Fruits of the Indian Soil: Nature’s Sweet Story in Five Flavours

Fruits of the Indian Soil: Nature’s Sweet Story in Five Flavours

India, a land resplendent with diversity, colour, and vitality, finds expression in its fruits as much as in its festivals, folklore, and flora. Among the many treasures borne of her generous soil, five fruits – Mango, Guava, Blackberry, Berries, and Oranges – stand out not merely as delicious delights but as threads in the cultural and mythological tapestry of this ancient land. Let us peel back the layers and bite into their story – a mix of nourishment, nostalgia, seasons, and symbolism.

1. Mango – The King That Wears a Crown of Summer

Origin & Cultivation
The mango, Mangifera indica, is a true son of Indian soil, with references as far back as 2000 BCE. It has spread its sweetness across continents, but its heart remains Indian. The states of Uttar Pradesh, Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, and Bihar are primary mango-producing regions, with varieties like Alphonso, Dasheri, Langra, and Banganapalli being household names.

Season of Plenty
Mangoes ripen with the Indian summer, peaking between April and June, when the sun bestows both heat and harvest.

Nutrition at a Glance
Rich in Vitamin A and C, antioxidants, and fibre, mangoes aid in immunity, digestion, and skin health. A mango a day, in the right portion, keeps your gut and glow on display.

Myth and Meaning
In Hindu mythology, mangoes are associated with prosperity and love. The mango blossom is sacred to Kama, the god of love. Legend holds that Lord Buddha rested in mango groves, which symbolised peace and mindfulness.

Fun and Frolic
Who can forget the pleasure of sucking on a juicy langda aam, competing in mango-eating contests, or relishing aamras with puris? It’s a festival in itself – the grand Indian mango season!

2. Guava – The Humble Healer

Origin & Cultivation
While native to Central America, guava (Psidium guajava) has become an Indian staple. It thrives in tropical and subtropical climates and is widely cultivated in Allahabad, Maharashtra, and parts of Karnataka.

Season of Plenty
Guava trees fruit twice a year, with the best harvest in winter (November to February).

Nutrition at a Glance
A powerhouse of Vitamin C – even more than oranges – guavas boost immunity, help digestion, and regulate blood sugar. With pink, white, or red flesh, they’re a rainbow of health.

Myth and Meaning
Though not strongly embedded in Indian mythology, guava is often regarded in rural folk stories as the fruit of the wise. Its leaves are used in traditional Ayurvedic remedies.

Fun and Frolic
Peeling guavas, sprinkling them with salt and chilli, or munching them with the skin on during a winter walk is pure rustic delight. It’s also a common trope in village tales and childhood memories.

3. Blackberry – The Monsoon’s Midnight Kiss

Origin & Cultivation
In India, the term ‘blackberry‘ often refers to Jamun (Syzygium cumini), not to be confused with the Western Rubus varieties. Native to the Indian subcontinent, Jamun trees flourish in Uttar Pradesh, Maharashtra, and Tamil Nadu.

Season of Plenty
Come monsoon – June to August – and the streets are speckled with purple, as vendors pile high their carts with this dusky treat.

Nutrition at a Glance
Jamun is known for its low glycaemic index, making it ideal for diabetics. It’s also rich in iron and antioxidants.

Myth and Meaning
Lord Krishna’s skin colour is often likened to the rich, dark hue of Jamun – Shyam varna. According to folklore, it was the favourite fruit of sages, symbolising inner peace and spiritual calm.

Fun and Frolic
Purple tongues and giggles, climbing trees, and spitting seeds – the antics of Jamun time are etched in the childhood of many Indians. Sticky fingers, purple smiles, and monsoon memories abound.

4. Berries – Nature’s Dainty Darlings

Origin & Cultivation
India grows several local berries like Ber (Indian jujube), Phalsa, Karonda, and Raspberry. These wild gems are cultivated in Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, and hilly terrains of the North-East.

