Here in Sri Lanka we breakfast on plantain, as they call bananas here, buffalo curd, a macho version of yoghurt, and kithul, a treacle made from the sap of palm trees. We sit on our balcony overlooking the valley and admire our neighbour’s mango tree, heavy with green, unripe mango.
A troupe of monkeys, macaques, come along. The senior one sits atop an electricity pole surveying the scene. His or her, troops make their way along rooftops, electricity cables, tree branches from tree to tree, quietly and watchfully. Some mothers have babies clinging to their bellies. After a pause one, and then another, leaps into the mango tree.
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