I ate a mango for the first time in almost a year today.
I was suddenly, with that first cut of a blunt knife, in this rickety bus on the side of a road in some nameless town in south India, with fire in my belly and in my head, trying not to stare at locals staring at me. I remember with clarity the colors of red and gold and green, the skin of the women and their hair, the glint of fake gems. That sun was the most memorable thing, the way it shines in south India is like no where else.
That mango, it was mostly sticky.
(photo at Bhudda Gardens huts, Auroville Tamil Nadu)