via Susanna Harwood Rubin
If I have written fairly precisely, we will share some similarity of experience, but never the same one. And that is connection. That is communication.
I frequently ponder the irony of the social prohibition on touching since we are pressed against one another in the crowds, personal space being a seemingly foreign concept.
I discretely hold my fingers under my nose, remembering the warm comfort of sambar and rice, and like Proust and the taste of his madeleine soaked in tea, everything unfolds and I am there.
Click, click, click, click. I ate them with my eyes like vibrantly flavored wafers of jaggery and ghee.