I love berries on the trees. But culled, sun-dried, sapped, shrivelled berries when left to roll in a dark semifluid of oozing fruit-sap and jaggery appeal to me more. 'Kuler Aachar' [Sweet Pickle of Berries] is that inviolate addiction none finds fault with in Bengal. And, falling for it young has mostly proved expedient in securing lasting joy in life. That joy that dwells in the kitchen. No! Don't even think of having it with a fancy fruit-pick. Using the thumb and the index like a tong, pick and lead a 'Kul' dripping with a viscous juice past the parted lips onto a welcoming tongue, and leave the rest to an amorous apparatus the mouth is. Teeth are summoned apropos to take pits out of the process. [Pits came in handy only when we conned weakhearted friends whom we couldn’t beat fairly into pit-spitting duels.] This process is run on every berry that disappears into the recesses of mouth. Mothers protecting generous stashes of pickles is glass jars and roving vendors selling a smorgasbord of it on rolling carts are the kind keepers fate of 'Kuler Aachar' mortally hinges on. #uncookedwords
[Erratum: Not Berries but Jujubes. However, Pope confirmed that to err is human.]
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