Anything good comes from India according to my father: swirls of calligraphy, counting, the darkest purest gold hammered into rings and loopy bangles, paprika, and web-thin silks that sent hundreds of pirates in a frenzied search to the East. But mangoes My mother doesn’t buy it. She says The Queen Fruit of her beloved islands came from a tree growing in the spot where a Filipina named Melanga pierced her heart through with a knife.
