A Breakfast with Elements at the Heights of Habla

       There was a time when I lived in a sleepy, cold town all alone, having the luxury of a lovely friend, a small car, and a camera. We roamed around the places, exploring things no mortals we knew ever dared to. Once, he came up with a plan to watch the sunrise and had breakfast sitting on the top of a huge boulder, crowning the edge of a mountainous height and cutting steep slope that people feared to peep down. The mountain peak known as Habla is one of the peaks on the Aseer Mountain range, which is part of the Sarawat Mountains, running parallel to the Red Sea’s eastern coastline, extending the Hijaz Mountain range to the Southern borders of Saudi Arabia.

                                        

     Part of the plan was to start way earlier so that we could watch the sunrise, and December was never kind to the people of this part of the world. Being so precarious and knowing much more about what was happening around me, I said no without sounding blunt. Still, I had to follow his mind; what happened afterward was a once-in-lifetime experience. It was rather like meditation. And a simple but sumptuous breakfast. My crazy friend had packed everything diligently to keep it hot as the weather was chilling, and the cold breeze never stopped blowing on our faces, facing the sun for mercy.

     A strange, mystic sort of elevating experience swept us into an unearthly trance. Maybe because it was a Friday morning, all the monkeys remained in the cliffside holes, usually fast asleep, daring not to disturb my Buddhist Sufi, Erich Beer.

      Here’s a word about breakfast. As one of the main three meals of the day, breakfast has always been stressed as more important than the other two. The saying goes like eat your breakfast like a king, lunch like a queen, and dinner like a beggar. However, I recently heard about a book being reviewed on BBC World that says breakfast is a dangerous meal. I don’t know why. Nor did I dive deeper into it to get to know it. It may be a cognitive bias that I don’t want to believe that story, even if the author succeeded in convincing me otherwise.

The Earth in Her Hands

 The Earth in Her Hands is a book by Jennifer Jewell that covers 75 extraordinary women in the world of plants. It tells us stories of womenfolk who put their life into plants, or the plants chose them to live their life with. Like most exciting things happening in my life, I stumbled upon this title recently while researching a related project online. It was love at first sight, and I got addicted to it while listening to the book on Audible, waiting outside our university dental clinic for my wife to have an appointment. Thanks, Dr. Abdul Qadar, for a three-hour long session on an emergency basis before he leaves for his home for the annual vacation.

Each woman has a unique plant journey to relate to, which will take us for a ride through the ever-exciting botanical world. They are cherry-picked from various fields like botany, garden nursery, floral design, garden, photography landscape architecture, farming, seed banks, herbalism, and food justice. The common thread all these extraordinary lives share is their love for plants. The book has interestingly featured a bold lady from India: Vandana Shiva. She is known as Gandhi of Grain.

Back where I work, the Saudi Green Initiative and Middle East Green Initiative are already on the way to regreening the desert. Saudi Arabia is planting 10 billion plants to help regreen a joint target of 40 million hectares of degenerated land. For a country almost the size of Western Europe and with 2320 miles of untouched shorelines, finding space for these 10 billion is a piece of cake. But watering them can be the only challenge with poor rainfall.

We started challenging ourselves to pick up the litter down the street and clear the undergrowth first. Then, we visited a few nurseries to collect the plants on our list with just two conditions: they must bear fruits edible to men or birds. And it should grow independently once it has established itself fully rooted out. It may last a lifetime, being drought-resistant and winter-hardy. During our nursery visits, we made some compromises, fearing the price tag and being inadvertently influenced by the winning eloquence of the man in charge to sell the least moving and most profitable items in stock. Our behavioral economics is still in its infancy, no matter how educated we think we are. We collected manure from the sheep farms, got help digging the holes and planted by calling anyone available.

My Saudi neighbor Yahyah and his wife Jawahirah looked more enthusiastic about it than I did. I just took the initiative, but they seemed to be doing the rest of the work, like setting up drip irrigation pipelines and extending the work to the next level, traveling around to look for more and better cultivars for their garden space and beyond. Indeed, as the Chinese would say, the best time to plant a tree was 25 years ago, but the second-best time is now.

Where have you all been?