Season of Plenty
Different berries have different harvest times, though most flourish between spring and summer (February to May).

Nutrition at a Glance
Tiny yet mighty, berries are rich in Vitamin C, potassium, and fibre. They are gut-friendly, anti-inflammatory, and a good source of natural sugar.

Myth and Meaning
The Ramayana tells of Shabari, a tribal devotee of Lord Rama, who offered him wild berries after tasting them to ensure their sweetness. This simple act of love and devotion underscores the spiritual purity of these modest fruits.

Fun and Frolic
Berry-picking trips, roadside treats wrapped in leaves, and tart-sweet explosions in the mouth – berries bring rustic joy and countryside adventure.

5. Oranges – The Sunshine in Your Hand

Origin & Cultivation
While oranges (Citrus sinensis) trace their origin to Southeast Asia, India has embraced them wholly. Nagpur in Maharashtra is famously called the ‘Orange City’, producing the finest and juiciest variety.

Season of Plenty
Oranges shine in the winter months, typically from November to March.

Nutrition at a Glance
They are a quintessential Vitamin C source, hydrating and rejuvenating, aiding iron absorption, and a great post-illness pick-me-up.

Myth and Meaning
In some Jain traditions, oranges are offered to deities due to their purity. Their golden hue is symbolic of knowledge, warmth, and the sun’s bounty.

Fun and Frolic
Peeling oranges with chilled fingers on a wintry morning, juice trickling down the chin, is a cherished moment. Orange squash, marmalade, and even orange-flavoured toffees owe their joy to this fruit.

A Country in a Fruit Basket

India’s fruits are more than a medley of flavours – they are cultural landmarks, seasonal companions, and bearers of stories, songs, and smiles. Whether it’s the golden mango of summer, the peppery guava of winter, the mystical Jamun of monsoon, the sacred berry of lore, or the citrus glow of the orange – each fruit is a chapter of India’s natural epic.

So next time you bite into one, remember – you are not just tasting a fruit, but a story ripened by the sun, nourished by rain, whispered by myth, and gifted by the soil.

Let us cherish these fruity gifts, not just for their taste but for the traditions they carry, the health they nourish, and the joy they bestow – season after season.

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Sharpening the Saw: The One Change I Owe Myself

Sharpening the Saw: The One Change I Owe Myself

In the ceaseless tide of life’s obligations, we often find ourselves playing many roles—educator, thinker, friend, guide—but somewhere in this grand performance, we forget the simplest and most profound act: taking care of ourselves.

As I reflect upon the many seasons I have weathered, if there’s one improvement I must usher into my life, it is this—to build a sustainable habit of self-care through disciplined reflection and physical well-being.

Time, like a silent sculptor, carves wrinkles on the face and wisdom in the heart. But wisdom, when not replenished, can turn stale. Just as a blade loses its edge with overuse, so too does the mind and body. I have long taught others to introspect, to refine, to seek, and to soar. Yet, in this golden chapter of life, I now ask myself: Do I practise what I have preached?

The answer comes wrapped in modesty: not quite enough.

To sharpen the saw, as Stephen Covey aptly put it, is not just a metaphor for renewal—it is an urgent necessity. It requires no grand resolutions or flamboyant gestures, only a quiet commitment to pause, breathe, and revisit the foundations of self-care. This includes not just the body, but also the mind and spirit.

Gone are the days when self-improvement was tethered solely to qualifications or performance metrics. Today, it means spending time in nature, taking brisk walks that remind me of my own rhythm, meditating upon scriptures or poetry, or even journaling the echoes of the day before sleep steals them away. It means finding joy not in accomplishment, but in awareness. To rise not to rush, but to rejoice.

The idiom “charity begins at home” now translates for me into: discipline begins within. And so, this one improvement—this single, subtle shift—has the potential to rewire my life from within. It is not a revolution, but a quiet reformation.

