In the misty hill town of Munnar, famous for tea leaves and suspiciously aggressive goats, lived a 76-year-old retired postmaster named Mr. Varghese. He had two passions in life: crime documentaries and mangoes.

Every year, without fail, the mango tree in his backyard bore exactly 43 mangoes. Not 42. Not 44. Forty. Three. Scientists had no explanation. Mr. Varghese had no complaints.

Except one summer… they vanished.

All 43 mangoes. Gone. Not a bite, not a peel, not even a suspicious parrot lurking around. Vanished overnight.

Heartbroken and mildly homicidal, Mr. Varghese declared war.

He drafted a list titled: “POSSIBLE MANGO THIEVES,” which included:

• the milkman (had suspiciously smooth hands)
• Mrs. Thomas from down the road (once called mangoes “overrated”)
• and the goats (just… general vibes)

He installed 17 security cameras, 3 scarecrows in SWAT uniforms, and a motion-activated loudspeaker that screamed “I SEE YOUUU!” at 100 decibels.

But that night, as the moon rose and Munnar slept, the cameras captured something… unusual.

A squad of elderly women in full sarees, moving in synchronized stealth formation, rappelled over the wall using saree-pulled harnesses, zip-tied the scarecrows, and stole all the new mangoes growing that week. Again.

Mr. Varghese was stunned. “Mango Ninjas,” he whispered.

He organized a counterattack.

On the third week, using decoy mangoes filled with glitter bombs and sleeping powder (don’t ask where he got it), Mr. Varghese finally caught them mid-robbery.

Turns out, it was Munnar’s Underground Senior Salsa Club.

Yes, salsa. Not the food. The dance.

They’d been using the mangoes to fund their secret mission: renting a hall in Kochi to dance competitively every Saturday night under the alias “The Fruitful Flamingos.”

And they were winning.

Ashamed, amazed, and slightly jealous of their rhythm, Mr. Varghese forgave them — on one condition: he got to join. He even brought mango smoothies to the next rehearsal. And as it turns out… he had an excellent hip shimmy.

From that day forward, Munnar never saw a mango unsupervised — but it did witness the wildest, sassiest senior dance troupe India had ever known.