Chinese Litchis in New Delhi

I love summers! Well, not the scorching heat that resolutely hovers around 40*C, but the number of mouth-watering red, yellow, and black juicy fruits that it brings with it. How do these fruits – litchi, mangoes, and jaamun – manage to remain succulent without the bisleri’s and kinley’s of the world is beyond my understanding, but I do greedily love to savour their magic now and then!

As luck would have it, I was driving through Saket towards Gurgaon, and found these fruitwallahs (fruit seller) selling red-hot (FM – at least that’s what I was listening while driving there) litchis alongside the road just a kilometer after Qutub Minar. I couldn’t resist the temptation of having them, and before long, I was bargaining with the litchi wala (litchi seller), “Bhaiya, kaise diya?” (Big Bro, How much?), “Litchi kha ke dekho baoji, ekdum mitha hai. (Just taste one and see Sir, it’s really sweet)” I am sold on. But being the typical Indian shopper that I am, I ask him again, “Kaise diya bhaiya? (How much for it?)” Rs. 60 a kg (about $1.2), he tells me. But again, the bargainer in me pops its ugly head. “60 rupees!!! Are you crazy?” He is ready to come down, and we settle at Rs. 50. ($1.1 per kg)

Then, before getting back into my car, I ask him, “Bhaiya, kahan ki hai? Gujarat ki? (Where is it from? Gujarat?) “Nahin Baoji, China ki hai (No, it’s from China),” he retorts. I’m shocked beyond words. As if electronics, clothes, motorbikes, toys, even holi colors and goddess idols were not enough. Now we have to eat litchis from China. “Kuch to India ka becho (At least sell one thing that is Indian),” I advise him patriotically. He had a small grin on his face as he replied that if he sold me litchis that were insects-infested, I wouldn’t come back to him. I realized he was right and lamented the state of Indian farmers.

Seems like, they have no option, but to wait till the BPO boom hits their villages, when they can sell their land at a premium, earning enough for the seven next generations.

Flashback, November 2006. I was returning from a business visit to Oslo and suddenly remembered I didn’t carry any souvenirs back. Thankfully, we had the Duty Free shops to bank on. I quickly grab a black t-shirt, with funny Reindeer heads, each saying something in Norwegian, and a few chocolates, and rush towards the boarding gate.

I reached Delhi, and wore it to office the next day. Everyone liked it, and wished I got one for them too. It felt good. It was only later, when I was ready to send it for its first wash, that I discovered. There, quietly tugged behind the washing directions, was the amenable, “Made in China!”