We live in a world that celebrates hustle and undervalues harmony. But it is in harmony with oneself that clarity dawns, choices become deliberate, and life regains its melody. As a lifelong learner, I now embrace this lesson with renewed gratitude: The most important syllabus left to master is self-kindness.

I am reminded of a simple Sanskrit verse:

“Arogyam paramam bhagyam” — Health is the ultimate wealth.

May this improvement not just be a fleeting resolution but a lifelong rhythm. For in caring for myself, I prepare myself better to serve, to smile, and to stay sincere to the very end.L

The Man with the Umbrella: A Stranger Who Changed My Sky

The Man with the Umbrella: A Stranger Who Changed My Sky

Life, in all its wild unpredictability, often introduces us to characters who leave indelible imprints—not necessarily for a lifetime, but for a moment that changes everything thereafter. Not all heroes wear capes; some simply carry umbrellas.

It was a rain-washed afternoon in the bustling lanes of Kolkata, sometime in the late ’80s, when fate decided to introduce me to a gentleman I would never meet again—but who left a positive impact so profound that it shaped my perspective forever. I was younger then, freshly appointed in my career, filled with anxiety over my future, grappling with the harsh financial realities that danced mockingly around my modest aspirations. The city, with all its chaos and cacophony, offered no refuge that day—except for this stranger with an umbrella.

I had just exited the General Post Office, clutching a damp envelope containing documents I was to send to a prospective employer. The sky had opened up with a deluge as sudden as a philosophical revelation, and in those pre-mobile days, seeking shelter meant either crowding beneath a shop’s awning or embracing the rain.

As I stood, hopelessly wet, a middle-aged man, neatly dressed in a beige safari suit with spectacles that made him look like a professor from an old Raj-era institution, approached me. Without a word, he extended his large, navy-blue umbrella over me.

“I noticed you came out from the GPO. Documents mustn’t get wet,” he said with a soft, almost musical cadence to his voice.

We walked for nearly fifteen minutes together until we reached a tram stop. In that brief period, he asked me nothing personal, offered no advice, made no attempt to patronise or preach. Instead, he spoke about rain—its rhythm, its music, and how he loved walking beneath it with a purpose. It was a conversation suspended in poetry, wrapped in kindness, and unburdened by expectations.

Before parting, he handed me a small card with only a quote printed on it:

“Even the smallest act of caring has the potential to turn a life around.”

No name. No number. Just a thought.
And that thought stayed.

Years passed. I never saw him again. But I carried his gesture with me like a secret lamp, one that flickered through many of my own professional and personal storms. I began noticing those who were lost in rain—metaphorical or real—and lent them my own umbrella, sometimes in the form of time, sometimes guidance, sometimes merely a listening ear.

I often wonder if he had any idea that such a simple act would ripple through my conscience for decades. Perhaps he was an angel in disguise; or maybe, just maybe, he was a kind man doing what kind men do.

In a world increasingly transactional and hurried, we underestimate the power of brief kindness from a stranger. A smile, a seat offered on a bus, a door held open, or an umbrella shared—they aren’t grand gestures, but they speak the language of grace, one the soul instantly understands.

The man with the umbrella may never read this blog. But to him, wherever he is, I say—thank you for changing the sky above my head that day, and more importantly, the one within me.

Unchained: The Many Colours of Freedom

Unchained: The Many Colours of Freedom

Freedom. A word so often spoken, yet so rarely understood in its totality. It is not merely the absence of shackles or the liberty to roam. Freedom, to me, is a state of being—an ever-evolving dialogue between self and society, between duty and desire, between fear and faith.

From the sun-baked lands of ancient Sparta to the battle-scarred plains of Kurukshetra, the quest for freedom has shaped civilisations. Yet, while history records it in wars and treaties, the truest struggles for freedom often go unrecorded—in the quiet corners of the mind, in the silent resistance of the soul.

