Back to Featured Story

Sehemu Ya Madeleine Kutoka Kwa Ukumbusho Wa Mambo Ya Zamani

Ninahisi kwamba kuna mengi ya kusemwa kwa imani ya Waselti kwamba roho za wale ambao tumepoteza zimefungwa katika kiumbe fulani cha chini, katika mnyama, katika mmea, katika kitu kisicho na uhai, na kupotea kwa ufanisi sana kwetu hadi siku (ambayo kwa wengi haiji kamwe) wakati tunapotokea kupita karibu na mti au kupata kitu kinachounda gereza lao. Kisha wanaanza na kutetemeka, wanatuita kwa jina letu, na mara tu tumetambua sauti yao spell imevunjika. Tumewakomboa: wameshinda kifo na kurudi kushiriki maisha yetu. Na ndivyo ilivyo kwa maisha yetu ya zamani. Ni kazi bure kujaribu kuikamata tena: juhudi zote za akili zetu lazima zithibitike kuwa bure. Zamani zimefichwa mahali fulani nje ya ulimwengu, zaidi ya uwezo wa akili, katika kitu fulani cha nyenzo (katika hisia ambayo kitu hicho cha nyenzo kitatupa) ambacho hatukishuku. Na kuhusu kitu hicho, inategemea na bahati ikiwa tutafika juu yake au la kabla sisi wenyewe lazima tufe. Miaka mingi ilikuwa imepita wakati ambapo hakuna kitu chochote kuhusu Combray, isipokuwa kile kilichojumuishwa kwenye ukumbi wa michezo na mchezo wa kuigiza wa kwenda kulala kwangu huko, wakati siku moja katika majira ya baridi, nilipofika nyumbani, mama yangu, alipoona kwamba nilikuwa baridi, alinipa chai, jambo ambalo sikuwa na kawaida kuchukua. Nilikataa mwanzoni, na kisha, bila sababu maalum, nilibadilisha mawazo yangu.

Alipeleka moja ya keki hizo fupi fupi, nono zinazoitwa 'petites madeleines,' ambazo zilionekana kana kwamba zilikuwa zimefinyangwa kwenye komeo la ganda la hujaji. Na hivi karibuni, mechanically, uchovu baada ya siku mwanga mdogo na matarajio ya kesho huzuni, mimi kuinua kwa midomo yangu kijiko ya chai ambayo nilikuwa kulowekwa kipande cha keki. Mara tu kioevu chenye joto kilipotokea, na makombo yaligusa kaakaa langu, mshtuko ulipitia mwili wangu wote, na nikasimama, nikiwa na nia ya mabadiliko ya ajabu ambayo yalikuwa yanafanyika. Furaha ya kupendeza ilikuwa imevamia hisia zangu, lakini mtu binafsi, aliyejitenga, bila maoni yoyote ya asili yake. Na mara moja mabadiliko ya maisha yakawa ya kutojali kwangu, majanga yake hayana hatia, ufupi wake wa udanganyifu - hisia hii mpya imekuwa na juu yangu athari ambayo upendo ina kunijaza na kiini cha thamani; ama tuseme kiini hiki hakikuwa ndani yangu, ni mimi mwenyewe. Nilikuwa nimeacha sasa kuhisi kuwa mtu wa wastani, mwenye bahati mbaya, mwenye kufa. Ingeweza kutoka wapi kwangu, furaha hii yenye nguvu zote? Nilikuwa najua kwamba iliunganishwa na ladha ya chai na keki, lakini kwamba ilivuka ladha hizo, kwa kweli, haiwezi kuwa ya asili sawa na yao. Imetoka wapi? Ilimaanisha nini? Ningewezaje kuikamata na kuifafanua?

Ninakunywa kinywa cha pili, ambacho sipati chochote zaidi kuliko cha kwanza, cha tatu, ambacho kinanipa chini ya pili. Ni wakati wa kuacha; dawa inapoteza uchawi wake. Ni wazi kwamba lengo la jitihada yangu, ukweli, si katika kikombe lakini ndani yangu mwenyewe. Chai imeniita ndani yangu, lakini yenyewe haielewi, na inaweza kurudia tu kwa muda usiojulikana na upotevu wa taratibu wa nguvu, ushuhuda sawa; ambayo mimi, pia, siwezi kutafsiri, ingawa natumaini angalau kuwa na uwezo wa kuwaita chai kwa ajili yake tena na kupata huko sasa, intact na ovyo wangu, kwa ajili ya kutaalamika yangu ya mwisho. Ninaweka kikombe changu chini na kuchunguza akili yangu mwenyewe. Ni kwa ajili yake kugundua ukweli. Lakini jinsi gani? Ni dimbwi lililoje la kutokuwa na uhakika wakati wowote akili inahisi kwamba sehemu fulani yake imepotoka nje ya mipaka yake yenyewe; wakati huo, mtafutaji, mara moja ni eneo la giza ambalo lazima lipitie kutafuta, ambapo vifaa vyake vyote havitafaidika chochote.

