There's a particular kind of nostalgia that comes with jamun. The fruit shows up for a few weeks in summer, sold in newspaper cones by roadside vendors, and then disappears entirely. Your fingers would turn purple for days afterwards. Your tongue too. If you were lucky enough to grow up eating jamun as a child, you remember the combination of that deep stain, the sharp tangy-sweet flavour that hit the back of your mouth, and the vaguely satisfying chewiness of the flesh around the seed.
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