As a lifelong educator, I have seen how freedom expresses itself differently in a child’s tentative steps on stage, in a teacher’s brave voice against injustice, and in a leader’s quiet refusal to yield to corruption. These moments, though seemingly small, are monumental. They remind us that freedom is as much about expression as it is about restraint.

Freedom from or freedom for?
Therein lies the deeper philosophical question. Are we simply seeking freedom from oppression, fear, expectations, and failure? Or are we seeking freedom for creativity, truth, service, and self-realisation?

One cannot help but think of the Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna urges Arjuna to act—not in blind obedience, but in informed freedom. “Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana”—you have the right to act, not to the fruits thereof. This is perhaps the most profound call to inner freedom: the detachment from reward and result.

In the corridors of colonial history, freedom was once a slogan, shouted hoarse on the streets of India, Ireland, and Africa. But today, in a hyperconnected world, our battles are subtler. The chains are invisible—algorithmic manipulation, social validation, consumerist pressure, and even the tyranny of routine. We are often imprisoned by our own choices, habits, and fears. The mind, as sages from Patanjali to Plato have warned, can be both a sanctuary and a prison.

Freedom to me is also the courage to live with difference. The liberty to question, to dissent, to laugh at power and embrace vulnerability. It is not about loud rebellion alone, but about quiet authenticity. To live one’s truth without masquerade.

But freedom, like all precious things, comes with responsibility. As John Stuart Mill rightly asserted, “The worth of a state in the long run is the worth of the individuals composing it.” Our individual freedoms must never encroach upon the dignity of others. Freedom must be tempered with empathy, else it curdles into anarchy.

In my twilight years, freedom has come to mean something more intimate. It is the ability to wake up without bitterness, to think without fear, to speak without flattery, to walk without haste, and to rest without guilt. It is to savour silence as much as sound, solitude as much as society.

And so, as the sun of each new day rises, I remind myself: Freedom is not a destination—it is a journey, often uphill, sometimes lonely, but always worth the climb.

To be free is not just to live—it is to live meaningfully.

When Voices Divide: The Public Figures Who Preach Prejudice

When Voices Divide: The Public Figures Who Preach Prejudice

In a world increasingly connected by technology and torn apart by ideology, the power of public figures to shape hearts and minds is undeniable. Their words can unite or divide, heal or hurt, guide or mislead. It is this immense influence that makes it all the more alarming when such individuals—whether political leaders, media personalities, or self-proclaimed prophets of nationalism—use their platforms to sow seeds of racism, glorify violence, or trample upon the sanctity of another’s faith.

I hold a strong and unshakable disagreement with such public figures.

They may walk in suits of civility, but the language they employ often strips the veneer of social harmony. Under the garb of ‘free speech’, they peddle prejudice. Cloaked in patriotism, they demonise diversity. They draw lines in the sand where bridges should be built.

The Root of the Disagreement

My objection isn’t born out of political leaning, cultural affinity, or religious allegiance. It stems from a deeper reservoir—of lived experience, of exposure to pluralistic communities, and of a lifelong commitment to values that promote coexistence. I have seen how a single derogatory remark from a public figure can ripple through classrooms, neighbourhoods, and online platforms, leaving behind bruises no apology can erase.

History is replete with examples—when inflammatory rhetoric led to genocide, when supremacist ideologies destroyed empires, and when bigotry masqueraded as nationalism to justify colonisation, segregation, and social stratification. Those who ignore these lessons are not just rewriting history; they are condemning us to repeat it.

Faith: A Garden, Not a Battlefield

One of the greatest tragedies of our time is the weaponisation of faith. Public figures who ridicule others’ spiritual beliefs or pit one religion against another not only violate the essence of religious teachings but also insult the divine universality that runs through all of them.

True faith doesn’t need a loudspeaker. It speaks through compassion, humility, and service. To disparage another’s form of worship is akin to stepping into a garden only to pluck the flowers you like and trample the rest. It is not only disrespectful—it is sacrilege.

