We contain pockets of memories within ourselves. Some touch each other while others remain distant and refuse to merge to form a linear narrative. We are all a product of these jarred narratives that grow within us. Narratives that we have created or have been created by others for us - about us. At times they burn out and we are left with empty spaces - spaces that we fill with new pockets of memories and at times, those memories continue to grow, adding new branches to it. At times one turns to the imaginative bent of mind to fill those gaps regarding a memory that seems to be as real as it was before it turned into one's past. The book turns into a laboratory of the working of the mind where time turns subjective and the experiences that have been collected take on a colouration. The images that turn up in these stories is an example of an image - making that memory turns to, when translating them into words.