Marmalade

A rumble at my feet… and a quiver in me… like frames per second…the sights pass me by… so many familiar views… huts covered with dung…bamboo shoots… rice fields submerged in water… sand mounds… dry ever stretching yellow fields… looming peepul trees…some destitute naked children…bricked houses dappled along the way… and I sit and watch in silent wonder and a gloomy face…
I have just left my utopia…stepped yet again on the paths of hell… only this time, with a slight hope to make inferno less charring…
Again a wistful me…makes her way into the paths that have been charted out for me by my most unkind mother fate – for I would give an eye and a leg…I would kill…I would have done anything to spend the next 3 months in the world I existed before…
A single day here was beautiful… maybe fed me with enough memories to last a week…and then what…like always would I have to depend on dipping myself in my revitalizing storage of memories that I have carefully preserved in my head?...
I like to call it my precious marmalade – these memories that I thrive on… every single hour in my utopian land…every single word that my friend Estella has uttered …every smile that my familiar people have showered on me…that crispy brewed smell of Village Café… that old yellowed pole by the road… the coconut-man that has been at that corner forever… its all a part of my marmalade… jellyed into a box… with the sweet smoothness and the tangy bits that makes it so unique… conserved… preserved… jammed in my head… flexible enough to make space for new moments… adjusting enough to squeeze in more bits…and yet, in its congealed state sits in my head, not allowing for my defective present to act like a fungus to its eternal undiluted perfection.
I am allowing myself to soon turn into a Miss Havisham of sorts…and yet, in all consciousness, I take that alternative…for I’d rather be preserved in marmalade than rot in the fungus of my today.