          We have been missing those lovely, feathered friends for a while. We all wondered where all our birds had gone to. Yesterday, as I was helping an uncle prune his garden, I had a realization for an obvious reason. The peaches and figs in his garden have been left mostly unharvested. As the orchard was well-walled, no one dared to step in, and the birds would in no way be prosecuted for fruit poaching. They must have been feasting on it. There were too many fruits fallen and rotten under each. The season’s harvest is too big for little birds to devour. And they can’t squirrel it away for winter. The ground was littered with a rainbow of rotting fruits, the sweet scent of decay filling the air.

We had grown friendlier ever since we moved in, and they seldom flew off even when we walked closer. We moved in the winter; at a time, they were desperately looking for food. My wife readily sensed a need and kept a bowl of grain and water in another one against the wall. They were happy and Umar was the happiest at sighting them early in the morning.

And those days, our paved yard hosted many parties within its walled privacy under the starlit sky by our family and friends in our neighbourhood. It can be birthdays, ifthar, a weekend get-together, anniversaries, holiday events or even just friendly dinners. They were usually at night and the partying would go on till early morning around a campfire. The kids would dance around the fire lit in a purpose-built iron box caring not to come too close. The interesting thing is that there will be another feast for birds on food crumbs, scraps, and tidbits left over early in the morning. The fallen morsels from rice dishes will dry back to raw grains and these sparrows will clean up the floor for the next event.

As our little Azadi fig tree started fruiting, they were the first to claim it. Azadi is the name we fondly call it for it was a gift from a South African colleague Azad Hayat as we moved in. The birds were quick to notice the ripe time and didn’t wait for us nodding permission. As my mom would say, the fruit goes to those who first claim it. Therefore, we left the unfinished fruit on the plant for them to feast on, part by part taking turns. Thank you, lovely birds, for showing up this morning to wish us our 15^th anniversary.

Seeding the silk route feeding on a humble plant…

        Around 7000 years ago, the Chinese invented the art and science of spinning cocoons of silkworms into smooth thread and weaving it into the lustrous fabric for the fabulously rich world. They raised silkworms feeding on cultivated white mulberry plants. The secret was successfully guarded for thousands of years and resulted in one of the largest travel and transport networks, later known as the silk route, over land and sea. Traders travelled to distant lands on foot, on horseback or by caravan, following a confluence of trails leading to China, and brought the silk and sold it at bazaars and caravanserais en route. (Caravanserais were roadside inns where travelers – caravaners - could rest and recover from the day's journey.) The route connected the civilizations in the East and the West for about 1400 years.

I captured this photo of our daughter Aishah holding a bowl of sun-ripe mulberry freshly plucked  in the little garden of our property owner, Abdul Azeez Abdullah Yahya Ajeem, a man with truly green fingers. He had planted this mulberry tree a few years before I rented an apartment on the ground floor. Reading my interest in plants, he readily entrusted the care of his plants to me.

Back to our silky story. Chinese rulers sent gifts of silk to their counterparts in Persian and other West Asian countries then, spreading the fame of silk further west. The custom of handing out free samples is as old as silk itself. My mom seemed to know this as she used to send a glass of milk to each house in the neighborhood every time her cow had a calf, often landing orders for a regular supply of one or two glasses of milk every morning or evening until the cow stopped lactating. The only difference is that she did not differentiate between potential customers and the rest.

About the time of Jesus Christ, it became fashionable among the rich and powerful to wear silk, the Roman rulers setting the trend. The countries along the silk route also got their share of bounty in the form of road tax and silky gifts in return for the safe passage of their costly merchandise. The Kushanas, who then ruled north, central, and northwest India, became very prosperous, having their centers in Mathura and Peshawar. Their ports at the mouth of the Indus were used to ship silk to the Roman Empire. As Peter Frankopan put it: “Money, rather than men, began to be used as currency for trade with the East.” Naturally, the Kushana’s gold coins became the currency in circulation along the route.

Colin Thubron wrote in his Shadow of the Silk Road: “To follow the Silk Road is to follow a ghost. It flows through the heart of Asia, but it has officially vanished leaving behind the pattern of its restlessness: counterfeit boarders, unmapped peoples. The road forks and wanders wherever you are. It is not a single way, but many: a web of choices.”

