Season of Mangoes in Pakistan

_{Some climb trees for fruit…Others just become part of the tree. Can you spot the mango lover in hiding? So perfectly camouflaged!}

In Pakistan, mangoes aren’t just fruit — they’re emotion.

We don’t just eat mangoes. We gift them, argue over them, rank them, hoard them in fridges like national treasures, and send them across oceans like handwritten letters scented with love.

Some countries have oil. Some have gold.
We?
We have Sindhri, Langra, Anwar Ratol, Chaunsa — and the audacity to claim every variety as “the king.” 😋

Every summer, the mango industry silently carries on this legacy of sweetness — from sun-soaked orchards in Multan and Sindh, to tightly wrapped boxes at Lahore airport destined for family in London, Toronto, or Jeddah. In short all over the world!

Mirza Ghalib once said it beautifully:

آم ہوں، میٹھے ہوں، اور زیادہ ہوں
"Mangoes should be sweet, and they should be plenty."

One mango is never enough — it doesn’t satisfy, and sometimes even leaves you feeling a little heavy (emotionally) and very very unsatisfied.

We eat raw mangoes and oh, we have so many ways of enjoying them. Some people gently knead the mango until the pulp is all soft and slushy, then tear a corner and sip it like it is a gold potion.
Kids like them chopped into perfect little cubes.
Me? I will happily take mine in slices. No fuss, no drama, just me, my mango and a quiet corner.

And then we turn them into pickle, preserve, or sometimes jam them. :)
For example, some of my mangoes turned out a bit sour… and of course, I couldn't let them go to waste.

So, I scooped out the pulp and turned it into a delicious jam (I was talking about this kind of jam).
And once the jam was ready, well, a mango cake had to follow. The burnt kinda cake...
Extra brown cupcakes, filled with mango jam, both inside the batter and generously spread on top.

There’s a saying we often hear:
آم کھاؤ پیڑ مت گنو

“Eat the mangoes, don't count the trees?”

And another one:

آم کے آم گٹھلِیوں کے دام

“Getting the mangoes and the price of the seeds too.”

To be honest, I’ve never quite figured out the exact meaning/usage of these idioms. Or you can say that I have not been provided with the opportunity to use them somewhere. But honestly, sucking on the seed has its own charm.

Anyway, this time the mangoes felt even more special, because a few mango trees are growing in my own little garden.

And when the fruit is your own, you share it with an open heart. And from a few kind souls, I received some too.

So yes, in Pakistan, mangoes are far more than just fruit.
They are tradition, reunion, generosity, and a bit of messy joy wrapped in yellow orange green goodness.
They are how we remember summers, how we connect across distances, and how we sneak a little sweetness into ordinary days.

They are the taste of childhood, the scent of home, and the soft sticky promise that some things, no matter how simple, are worth waiting all year for.

There is always that one mango everyone claims is theirs.
There is always the uncle who insists, "Beta ye asli chaunsa hai, baqi sab naqal hai." (Son/daughter: this is the genuine variety of Chaunsa mango, rest are fake).

And last but not the least: an abroad relative once told me, "no matter where we are in the world, if someone sends us a box of Pakistani mangoes, we instantly forgive them for everything."

_{I swear, these cupcakes are to die for. A little extra brown on the top and super moist and mango-ey in the centre}