banana republic? I believe he was drawing upon his deep knowledge of plants and fruits to tell us something really valuable. Mangoes give pleasure to humans and animals and in return the latter disperse their seeds. Mango trees also cry out to be beaten and shamed now and then. A banana plant on the other hand needs gentle treatment and requires just the right conditions to grow and flourish. A banana plant doesn't depend on being useful to others in order to spread. A baby banana plant grows from its mother's roots, right under the protective umbrella provided by its parent; it matters not if its fruits are edible.
A banana plant is like a ruling dynasty, you might say.
There are many fruity comparisons and analogies in the English language of which Oranges and Apples is a favourite amongst Management Gurus and practitioners. The fashion page writers prefer Peaches and Cream to describe the complexion of their favourite page 3 set. Wodehouse preferred a "Fruit cake" to describe many of his creations. Our own Man in Black, politico-business guru, all-round business maestro and First Son-in-Law (outlaw is more like it) prefers Mangoes and Bananas. What is good for the first family is good enough for me - I know which side of my bread is orange marmaladed / mixed fruit jammed / fruit-preserved / jellied.
Mango is the common Indian fruit much beloved of all Indians from the steamy South to the Himalayan North and from the jungles of the East to the deserts of the West. Each region has its own unique and preferred variety, be it the exalted Alphonso (where did that come from? The name is not Indian), the humble Langda (what sort of name is "lame" for a fruit? There is no accounting for these northerners' tastes. We in the South call our mango "blue" because it has bluish-green tinge before it ripens) or the whole lot in between. More than even languages which tell one Indian region from another, I dare say it is the mango variety that signifies the uniqueness of each region; its soil, climate, people, monsoon patterns and seasons. So much so it is used to designate the Ordinary folk in Hindi : Aam Aadmi. I apologise for the sexist usage of the male gender by the Northerners despite not being a Northerner and not sharing the sexist ways of those people. In Tamil Nadu we have our own brand of sexism but we do not insult our much-loved Neelam Mango variety by naming it after our men.
The First Son-in-Law's reference to "Mango People" is spot on: the mango is a lowly fruit, vulgar in the sense of being too common, notwithstanding the hideously expensive Alphonso variety. The latter phenomenon I rather suspect is due to the rich and the famous wanting to set themselves apart by buying something so common at a price so few could afford. The mango tree is also not treated with a lot of respect. We decorate our front doors with a garland of mango leaves on auspicious or festive occasions. Otherwise the plant gets a rough treatment.
Really rough. Years ago when our much-pampered mango tree failed to yield any fruits we were advised to give it a sound thrashing with an old footwear and crucify it, Christ-like, with nails. I was happy to oblige and drive a few rusty nails into its trunk in with an old shoe. Believe it or not, next spring it burst forth into a profusion of white blooms and early summer we had a plentiful crop of fruits. It wasn't exactly Alphonso to taste, but it wasn't too far behind. The following season the fruits were fewer and then the next summer there were even fewer until there were none at all by the fourth summer. Back to square one. We had stopped beating it after that first time - we thought it deserved better and did not need any further "shaming". How wrong we were.
The trick to keep mangoes coming is to constantly shame them, beat them up with chappals, drive nails into them, and generally treat them like something you wouldn't step on. First son-in-law understands this which is probably why he refers to ordinary Indians as "mango people". Which is also probably why his in-laws have been running this country for over six decades.
Bananas, which come in various shapes colours and sizes, are never beaten. We respect them enough to eat off their leaves on festive occasions, their dried outer skins can be fashioned into wrapper for food and even disposable receptacles. Fully-grown banana plants are a symbol of welcome at venues celebrating important occasions. Their flowers are a special delicacy and their stems are credited with special cleansing powers. A Tamil adage has it that the humble banana stems are eaten by a dieting elephants. This last piece of wisdom is highly questionable (do elephants have self-awareness? do they know when they are overweight? do they even care if they did? do they want to do something about it? etc etc) although elephants are known to ravage banana plantations for their succulent stems.
Leaving the botanical aspects of mangoes and bananas aside, what exactly did the First Son-in-Law mean when he referred to mango people and a banana republic? I believe he was drawing upon his deep knowledge of plants and fruits to tell us something really valuable. Mangoes give pleasure to humans and animals and in return the latter disperse their seeds. Mango trees also cry out to be beaten and shamed now and then. A banana plant on the other hand needs gentle treatment and requires just the right conditions to grow and flourish. A banana plant doesn't depend on being useful to others in order to spread. A baby banana plant grows from its mother's roots, right under the protective umbrella provided by its parent; it matters not if its fruits are edible.
A banana plant is like a ruling dynasty, you might say.
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