FIVE
June 1996
The mango season arrives in Karachi with an explosion of the senses. The summer that Zoha got married, it had an enormous appeal for all of us.
The scent of its arrival permeated the four walls of the house, and a waft of it found its way to the upper floor. The entire house was alive with the aroma of Sindri, the plump yellow mango with a soft, luscious interior and an unforgiving center. Azad Baba got only the export quality for us. Not a scar or mark appeared on the coat of these mangoes. The ones that got squished or marred were separated and distributed among the help in the house. Only the perfect ones were reserved for us, and we didn’t even feel like royalty most days. Azad Baba brought the mangoes in the house in wooden crates with lids, nails sticking out on all
