Mango tree house

I once had a treehouse.
I was perhaps five or seven then.

Unlike 'traditional' treehouses, mine was not atop a tree.
In fact, it was beneath a mango tree in our backyard. 

The thick mango tree trunk was a Grand Trunk Road of sorts for the ants in constant motion there.
They were unrelenting in their pursuit of picking up and delivering bits of food into a nest far, far away. 

I was never interested in their habitat.
But what intrigued me and still does is the loads that they carted. Twice, sometimes thrice their own size. Up and down, in and around the huge, flaying, mango labyrinth they marched. 

In one of its hollows lay their life's sum total of toil and existence. 

Mango tree was host to a large number of birds as well. Predominantly koels, crows and parrots.

Flocks of noisy, argumentative parrots would descend on it towards the evening. 
After having destroyed a sufficient amount of fruit they would fly away (equally noisily). 

My mango tree house had a large chatai (reed mat) flooring. The chatai had large, gaping holes and its edges were frayed but that did not steal from its comforts or the sheer thrill it offered of lying under a tree.

The floor space of the chatai was hemmed in with walls of old sarees. The walls were optional, and could change from day to day depending on my mother's generosity (of parting with her old sarees) and my own ingenuity of using them. 

My house was constantly under threat from Moti, our pet dog. Moti preferred the sturdy mango trunk and its vicinity to relieve himself and had to be constantly chased away. When not on a lookout for Moti, I would often lie on the chatai and try to count the raw mangoes swinging precariously from the higher branches. 

Catching magnificent, diamond bursts of sunlight from behind leaves is a thrill I first experienced in my Mango tree house. I still keep searching for those komerabi moments...

I would sometimes carry my toys and treasures down to the house. Treasures which included various feathers, butterfly wings, stray marbles, vials of attar my grandfather would buy, scented erasers, coins, etc. 

Counting or merely rummaging through them under the tree in the changing light of the day made them seem larger and I would feel all the more richer.

My mother would sometimes pack a lunch of poli and bhaaji (bread and vegetables) that I would eat it in my house. The only thing that my house lacked was a loo. It was only for this creature comfort that I would occasionally abandon my Mango treehouse. 

My favorite time of day in mango treehouse was twilight.
There is something heart-stoppingly beautiful about evenings, especially summer evenings. The breeze that blows is most faint and gentle and fragrant with the bounty of summer.

Come evening and my mother would call out to me. I would dismantle the house and carry the frayed chatai and old sarees back home, mulling over architectural changes that needed to made the following day.