A love letter from a Malta
The fruit of the mountain who has lived many seasons
Dear human,
I’m writing to you from a branch in Uttarakhand, where the winter sun arrives a little late, and the wind carries stories that only those who stay still long enough can hear. If you’ve ever walked through these hills between November and February, chances are you’ve seen me—hanging quietly from a tree you did not stop to greet. That’s alright. I know life keeps you busy. But today, I borrowed a moment to speak to you.
You may know me as a Malta. Bright. Round. Cheerful-looking. We citrus folk don’t usually write letters, but I’ve been watching you from my tree, and I think you might need to hear this.
I have been noticing lately, people toss me into their baskets without much thought. Sometimes, all it takes is a click of a button. On the plate within 10 minutes.
But before I reached your market shelf, I lived a whole little lifetime you never saw. Becoming myself has been a slow and weather-worn journey.
I began as a shy spring blossom, then grew through slow summer suns, monsoon rains that made me fuller, and autumn winds that coaxed out my colour—until winter finally shaped me into the fragrant self before you now.
This, dear human, is the wisdom I’ve gathered from my place on this tree: You don’t have to be in full bloom every season. Some seasons exist so you can become.
So if you pick me up this winter and bring me home, know that you’re tasting a whole year of weather, patience, silence, and sunlight. A little geography in your palm. A little seasonality in your mouth. A reminder that where things come from matters—food, wisdom, and people too.
And now that you’ve met me, I’d love to share a small mountain favourite with you. It’s how my pahadi friends enjoy me:
Peel me and pull apart my segments. Let my fragrance rise a little. That’s half the joy!
Sprinkle a generous pinch of hara namak (green salt) over me. It’s my most beloved outfit. (Yes, you can make it at home! Just grind everything together.)
Toss me gently… or give me a good little massage. I love both! Just make sure the salt coats every curve and corner.
Optional, but highly recommended: Find a sunny spot. Sit. Savour slowly.
I taste best when you’re not rushing.
With winter sweetness,
— A Malta, on behalf of Team FUEL
PS: Across these hills and valleys, women have carried generations of wisdom—about growing, healing, conserving, tending land and community with quiet brilliance. My friends are gathering their stories into a living repository called One Million Voices of Women in Ecology.
If you have a moment, do take a look. After all, I grew up in the caring ground shaped by many of these voices!
