In the courtyard of Dadi’s old home stood a grand mango tree, its branches stretching wide like open arms. Every summer, it bore sweet, golden mangoes that made the whole neighborhood’s mouths water. One breezy afternoon, Chotu and Chutki sat under the tree, swinging their legs and eyeing the green mangoes swaying above. “Dadi,” Chutki asked, “When will they turn yellow? I can’t wait!” Dadi smiled, adjusting her glasses. “Baccho, achhi cheezon ka mazaa tabhi aata hai jab hum unka intezaar karte hain. Jaldi kiye toh na mithaas milti hai, na khushi.” She went on to tell them about a promise she made to this very tree when she was…