@ All rights reserved by the author
Date: 10/07/2025
At the back of the top shelf, wrapped in old newspaper, is Maa’s jar of pickles.
Mango. Spicy. Slightly too salty.
Made with gossip and sunlight.
She used to say, “Pickle needs time. Don’t rush it.”
And maybe that’s true for everything—love, apologies, even forgiveness.
Now, when I miss her, I open the lid just to smell it.
One sniff, and I’m nine again, stealing pieces with rice.
Pickles don’t expire, you know.
Neither does love.
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube: ConverseWithASmile
