Born On A Cusp

FrenchBeard and I rarely find any reason to debate about which of what is better, India’s or the Philippines’. Generally, it doesn’t matter to either of us. And in most cases, there’s no contest anyway.

He’ll say, for instance, that Delhi has infinitely more trees, more open spaces, and more parks than Manila can probably ever dream of. And I’ll say yes, hands-down.

Or I’ll say, Manilenos use trash bins in public places far more willingly than Delhiites do. And it’ll be his turn to say, you got that right.

Or he: Indians are more trusting than Pinoys. (I agree.)

Or me: Pinoys do not have a pronounced preference for boy babies over girls. (He agrees.)

So we leave each other be, as far as most of these things are concerned. But there’s one thing where neither one of us has given up just yet: Mangoes.

He insists that India’s mangoes are superior over the Philippines’. I insist that if he’ll say that mangoes here taste really good, then I’ll have to say that Philippine mangoes give you a taste of heaven.

You think he’ll give up, no. He says I haven’t, to begin with, tasted all the varieties of mangoes from all over this subcontinent. And I say, in turn, that I don’t need a hundred varieties to tell me that the best in the world is found only in Guimaras, a province in central Philippines.

And so it goes, and we’re not done yet. We’re still waiting for a non-Indian-non-Pinoy to give us an impartial take on the subject. Meantime, I shall continue to miss my mangga.