“It’s a Punaar Puli”, he would say. A fragile man in his late 70s, Achachan was always sure of everything. “No, it’s a Kodam Puli Acha " my mother would tell him. “I planted it here, wouldn’t I know?” We all were at our ancestral home to spend the summer holidays. This was the third time in five days since we came here that the exact same conversation was playing out.
