The Taste of Summer: Why Mango Season Matters in India

I woke up after my mid-day nap and guess what I could smell. Mangoes!

In an instant, I was back in my childhood. The days when we knew summer had arrived not because of the scorching heat, but because the house smelled of ripening mangoes. Dad would come home carrying crates of them, packed neatly with layers of newspaper. The ripe ones rested on top while the raw ones stayed protected underneath. As a child, I thought that was such smart packaging.

Thanks to my dad, I grew up knowing there wasn't just one kind of mango. You name the variety and he'd bring it home. It felt as though Dad brought home mangoes from every corner of India. Alphonso from Maharashtra was rich, creamy and beautifully fragrant. Badami, Karnataka's pride, had a similar richness and was a favourite in our home. Banganapalli from Andhra Pradesh was large, juicy and just the right amount of sweet. Imam Pasand, a southern favourite, was delicate, aromatic and almost melted in your mouth. Langra from Uttar Pradesh stayed green even when ripe and had a distinct sweet-tangy flavour. Then there was Mallika, a relatively newer variety, with a deep sweetness and almost no fibre. Every one of them tasted different, and everyone had its loyal fans.

My sister and I always reached for the sweeter ones while my parents happily kept the tangier mangoes for themselves. My mum and I never liked chewing on the seed. My dad and my sister loved that part, so ours always ended up on their plates.

The Mango Debate

Ask Indians which mango is the best and you'll quickly discover you're not discussing fruit. You're discussing geography, identity and childhood loyalties.

Maharashtrians will passionately defend Alphonso. Karnataka proudly champions Badami. Andhra Pradesh claims Banganapalli. Uttar Pradesh swears by Dasheri and Langra, while Gujarat has its fragrant Kesar devotees. Every region has its favourite. Every family has an opinion. In a country as diverse as India, mangoes have become an unlikely marker of regional pride.

By mid-April, markets across India begin filling up with mangoes. Entire sections are set aside for them. This isn't just another fruit season. Families wait for the first crates to arrive home. There is fresh aam ras, pickle-making, and the inevitable argument over who gets the last Alphonso.

Mango Recipes and Traditions

Aam ras is simply fresh mango pulp with a hint of cardamom. Some enjoy it with puris, others with chapatis, and many eat it just as it is.

Mangoes weren't just eaten fresh in Indian households. Raw Totapuri, or kairi, meant pickle season. My grandmother had recipes for at least three different kinds. One with large chunks that would last the whole year, another with smaller pieces for everyday meals, and karandi, made with raw mango, lemon juice, carrots and green chillies. For weeks afterwards, mangoes stayed on our dining table in several different forms.

The more I think about it, the more I realise mangoes have always occupied a place far beyond the dining table.

Mango leaves are strung across doorways during weddings, housewarmings and festivals as symbols of prosperity and good fortune. In many homes, they are among the first decorations to go up during celebrations. In Hindu iconography, Lord Ganesha is sometimes depicted holding a ripe mango, representing fulfilment and attainment. Mango blossoms are associated with Saraswati and feature in seasonal rituals. Buddhist traditions hold that the Buddha meditated beneath a mango tree, while Jain depictions often portray the goddess Ambika beneath its shade.

As historian Dr Indu Mehta notes, the fruit has long been woven into India's mythology, folklore and religious traditions. The mango is consumed and revered. It has found its way into poetry, paintings, rituals and everyday expressions of hope and abundance. Even the familiar paisley motif that appears in textiles and jewellery is believed to have been inspired by the curved shape of the mango.

The History – Fruit of the Kings

The fruit's story stretches back centuries.

As Mira Patel writes, mangoes have long occupied a place in India's cultural imagination. Ancient Sanskrit literature celebrated them, and varieties themselves carry stories of conquest and patronage. Chausa is said to have been named by Sher Shah Suri after his victory over Humayun at Chausa in Bihar, while Langra is believed to have been named after the orchard owner who first cultivated it. Mangoes were cherished by kings and commoners alike, earning their enduring title as the "king of fruits".

Persian poet Amir Khusrau described it as the fairest fruit of Hindustan. Mirza Ghalib, another devoted admirer, famously remarked that mangoes only needed two qualities: they should be sweet and they should be available in plenty.

The Mughals, too, were captivated. Emperor Akbar is said to have planted the Lakhi Bagh orchard with thousands of mango trees. Jahangir and Shah Jahan rewarded royal cooks for innovative mango creations. The fruit featured in courtly art, literature and elaborate feasts. Yet despite its association with emperors and nobility, mangoes belonged just as much to ordinary households.

