Smells, like music, hold memories. She breathed deep, and bottled it up for posterity. - Arundhati Roy

Madness slunk in through a chink in History. It only took a moment.

Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones - a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered.

Remember this: We be many and they be few. They need us more than we need them.