Of late, China - being a world power - revived its interests in silk routes and began diplomatic negotiations to build such a mega network connecting the world much better. Thus, the Silk Road Economic Belt and the Maritime Silk Road were born, which were successful to an extent. These were obviously meant to export their product and sell them on the world market, much more aggressively than in their mulberry days.

It is rather astounding that a humble worm – the silkworm – feeding on a humble plant – the mulberry bush – could have given rise to a global industry. It is equally astounding that the Chinese, who discovered the origin and potential of silk, could guard their secret for so long. Their trade secret would not have lasted nearly as long in modern times. I wonder if Europeans had an inkling of the origin of silk, when the English nursery rhyme saw the light of day: “Here we go round the mulberry bush, The mulberry bush, The mulberry bush. Here we go round the mulberry bush, On a cold and frosty morning.” My guess? No. The mulberry bush in the nursery rhyme could have been any old bush brave enough to survive the English climate. Luckily, the Chinese recognized its worth and knew it was not just “any old bush”.

Cows without cowboys…

People in the Arabian Peninsula were largely pastoral in their culture. Livestock was one of their mainstays. Cattle, sheep, goats, and camels were a part of their tribal lives. Interestingly, there are over 100 words for camels in the Arabic language, just as Eskimos have more than two dozen words for snow. The animals they kept gave them milk, meat, leather, manure to cultivate their crops, and a pet to take care of or play with. Camels were their only cars until not too long ago. Milk is still an important item on Saudi tables, and they know a lot of dishes with dairy. It is also worth noting that in desert dwellers’ long history with milk, their genetics have favored them to have comparatively few cases of lactose intolerance. There are still very rich people who take more pride in the number of sheep or camels over the luxury cars or assets in real estate they own.

This herd of cattle belongs to the Bos Indicus breed, characterized by humped shoulders and pendulous dewlap. It is hard finding them on commercial dairy farms but not a hard job to locate them roaming around in the countryside. Saudi Arabia is home to a few mega dairy farms like Al Marai, Nadec, Al Safi etc. to cater to the dairy needs of the people who were traditionally shepherds before petroleum became a major source of income. These megafarms have hundreds of thousands of Bos Taurus milking cows, crossbred over many years for optimum milk production.

            This shot was taken at the back of a shopping center right in the middle of a busy city in Saudi Arabia where we would never expect to see them grazing. A flock of sheep with a shepherd is a common sight here, but not a herd of cattle like this. They roam around during the day, finding shelter under a tree or the deserted ruins of a building, or by a wall-side, taking rest and regurgitating while the sunshine is getting hotter; by sunset they go home on their own, following their herd instinct.

          As I was born and brought up in a subsistence farming family, I easily relate to them. My mom raised cows for a long time, and my dad had a trip of goats ever since I can remember, till he passed away. You could say goats and cattle are in my blood and DNA, even though I am now a cowboy without a cow to call my own. Luckily, I can enjoy the presence of herds almost on my doorstep.

Bougainvillea:The Flower of Passion

Could you name a garden plant with flowers all year? My science teacher asked us when I was in 6th grade in our village school. He had to answer the question himself as we all guessed it wildly wrong. Though I have never looked it up to verify the correctness of that answer, I just believed it to be true for, ever since, I’ve seen bougainvillea in bloom on and off all year. 

Bougainvillea looks gorgeous and seems to be present almost everywhere, one of the most widely distributed and versatile ornamental plants. It is found everywhere in warm climates worldwide, inviting our attention, especially where they are well exposed to sunlight. Evergreen in tropical and subtropical climes but deciduous in colder climates especially during winter.

We mistake its paper-thin bracts of various colors for its flowers. In fact, its real flowers are tiny white ones, often unnoticeable from a distance as they are overshadowed by bracts of vibrant colors of pink, white, orange, purple, yellow, burgundy, etc.

Bougainvillea grooms itself to put on a very colorful display, offering a free feast for the eyes on waysides and as garden hedgerows. It is usually seen as thorny ornamental vines, bushes, and trees belonging to the Four o'clock family of plants, or Nyctaginaceae. It is particularly eye-catching when trellised or espaliered.