As Sopan Joshi writes in Mangifera indica: A Biography of the Mango, older generations in Lucknow described the mango as an awaami fruit, a fruit of the people. During difficult summers, poorer families often ate rotis with mangoes when other foods were scarce. Ancient rulers planted mango groves along highways as acts of welfare and statecraft. Ashoka's edicts refer to mango groves, while later rulers continued the practice. Sher Shah Suri planted mango trees along the Grand Trunk Road. The fruit offered shade, nourishment and livelihood.

In a country with so many languages, communities and regions, perhaps mangoes were one of the few things that truly belonged to everyone.

And just when I thought I'd seen every way mango could be enjoyed, this summer taught me something new.

A friend introduced me to a preserve made with raw Totapuri mangoes. The chopped mangoes are gently cooked with cumin, asafoetida, turmeric, chilli powder, fenugreek, salt and generous handfuls of jaggery until they are soft but still hold their shape. Sweet, tangy and lightly spiced, it sits somewhere between a pickle and a marmalade. We've been eating it with rotis, dosas and even spreading it on bread.

It reminded me that every Indian home seems to have one more mango recipe waiting to be shared.

Sharing – Exports

India is the world's largest producer of mangoes, growing millions of tonnes every year and accounting for more than 45 per cent of global production. Yet despite this abundance, only a small fraction of the harvest finds its way overseas. In fact, despite producing nearly half the world's mangoes, India exports only around one per cent of its output.

The obvious question is: where do all those mangoes go?

Part of the answer lies in India's own appetite for the fruit. As The Times of India reported, the country's domestic mango market was estimated to be worth around USD 2.9 billion in 2025 and is projected to grow to nearly USD 4 billion by 2030. With a population of 1.4 billion and a deep-rooted love for mangoes, much of the harvest is consumed at home before exporters even get a look in. India earned an estimated USD 60 million from mango exports in 2024, while Mexico, the world's leading mango exporter, generated around USD 575 million in export revenue between 2023 and 2025.

But domestic demand is only part of the story.

Getting a mango from an Indian orchard to an overseas supermarket shelf is no simple feat. The fruit must be harvested at exactly the right stage of maturity, sorted carefully, treated to meet importing countries' biosecurity requirements, packed securely and transported under controlled temperatures, all within a narrow seasonal window.

As Keshav Lohia notes, gaps in cold-chain infrastructure, export facilities and logistics mean that celebrated varieties such as Dasheri, Chausa and Langra rarely reach international consumers at scale. Exporters must also contend with high freight charges, extensive documentation requirements, customs clearances and strict sanitary and phytosanitary regulations. The Times of India reported that food exports require multiple certifications and approvals at different stages of the shipping process, adding both time and cost to an already delicate operation.

Recent developments have also highlighted how fragile export credibility can be. As Deccan Herald reported, Nepal recently tightened restrictions on Indian mango imports over concerns about high-risk pests. Imports are now permitted only under prescribed phytosanitary conditions, including mandatory hot-water treatment at 48°C for one hour and certification that consignments are free from specified pests. Japan, too, has raised concerns over compliance issues. While these countries account for only a small share of India's mango exports, the developments underscore the importance of maintaining trust and consistency in international markets.

The pressures are not only logistical. Writing for GOYA, Saachi D'Souza notes that unseasonal rains, heat and pests have affected mango productivity and quality in recent years, with farmers in parts of North India reporting dips in production and sales. She also writes that Gujarat's Kesar crop has faced pressure from warmer-than-usual flowering months, with production expected to drop sharply in some seasons. For exporters, that means the challenge is not just getting mangoes abroad, but doing so when harvests themselves are becoming less predictable.

The challenge now lies not in producing more, but in ensuring that more of India's extraordinary diversity of mangoes can successfully make the journey from orchard to overseas tables.

Just reminds me how important it is to savour and share this amazing fruit. And mango season still feels so precious. It arrives with anticipation and disappears before we are ready to let it go.

For many of us, mangoes are among our earliest memories of summer. They are sticky fingers and stained plates. Newspaper-lined crates sitting in the corner of the house. Grandmothers making pickles under the afternoon sun. Siblings arguing over the sweetest pieces. Fathers returning from the market carrying more varieties than anyone thought necessary.

In a country of more than a billion people, where languages, cuisines and customs change every few hundred kilometres, few rituals are as widely shared as mango season. The varieties may differ and the debates over favourites may never end, but the excitement of that first mango remains universal. Until the mango season, and the next mango recipe.

 -Asia Media Centre

Banner Image- A vibrant street scene in Tanda, India, featuring a vendor selling ripe mangoes from a cart. Image Credits - Mohammed Zeya on Pexels.