Mango or durian, what’s your king of fruits?

Ifinally met someone who doesn’t like mangoes. She has never eaten this, the most sublime of fruits and says with conviction that you couldn’t bribe, coax, cajole or bully her into even trying the fruit. I am mystified, clearly. If she were to only try some, if someone could sneak some past her defences, she might cave in and agree that truly, this is the king of fruit. But that was just a wild, momentary thought. I can recall my reaction when I first walked past a durian stall. It was like walking into a physical, stinking wall.

Durian is celebrated as the king of fruits in many countries from Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, Vietnam, Philippines and now a non-consumer-turnedmajor exporter, Thailand.

If you look at the spiky, unfriendly looking fruit, it is hard to comprehend who on earth would have first attempted to get past the armoured exterior to savour the fruit inside. Why?! It clearly looks like the plant world’s answer to dinosaurs. And its sulphurous and pungent smells waft far, announcing its presence to everyone. And yet, people in these countries have durian ‘feasts’ — the ultimate in self-indulgence.

Also, come to think of it, my first encounter with ripe jackfruit wasn’t something to celebrate. The intensely sweet fragrance was unpleasant and made my head spin. So who am I to be so well, olfactorily judgemental? There are, of course, mental associations we have with food that decide how, and how much we eat. Our individual associations will decide how we interpret the food, which in turn will decide how well it is metabolised to provide nutritive value to the body.

If she were to only try some, if someone could sneak some past her defences, she might cave in and agree that truly, this is the king of fruit

In this case, my friend associates the fruit with a mental image of open pushcarts in unsavoury surroundings that makes it completely unpalatable. She cannot dissociate the image from the fruit.

We all understand the basic tastes — sweet, salty, sour, bitter and umami. That’s where the similarity ends. One man’s meat is clearly another man’s poison.

In the same way, we expect people to fit into conventions and moulds. A banana or a colour can evoke a completely different response in people. We accept the least common denominator — we’re happy to accept what is the least offensive. In that we sometimes don’t follow our passions, because it could be disruptive to everyone else.

On the expectation that everybody loves mangoes, one, I’m perplexed that this lady isn’t partial to the fruit at all. If I try with every good intention (of sharing my joy) to cajole her into trying some, she might think it very inconsiderate of me.

We are not homogenous, but we expect everybody to fit into the mould.

Over many years of having lived in the south-east, I have come round to tolerating the smell of durian rather well and can even enjoy a little bit of the rich, sweet fruit. But what if it had been forced on me? That would not have been pleasant — or acceptable. Which means that I have to be more open and accept the aberration. My ‘aberration’ is her ‘norm’.

So the wild notion of sneaking some of my favourite fruit past her will have to be ditched. When she can enjoy her choice of fruit, or cheese indeed, and I can polish off a double serving of mangoes, that’s when we will have peace. For world domination, I might have to turn to the humble banana.

—harveena@khaleejtimes.com