Though well-known to all as an everyday plant, the name is not easy to spell for many as it comes from French. It is believed to have been first recorded by French botanist Philibert Commerçon, in the 1760s. It was so named by Commerçon, after the French admiral, Loui-Antoine de Bougainville, an explorer whom Commerçon had joined on an expedition around the world. What an immortalizing gift from a fellow traveler!

Interestingly, in my mother tongue, it is known as kadalasupoovu. That can be literally translated as paper flower, obviously mistaking the paper-like bracts for their flowers. People grow them in their gardens for their stunningly colored bracts, not for the creamy white flowers.

So go get one in a color of your choice or a mix of many if you want to add easy and lasting color to your garden or landscape. As a bonus, you will be contributing to the ecosystem since bougainvillea provides shelter and nutrition to butterflies and birds. 

Leave the remains to those who claimed it first

      In our backyard, we meticulously manage a variety of fruit plants nursing them into fruition. Many of them escape our attention and reach on time when they are all set to make us happy. Though late at times, we do go for harvest at reasonable intervals and enjoy ourselves. The extra harvest would usually go for distribution in the neighborhood and to friends and families.

One very heartening sight is to see the much-awaited fruit already claimed by its natural stakeholders. Squirrels, bats, parrots, bulbuls, crows and so goes the long list of mainly arboreal but rodents like rats too join the gang.  We don’t care much if the plant is grown on its own from the seeds sown by the same gangsters. Of course, there are some very good ones of that sort around. The ones we do a to z to grow and look forward to fruiting but end up seeing a good portion already shared up is very frustrating. We the young generation make haste to destroy the remaining portion in vengeance for looting our bounties. I don’t know how far we can rightfully use “our” the possessive adjective before fruit in this sentence.

 “Leave the remains to those who claimed it first”. My mom’s quick intervention as our team leader would soon leave us with no other option.  This is her way of looking at it. The fruits they started feasting on will therefore remain right there until they are fully used up by each member on and off taking their turns. At their mercy lies whatever ones are yet-to ripe for our table and taste buds. And to our misery, we don’t judge how good a plant is, as Matshona Dhliwayo suggested, by examining how many birds flock to feed off its fruit.

As a soul is blown into a recipe...

Whenever I open my mouth to appreciate someone in my neighborhood, especially for the food they make and share with us, my partner would say, “neighbor’s wife is always beauty”. This is her way of saying that her own version of the same often goes underappreciated. However, there are a few dishes we get offered that she too can’t help admitting her admiration for. The one in this shot is just one among those few. The food diplomacy among neighbors living closely together has a lasting impact.

 “Please add a little water into the curry you made for yourself and offer a share to your neighbor”. It was a famous saying of the Prophet on those days of less prosperity. Now most of us don’t have to dilute in order to have enough to share but can cook as much for both households. Thank God, we are living in one of the best times in history, though many may  disagree.

Food has always attracted people, kept the folks together, and helped people to show they care. We know that food is tastier when shared with good friends. Every culture has its own unique food-sharing culture, traditional dishes made to share, endearing histories behind, and a lot of interesting stories of sharing and care. And offering a portion of one’s food is not only an act of intimacy but a universal habit shared by all the people staying intimately together. Cesar Chavez put it more succinctly, "The people who give you their food give you their heart.”

What if we put all the eggs in the same basket?

    My colleague from Egypt told me once about those times when he was growing up, a child in his village. The men from the cities mounting their donkeys carrying household utensils would go from door to door in the villages to trade their offerings for backyard chicken eggs. They had their designated days for barter, and they knew their potential business partners very well. A win-win situation for both womenfolk in the countryside and door-to-door vendors from afar. 

Back in the South Indian highlands, while I was a trainee teacher, I saw women making a difference with the eggs they got from raising chickens at their homestead and selling them to greengrocers in their hometown. Home-produced eggs always enjoyed better prices than the commercially mass-produced ones. The women didn't have a farmers’ market so they sold the eggs to their favorite greengrocers, who would resell them for a small profit.

A sincere word of thanks goes to Teena Jewel Kuriakose, living on a vast ranch in Atlanta, USA, who shot this edible platter of colorful, glowing eggs for our blog a week ago. Obviously, she nurtures a good number of prolific egg-laying breeds. They thank her back in multiple colors after feasting on weeds and insects in the yard all around. Note: don’t mistake this for a photoshopped image. It is a day’s worth of eggs collected from the coop. Teena gives away her surplus from the farm at church services, where she meets the people in the neighborhood. She is just one of many who are growing a fair portion of their own food even though they strictly don’t have to, as everything they need is readily available, only a few clicks or a call away.