Tafuta? Zaidi ya hayo: tengeneza. Ni uso kwa uso na kitu ambacho hakipo hadi sasa, ambacho peke yake kinaweza kutoa ukweli na kiini, ambacho peke yake kinaweza kuleta mwanga wa mchana. Na ninaanza tena kujiuliza inaweza kuwa nini, hali hii isiyoweza kukumbukwa ambayo haikuleta uthibitisho wowote wa kimantiki wa uwepo wake, lakini hisia tu kwamba ilikuwa ya furaha, kwamba ilikuwa hali halisi ambayo hali zingine za fahamu ziliyeyuka na kutoweka. Ninaamua kujaribu kuifanya ionekane tena. Ninarudisha mawazo yangu hadi pale nilipokunywa kijiko cha kwanza cha chai. Ninapata tena hali ile ile, iliyoangazwa na hakuna mwanga mpya. Ninalazimisha akili yangu kufanya juhudi moja zaidi, kufuata na kukamata tena hisia ya muda mfupi. Na kwamba hakuna kitu kinachoweza kuizuia katika mwendo wake, nilifunga kila kikwazo, kila wazo la nje, ninasimamisha masikio yangu na kuzuia usikivu wote kwa sauti zinazotoka kwenye chumba kinachofuata. Na kisha, nikihisi kwamba akili yangu inakua imechoka bila kuwa na mafanikio yoyote ya kuripoti, ninailazimisha kwa mabadiliko ili kufurahia usumbufu huo ambao nimekataa, kufikiria mambo mengine, kupumzika na kujifurahisha kabla ya jaribio kuu. Na kisha kwa mara ya pili ninafuta nafasi tupu mbele yake. Ninaweka katika nafasi mbele ya macho ya akili yangu ladha ya hivi majuzi ya kinywaji hicho cha kwanza, na ninahisi kitu kikianza ndani yangu, kitu ambacho huacha mahali pake pa kupumzika na kujaribu kuinuka, kitu ambacho kimepachikwa kama nanga kwa kina kirefu; Sijui bado ni nini, lakini ninaweza kuhisi ikipanda polepole; Ninaweza kupima upinzani, naweza kusikia mwangwi wa nafasi kubwa zinazopitiwa.

Bila shaka kile ambacho kinapigapiga katika kina cha nafsi yangu lazima iwe picha, kumbukumbu ya kuona ambayo, ikihusishwa na ladha hiyo, imejaribu kuifuata katika akili yangu ya ufahamu. Lakini mapambano yake yako mbali sana, yamechanganyikiwa sana; kwa shida siwezi kutambua tafakari isiyo na rangi ambayo ndani yake imechanganywa medley ya kimbunga isiyoweza kufikiwa ya hues za kung'aa, na siwezi kutofautisha umbo lake, siwezi kuialika, kama mkalimani mmoja anayewezekana, kunitafsiria ushahidi wa kipenzi chake cha kisasa, kisichoweza kutenganishwa, ladha ya keki iliyotiwa ndani ya chai; siwezi kuiuliza kunifahamisha ni hali gani maalum inayohusika, ya kipindi gani katika maisha yangu ya zamani. Je, hatimaye itafikia uso wa wazi wa ufahamu wangu, kumbukumbu hii, wakati huu wa zamani, wa kufa ambao sumaku ya wakati sawa imesafiri hadi sasa kuleta, kuvuruga, kuinua kutoka kwa kina cha nafsi yangu? Siwezi kusema. Sasa kwa kuwa sijisikii chochote, imesimama, labda imeshuka tena kwenye giza lake, ambayo ni nani awezaye kusema kama itatokea? Mara kumi juu ya mimi lazima insha kazi, lazima konda chini juu ya shimo. Na kila wakati uvivu wa asili ambao unatuzuia kutoka kwa kila biashara ngumu, kila kazi muhimu, imenihimiza kuacha jambo hilo peke yake, kunywa chai yangu na kufikiria tu wasiwasi wa leo na matumaini yangu ya kesho, ambayo yanajiruhusu kutafakari bila juhudi au shida ya akili. Na ghafla kumbukumbu inarudi.

