Bana salad

What makes a memory stick? I’ll never forget the man who came straight up to me early one morning on a railway platform in India and opened his trenchcoat, motioning with a quick serious gesture for me to look down at what he had exposed. And so I did, and there before me I beheld row upon row of mustaches pinned to his shirt and the inside of his coat. Hundreds of mustaches! Thank you, but I don’t want a mustache, I nodded back politely.

Some memories stick for a very good reason,