Well, I can quite picture Teena this Sunday, on her knees in the back row of her church, praying: “Lord, help me be the person my chickens think I am”.

Jacaranda somehow smells it first….

We grow happier as we start spotting the first of its blooms showing up. And for a special reason, which we pin on jacarandas in full bloom in the neighborhood: we know that our summer vacation is not far - the one we all have been looking forward to.  All this is thanks to our city gardeners, who made a U-alley by planting the jacarandas in line on either side of a paved walkway alongside a long dried-up river. How did I then know that it used to be a river without there being any trace of water? There is still an arch bridge built during the time of the Ottoman Empire connecting people on both sides.

For quite long, we didn’t have a name to call the tree with the purple-blue flowers by. Nor did we feel any need for one. Dr. Paul, the crazy man with a scientific temperament among us, first called it “Jacaranda mimosifolia”; this didn’t take long to become a household name but the “mimosifolia” part was conveniently dropped. No one refuted Dr. Paul as our knowledge of botany didn’t even cover the basics, and his authority in scientific matters was undoubtable.

I am not yet sure whether to call it a flowering shrub or a tree. The jacaranda is now enjoying cosmopolitan status, having been widely introduced to several countries from its native Americas. Saudi Arabia – especially its cities sitting on mountain ranges - seemingly houses them better than their native homes. What a marvelous treat for tourists escaping the summer heat, coming to enjoy the lovely cool and often drizzling weather of Abha, a city in the Al Saravath Mountains. As Denise “Nisi” Mckenzie so memorably put it, “Oh, Jacaranda! Lining streets with purple bliss, dreamy petals dance”. 

Let us enjoy this delicate and fragrant dance while the magic lasts, before the jacarandas get decked out in their summer greenery.

Walking My Mind In A Winter Morning

 

I got up a bit earlier today. Not yet sure if Muradabadi biryani could help to be an early bird or not. For reasons I don't know, something inside me kept saying, “Jabir, get up n go out...” Abha is the most beautiful on Friday morning if you can meet her when she rubs her eyes to the sun. Silent, tranquil,   visible, and almost no traffic to bother about.

        It was dark even at 6:30 am. That is quite usual during winter. The temperature was 9 C. Darkness coupled with chill would serve as a good excuse for not venturing out. But my mind justified that it was usual during winter and we would stay warm up while on the move on foot.

I let my weekend unfold on its own. Quite spontaneously with no plans...and a walk along ring road done solo. Off script. Walking has always been a meditative affair for me. If my lungs or calf muscles got something, that was only a bonus.

Better Buy a Ball of Butter

     My mom never made cheese. She never knew what it was like. But she did make a lot of butter and ghee from the milk leftover after we had supplied the neighborhood. Free home delivery was our responsibility. We kids did it well without causing any concern for customer care or ultimately our bossy mom.  We raised chickens, goats, rabbits, and cattle. We also grew a fair share of our own food, like edible leaves, veggies, and tubers, mostly annuals but also perennials. Everybody contributed towards the labor, therefore we hardly ever needed to hire a farmhand.

There was no such thing as waste on our homestead. In fact, there is no such thing as organic waste on this planet we call home. Mom boiled the unsold milk and let it cool off. She then added a little buttermilk as culture and kept it overnight for turning the earthen milk pot into a pot of buttermilk. Once she was free from farm chores, she would sit back to churn the curds into little scattered butter islands surfacing on a turbulent milky sea.

 Persuading these butter islands to form a ball and then produce a sizeable amount of butter requires great manoeuvering skill, which is not easily masterable. I would lend my pair of hands to turn the wooden churner when Mom’s hands got tired from churning. But I never tried to learn how to do it on my own. We seldom sold the butter. Instead, we treated ourselves to it for breakfast as a dipping sauce for hot, straight-from-the-oven “Kattippathiri”, which is a thick, round rice bread rolled flat placed on a piece of a banana frond.

