Of Pickled Lemons and Forgotten Children

//of pickled lemons and forgotten children//

step 1: separate rotten lemons from fresh ones

How do I peek into the deepest crannies of these sour, sectioned fruits, when some are blackened, despite their skin still intact and bright yellow? how does one even know if they have been hollowed from the inside, by a family of bugs and maggots?

step 2: chop into quarters and mix with salt and turmeric

turmeric stains my hands yellow, much like the skins of those forgotten children, whose blood looks paler than a glass of sherbet. salt makes lemons drier, and last longer in the jar. what difference would it make anyway, for my tongue has been scraped smooth of any remaining taste buds, much like a blank canvas hung in an art gallery.

step 3: leave to dry in the sun

I spread out these lemons to cure in this white-ochre mix, as the sun scorches my skin to the bone. a hot wind blows through my backyard, hotter than the air in my oven. heartburn.

step 4: prepare a spice mix

I toast 30 cloves, 20 peppercorns, a bay leaf, 6-7 cinnamon sticks and a few more spices in a broken, rusted pan. toast till aromatic, it says. how do i tell, when I can't smell anything over this stench of rotten flesh and turpentine? I slightly burn the spices and blend them together.

step 5: mix with the lemons and seal in a jar. keep in the sun for 2-3 days, then store.

I toss the spices with lemons, and put them in an old, broken vase. I leave out the jar for weeks, almost forgetting about my pickle, much like those children who steal lemons from my backyard, for they wander about on the streets barefoot, with calluses and sores covering every inch of their soles.

pickled lemons and children are similar to each other: both left unattended in scorching heat in the months of May and June, both getting heatburns, curing in a mix of salt, turmeric and rotting skin, falling off their sectioned bones.

Amulya Sharma