Violence: The Last Refuge of the Incompetent

Those who glorify violence—be it through incendiary speeches, dog whistles, or glorification of aggressive actions—forget that violence never settles a dispute; it only multiplies it. Peace, not provocation, is the measure of true leadership. As history reminds us, from the ashes of war arise not merely ruins but generations of trauma.

A Call for Collective Vigilance

It is not enough to disagree in silence. Edmund Burke aptly said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Our disagreement must translate into discourse, into dissent expressed with dignity, and into dialogues that reaffirm our common humanity.

Let us measure public figures not by their popularity or power, but by the bridges they build, the prejudices they challenge, and the peace they promote. Let us challenge those who trade in hate as if it were currency and remind them that history is a stern accountant—it records every transaction.

Speaking Truth to Power

In the final reckoning, it is not wealth, title, or trending hashtags that determine a public figure’s legacy—it is the values they leave behind in the hearts of people. I choose to stand firmly against those who poison the wells of harmony, however eloquent their speech or grand their podium. Because in the marketplace of ideas, truth may walk slowly, but it always arrives.

And when it does, it speaks softly—but carries the strength of centuries

Still in the Arena: Carving New Paths After the Bell Rings

Still in the Arena: Carving New Paths After the Bell Rings

“Retirement,” they say, “is the end of a career.” I beg to differ. To me, it is not a full stop but a semicolon—a pause, perhaps, but never an end. After decades in education—designing systems, mentoring educators, steering institutions, and shaping young lives—I find myself not in retreat, but in realignment.

The fire to contribute still crackles within me, and my pen, once used to correct notebooks and sign certificates, now flows freely with reflections, reason, and revelation.

A New Chapter with Familiar Ink

As an author of multiple books—ranging from poetry and motivational addresses to subject-wise test series and even fiction—I now see writing as both legacy and lifeline. Titles like Image of My Experiences, Speeches from the Desk of the Principal, and The Legend of Inara Wali are not just publications; they are pages of my personal evolution. I have authored 23 books so far. Through each work, I reach out to kindred minds, sharing lessons, laughter, laments, and a lingering hope for a better world.

My Career Plan? A Purposeful Continuum.

I now walk a path that blends lived experience with literary endeavour, bridging school corridors with written words, and daily thoughts with deeper philosophies.

1. Educational Consultancy with Integrity
Through Prashant Educational Consultancy Services, I offer tailored support to schools navigating the turbulent waters of modern-day education. Be it restructuring academic frameworks, organising teacher training, or streamlining student services—I provide hands-on solutions grounded in decades of practical insight.

2. Writing as Reflection and Revolution
The writer in me is more than a chronicler; he is a crusader. My blogs and books strive to stir minds and soothe souls. I explore history, law, mythology, and educational policy—always with a critical eye and a compassionate heart. Writing has become both my profession and my prayer.

3. Training and Thought Leadership
Having spent years mentoring faculty and engaging with learners, I now offer workshops and talks that blend old-world wisdom with contemporary relevance. From leadership training to parenting insights, I continue to share what life has so patiently taught me.

4. Remaining Adaptable and Aware
I keep my roots firm and my branches flexible. I actively follow global pedagogical trends, technological shifts, and social transformations. I believe the mind must be like a parachute—open to function. I seek, I read, I reflect.

Challenges Are There—but So Are Choices
Yes, age-related bias persists. The perception that one becomes redundant post-retirement is a sad cultural flaw. But I prefer to focus on my circle of influence, not the limits imposed by others. Instead of lamenting lost chances, I nurture new ones.

The Mission Remains

My journey now is not about career ladders, but about purpose-filled platforms. I may no longer be called ‘Sir’ in bustling corridors, but I remain a lifelong teacher. I may not clock in at 8 AM, but I remain ever-on-duty in thought and expression.

I write. I guide. I grow. I contribute.