My eyes caught hold of a few golden butter balls on display last week. I was on a regular stroll around the Tuesday market in Abha. I think I had seen them there before, but they had never reminded me so vividly of my own roots before. Here are some for you to savor while I revisit the butter days of my pastoral past.

From Plow to Plate with Love

My granddad on my mother’s side had his own paddy fields. He sold them piecemeal to marry off his eight daughters. However, he continued to farm on fields he took on lease. Nothing could stop a man from doing what he had done all his life. He had his own pair of plowing bulls, two pairs at the most. Like each of his ten children, these bulls too had their own names, no different from those of men.

     After every harvest, my grandfather would send a share to each daughter’s house. Having been brought up by a veteran rice farmer, each of his daughters knew very well how to put the paddy to the best possible use. My mom was no exception.

She boiled some of her share, at times with bulbils of yam as a treat for us kids. She spread some of it under the sun on a bamboo mat to dry, before gathering it up into a sack and sending us to the miller to make flour out of it.

The carriable portion to a teenager, having packed up in a repurposed plastic bag and sealed with a burlap rope, would start its walk safely seated over my head. The bag took the shape of my head making a crushing noise, shrouding my head from ear to ear. The grains would be talking to each other just as we do when the teacher leaves the classroom. I would hear the music of hard labor under a scorching sun, firmly treading ankle-deep in muddy water.

 Negotiating the mood swings of the monsoon, the sons of the soil would enter into a bet with the sun. Those bets, looking back now, were nothing but a sheer gamble for survival, the way it has always been for food producers. The gambler never had any regrets, though many times the sap in the grain failed to bring it to fruition, making a whole season’s crop go to chaff.

The character Alvero in JM Coetzee’s novel The Childhood of Jesus quotes a poet saying that bread is the way the sun enters our bodies. How poetic, and how true. 

63 “Plant Once & Forget” Fruiting Plants for Your Backyard in Kerala

63 “Plant Once & Forget” Fruiting Plants for Your Backyard in Kerala

I love plants, especially fruiting ones. But I can’t nurture them like I do my own kids. For example, I may, or may not, care to water them in summer. What to do? Well, I’ve stumbled upon the perfect solution drawing on veteran planters and personal experiences. Here I am to share it with you happily ever.

If we are away or too busy to give time to our green friends, the six-months-long dry spell in Kerala can be a trying time for many fruit trees we wish to come to fruition in our backyards. Many may wither and die back depending on the water retention capacity of the soil they are in. However, thanks to the six months of Monsoon, we can still grow a lot of fruit plants depending solely on the rain in this, God’s own country. What matters most is the choices we make and a little bit of homework before we line the plants up on the ground.

Here is a range of drought-resistant fruit plants for your next vacation to-do list. Their ability to withstand a no-watering summer may vary but they can survive to an amazing extent. However, if we can somehow manage to water them during the initial period following establishment, they will surely thrive. They are bound to be back with a smiling face much earlier than expected. Plant once with care and forget about them, only be back when they summon you back with a “Thank You” note. Let us look at the list. Feel free to choose as many of them as you like.

