My grandfather took us to the mountains one day to see cashew trees, we rode on his scooter, my brother in the front and me behind, I’ve long forgotten the day and the month and the year but I remember looking at him as he explained how cashews grow. . I’d never seen such a sight before, never knew they grew on trees or that you could even eat the fruit, but there we were, me and my brother sitting on his scooter eating cashew fruit, staining our clothes, hands all sticky, faces stickier but somehow very very happy.
It’s been over 10 years since that memory, years since I’d tasted cashew, and I’ve been chasing that taste but I’ve always been a season too late, until I finally got what I wanted, biting into the cashew fruit, I tasted childhood and the grandchild within me cried thinking of the beautiful memories my granddad gave us and continues to give us.
For me cashews will always mean mountains, Goa, childhood and my beloved grandfather who has blessed my life.
Here’s to Grandfathers and lessons and new discoveries