Because once a mentor, always a mentor. Once a writer, always a seeker. And once a Principal, always a custodian of young dreams and better tomorrows.

The arena may look different now, but I am still in it—pen in hand, purpose intact.

Kaifi Ki Kahani: An Evening of Verse, Valor and Velvet Memories

Kaifi Ki Kahani: An Evening of Verse, Valor and Velvet Memories

Bangalore has its share of evenings steeped in art, but every once in a while, there arrives a moment that transcends performance—it becomes poetry in motion, memory in the making. One such evening unfurled before me in the gentle embrace of Kaifi Aur Main, a dramatised reading that blurred the lines between stage and soul.

Curated with affection and intellectual elegance, the show unravelled the epic of Kaifi Azmi—not just as a poet of protest, but as a man who lived his verses. The narrative moved seamlessly between his revolutionary writings, his romance with Shaukat Kaifi, and the political fire that fuelled his pen. It was not a linear biography but a lyrical tapestry, embroidered with love letters, hunger strikes, film lyrics, and flaming verses.

Shabana Azmi, poised and powerful, channelled her mother with breathtaking depth. Reading from Yaad Ki Rahguzar, she offered more than words—she gifted us moments.

“Main chali thi unse milne, Kaifi Azmi se. Milne gayi thi ek shaayar se… aur laut aayi ek inquilabi ke saath.”
(I had gone to meet a poet… but returned with a revolutionary.)

The auditorium, usually restless with the shuffle of feet and phones, sat entranced. Silence became sacred.

The script, co-authored and directed with restraint and brilliance, flowed through Kaifi’s personal letters, political convictions, and poetic reflections. Atul Tiwari (or another seasoned narrator) delivered the commentary with the cadence of a companion looking back—not with nostalgia alone, but with the weight of lived truth.

Kaifi’s own voice, crackling from old recordings, suddenly filled the room, reciting lines like:

“Aurat ne janam diya mardon ko, mardon ne use bazaar diya…”
(Woman gave birth to man, and he returned the favour by casting her into the marketplace…)

That verse hit like thunder—reminding us that Kaifi’s ink was soaked in the blood of social injustice and lit with the fire of reform. He wasn’t merely an observer; he was a participant in the revolution of hearts and headlines.

Yet it was not all fire and fury. There was romance too—delicate and defiant. In one passage, Shaukat writes about the time Kaifi mailed her a letter proposing marriage, ending it with:

“Main aapko pasand karta hoon. Agar aap razi hain toh jawab dein. Agar nahi, toh is baat ko chhod dein jaise yeh kabhi hua hi na ho.”
(I like you. If you agree, please reply. If not, forget this as though it never happened.)

The simplicity of the line brought chuckles, sighs, and knowing smiles. This was love, Kaifi-style—honest, urgent, and poetic.

In the latter part of the performance, as Shabana recounted her father’s final moments, her voice faltered—not in weakness, but in reverence. There was a passage that will stay with me forever:

“Kaifi sahab ne aakhri waqt mein apne haathon se mera haath pakad kar kaha – Shabbo, main jaa raha hoon. Apna khayal rakhna…”
(Kaifi Sahib, holding my hand with his own, said: Shabbo, I am going. Take care of yourself…)

Not a whisper stirred after that. The air was dense, not with sadness, but with awe. The standing ovation that followed was less for the performance and more for the presence—of Kaifi, of Shaukat, of all those souls who once dreamed aloud in verse.

As I stepped out into the Bangalore night, I felt lighter yet deeper, moved yet steadied. I was reminded of what Kaifi once said:

“Main akela hi chala tha janib-e-manzil magar,
Log saath aate gaye aur kaarvaan banta gaya.”
(I set off alone toward my destination,
But people kept joining—and it became a caravan.)

Indeed, that evening, we had all joined Kaifi’s caravan—for an hour or two, we lived in his world. And what a world it was.