1.    Sindooram mango (സിന്ദൂരം)
2.    Chandrakkaran mango (ചന്ദ്രക്കാരൻ)
3.    Kaalappadi mango (കാലപ്പാടി)
4.    Moovandan mango (മൂവാണ്ടൻ)
5.    Komaanga (കോമാങ്ങ) or Priyor mango (പ്രിയോർ)
6.    Vietnam super-early jackfruit (വിയറ്റ്നാം സൂപ്പർ ഏർളി)
7.    Honey Jackfruit (തേൻ വരിക്ക)
8.    Sindoor jack (സിന്ദൂർ)
9.    Anakkayam-1 Cashew (ആനക്കയം ഒന്ന് കശുമാവ്)
10.           Priyanka Cashew (പ്രിയങ്ക കശുമാവ്)
11.           Sulabha K10-2 Cashew (സുലഭ കശുമാവ്)
12.           Rambutan N18 (റംബൂട്ടാൻ N18)
13.           Rambutan King (റംബൂട്ടാൻ കിംഗ്)
14.           Mamey Sapote (മാമിസപ്പോട്ട Pantin variety)
15.           Mattova (മട്ടോവ)
16.           Longan (ലോങ്കൻ)
17.           Stelechocarpus Burhol (കെപൽ)
18.           Soursop (മുള്ളൻ ചക്ക)
19.           Breadfruit (കടച്ചക്ക)
20.           Pineapple (കൈതച്ചക്ക)
21.           Little Indian Gooseberry( അരിനെല്ലി)
22.           Indian Gooseberry (സാതാനെല്ലി)
23.           Jamun White (ഞാവൽ വെളള)
24.           Jamun Black (ഞാവൽ ബ്ലാക്ക്)
25.           Star fruit / Carambola (ചതുരപുളി)
26.           Tamarind (വാളൻ പുളി)
27.           Sweet Tamarind (തായ്‌ലൻഡ്പുളി)
28.           Scramberry / Lovelolica ചണ്ങമ്പഴം
29.           Indian Plum (അമ്പഴം)
30.           Common fig /Arabian fig (അറേബ്യൻ അത്തി)
31.           Jujube (എലന്തപ്പഴം)
32.           Baccourea courtallensis (മുട്ടിപ്പഴം)
33.           Egg fruit (മുട്ടപ്പഴം)
34.           Gold fruit (ഗോൾഡ്ഫ്റൂട്ട്)
35.           Wild Jack (ആഞ്ഞിലി)
36.           Bhod Tree/ Stunted Jack  (വെട്ടി/ഏച്ചില) Aporusa Lindleyana
37.           Ceylon oak/Gum lac tree (പൂവം/പൂവത്തി ) 
38.           Thadathi (തടത്തി) To be updated with English name
39.     Spinous Kino Tree/ Cork wood(മുള്ളൻ വേങ്ങ/ മുള്ളൻ കയനി)

40.           Kilo guava (കിലോപേര)
41.            Guava Alahabad Safeda (അലഹബാദ് സഫേദ) / Lucknow 49
42.           Thailand Guava (തായ്‌ലൻഡ്പേര)
43.           Manila Tennis Cherry (മാനില ട്ടെന്നീസ് ചെറി)
44.           West Indian Cherry (വെസ്റ്റ് ഇന്ത്യൻ ചെറി)
45.           Large Rose Apple Green (പച്ച വലിയ ചാമ്പ)
46.           Rose Apple Red / Rose, large or small variety (പനിനീർ ചാമ്പ വലുത്)
47.           Lime (ചെറുനാരങ്ങ)
48.           Pomegranate (നീർമാതളം)
49.           Pomelo (മാന്തോളിനാരകം)
50.           Mulberry (മൾബറി)
51.            Pakistani Mulberry (longer fruit) (പാകിസ്താനി മൾബറി)
52.            Jaboticaba (ജബോട്ടിക്കാബ)
53.           Peanut Butter (പീനട്ട് ബട്ടർ)
54.           Bullet Wood (ഇലഞ്ഞി)
55.           Sapote (സപ്പോട്ട)
56.           Awaiting verified information
57.           Awaiting verified information
58.           Awaiting verified information
59.           Awaiting verified information
60.           Awaiting verified information
61.           Awaiting verified information
62.           Awaiting verified information
63.           Awaiting verified information

Spoiled for choice? I thought as much. But hang on a minute. I told you to “plant them once with care” before you leave them behind. The operative words here are “with care”. I recommend digging a large pit (തള്ളക്കുഴി) no less than 1 cubic meter (1m x 1m x 1m) in size. The bigger, the better. Fill it with all sorts of locally sourced organic manure and fertilizers like cow dung, bone meal, peanut cake, neem cake and a bit of pseudomonas. Laying down a few layers of coconut husks will aid water retention. Then dig a smaller pit (പിള്ളക്കുഴി) right in the middle of the bigger one and firm down the green baby in it. Now the two of you are friends for life. She won’t sulk even if you prove a little indifferent in the years to come.

A big round of applause for the soil that supply nutrients. A pat on the invisible shoulder of the breeze that aerates. A naughty wink at the clouds that water, and a thumbs-up to the bees that pollinate. You be right back there in time to savor nature’s candy. When that happens, don’t neglect to leave some for our feathered friends.

Why wait? Pull on your garden boots and get your hands dirty for an abundance of fruits year-round.