Ladha ilikuwa ile ya kipande kidogo cha madeleine ambacho Jumapili asubuhi huko Combray (kwa sababu asubuhi zile sikutoka kabla ya wakati wa kanisa), nilipoenda kumwambia siku njema katika chumba chake cha kulala, shangazi yangu Léonie alikuwa akinipa, akiichovya kwanza kwenye kikombe chake cha chai halisi au cha maua ya chokaa. mbele ya Madeleine kidogo alikumbuka kitu kwa akili yangu kabla ya kuonja yake; labda kwa sababu nilikuwa nimeona vitu kama hivyo mara kwa mara kwa muda, bila kuonja, kwenye trays kwenye madirisha ya wapishi wa keki, kwamba picha yao ilikuwa imejitenga na siku hizo za Combray kuchukua nafasi yake kati ya wengine hivi karibuni zaidi; labda kwa sababu ya kumbukumbu hizo, kwa muda mrefu kutelekezwa na kuweka nje ya akili, hakuna kitu sasa kilichosalia, kila kitu kilitawanyika; aina ya mambo, ikiwa ni pamoja na ile ya ganda dogo la komeo ya keki, hivyo utajiri wa kimwili chini ya mikunjo yake kali, kidini, walikuwa kufutiliwa mbali au walikuwa wamelala kwa muda mrefu kiasi kwamba kupoteza nguvu ya upanuzi ambayo ingeweza kuwaruhusu wao kuanza tena nafasi yao katika fahamu yangu. Lakini wakati kutoka zamani za zamani hakuna kitu kinachoendelea, baada ya watu kufa, baada ya vitu kuvunjika na kutawanyika, bado, peke yake, dhaifu zaidi, lakini kwa nguvu zaidi, isiyo na maana zaidi, inayoendelea zaidi, mwaminifu zaidi, harufu na ladha ya mambo hubakia kwa muda mrefu, kama roho, tayari kutukumbusha, kusubiri na kutumaini wakati wao, katikati ya magofu yote; na kubeba bila kuyumba, katika tone dogo na karibu lisilowezekana la asili yao, muundo mkubwa wa kumbukumbu. Na mara tu nilipogundua ladha ya chembe ya madeleine iliyotiwa ndani ya maua ya chokaa ambayo shangazi yangu alikuwa akinipa (ingawa sikujua na lazima niahirishe kwa muda mrefu ugunduzi wa kwa nini kumbukumbu hii ilinifurahisha sana) mara moja nyumba ya kijivu iliyokuwa barabarani, ambapo chumba chake kilikuwa, iliinuka kama mandhari ya ukumbi wa michezo ili kujishikanisha na bustani, ambayo wazazi wangu walikuwa wameifungua kwenye banda. (jopo la pekee ambalo hadi wakati huo lilikuwa ndilo nililoweza kuona); na pamoja na nyumba mji, kutoka asubuhi hadi usiku na katika hali ya hewa yote, Square ambapo mimi alitumwa kabla ya chakula cha mchana, mitaa ambayo mimi kutumika kwa kukimbia errands, barabara za nchi sisi alichukua wakati ilikuwa faini. Na kama vile Wajapani wanavyojifurahisha wenyewe kwa kujaza bakuli la porcelaini na maji na kuzama ndani yake makombo madogo ya karatasi ambayo hadi wakati huo hayana tabia au umbo, lakini, wakati wanalowa, wanajinyoosha na kujipinda, huchukua rangi na sura ya kipekee, kuwa maua au nyumba au watu, wa kudumu na wanaotambulika, hivyo katika wakati huo maua yote katika bustani yetu na katika bustani ya maji ya Visvonne na M. watu wa kijiji na makao yao madogo na kanisa la parokia na Combray yote na mazingira yake, wakichukua maumbo yao yanayofaa na kukua imara, wakaibuka kuwa, mji na bustani sawa, yote kutoka kwa kikombe changu cha chai.

Share this story:

COMMUNITY REFLECTIONS

12 PAST RESPONSES

User avatar
Gail Mercuri Sep 18, 2025
"This new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence." This sentence resonated with me because good food can give me the sensation of feeling loved. When meals are shared with loved ones it can fill you with comfort.

A meal that is memorable for me is eggplant parmigiana. It is memorable because my mom used to fry the eggplant, and me and my siblings would steal pieces of fried eggplant before they made it to the dish. This meal always brings me back to those times. The main ingredients are eggplant, tomato sauce, and mozzarella cheese. First, you fry the eggplant, then you layer it with sauce and cheese before baking it in the oven. I have recreated it many times over the years. It's a staple for holidays and family gatherings.
User avatar
Gail Mercuri Sep 17, 2025
This story reminds me of my childhood. I was raised in an Italian family. Delicious homemade food enjoyed by loved ones gathered around a table. I always felt loved. Sunday dinners didn't just feed the belly It turned into beautiful memories. Good food and memories a beautiful combination.
celebrations and healing times. I always felt loved. Sunday dinners turned into memories. Good food and memories, What a beautiful combination.
User avatar
Mary Sep 14, 2025
I will hope to read more of thus one day... But for now I've set myself to read Murder before Evensong by The Reverand Richard Coles. I am only a short way through and a part where The Parson has returned home greeted by his Dachounds and Mother who now resides with him, offer her a Tea, she calls out 'and a biscuit ' as he does so describes the metal biscuit tin all dented the warn yellow floral patina but still fit for purpose ect..( more to it than I have written, it's a very good book) he continues.. it contained more than biscuits, it contain promise, reward,satisfaction, and memory too,as sure a key to that lock as Proust's madeleine. And hear I had to Google as My thinking Proust was a musician and Madeline was a song.. It all makes sense now. Slightly distracted from my book but what a great tangent.. and shows what a great writer/ story teller. And all round great guy Rev Richard Coles is too.
Reply 1 reply: Gail
User avatar
Gail Mercuri Sep 19, 2025
"I feel something start within me, something that leaves its resting place and attempts to rise. Something that has been embedded like an anchor at a great depth." This quote makes me think about how food can take you back in time by triggering a memory. You can almost taste them again when you think back to the meal, like Proust's Madeline. This is how I often recreate recipes. No book, no measurements. Just the memory of a favorite dish!
User avatar
Cuvtixo Mar 14, 2025
I can't help but think of how this passage itself isn't remembered perfectly by the writers (of biographies and psychology, as much as literary) who refer to it. For example, how much emphasis is on the tea, as much as the madeleine. It is a tea-soaked madeleine! Also Proust changed this from earlier drafts, a biscotto and (perhaps the truly autobiographical?) honeyed toast. Apparently he thought the madeleine was both more French and more elegant! I think it very accurately depicts the scenes from his childhood being reconstructed, piece by piece, not like seeing a film of the past, a carbon copy, but little pieces being fitted like puzzle pieces, some, like the feeling ofhappiness, at once, and some more gradually . I remember reading "Proust was a Neuroscientist", which actually had very little on Proust and quite a bit more on emphasis on "neuroscience," at least for educated laypeople, not other scientists. How ironic, the literary tidbit that references vague childhood memorie... [View Full Comment]
Reply 1 reply: Gail
User avatar
Gail Mercuri Sep 19, 2025
"Create. It is face to face with something which does not so far exist, to which it alone can give reality and substance which it alone can bring into the light of day." Cooking, like psychology is science. And like literary works, cooking is art. Cooking is creating something substantial and meaningful from simple ingredients.
User avatar
Bharat Dec 12, 2024
Philip Roth has mentioned this in his book American Pastoral. However the similar feelings he has expressed in Sabbath’s Theatre: “But now, one night noises, one rumour of home and time past and memory plunged down through all I had anaesthetised.”
User avatar
Steve Nov 6, 2024
I have translated the text and read it many times, many. Proust locked into a biscuit and into the DNA of a bone.
User avatar
Micaela McClinton Oct 18, 2024
The writing is so beautiful. The details of trying to recall something that sparks familiarity so deeply woven into your being that you can't tell if it is from a past life, then the sudden realization of the memory that turns out to be a very ordinary and mundane thing from your childhood. That reminds me of watching Bambi in my grandmother's tv den, on those foldable wooden tv dinner trays in a big rocker with ugly orange and brown plaid fabric. Everyday, or maybe it was only a handful of times that had a profound impact, I would come in after school (preschool?) and my Nonna would fix me a "snack" that I would sit there to eat and watch Bambi. I don't remember what all of the meals were, or even if I liked them, but the food was important. Without the food there was no ritual, the act of my Nonna preparing and sharing food with me in a careful thought out way was how I understood love. I had forgotten about that until reading this.
User avatar
Zsuzsa Borgos Sep 6, 2024
Madeleine always…..every day, and every situation
User avatar
Keith Burgess Nov 16, 2023
As I read this the taste of vanilla melting cakelettes come to me too. But more than this the earliest memories of a four year old five year old boy facing the back fence of my country home observing the blaze of light in hay as it was being harvested by workers and me in utter awe of the instance of beauty before it evanescence disappeared and many other memories now too which have been excited by Prousts recollection of a treat that opened the same door to forgottn experience as me.
User avatar
Cli Scully Jul 9, 2023
When I was younger, I would make a very comforting pasta dish with my mother for when I was upset about things happening in my life. It was a very simple dish, but it was the memories and comfort that made it special. The recipe was white pasta with olive oil and fresh parmesan cheese. We used to buy this special olive oil, that was locally made by my mothers close friend. This dish became apart of my childhood and my mother and I used to watch our favorite show while making it. I am grateful for the memories this dish brought me no matter how simple it is.
User avatar
Larry Parker Jun 23, 2023
Remembering My Sister’s Cod Fish Cakes As a young teenager I can remember when my sister prepared a dish for me, it tasted so good I longed for the taste often. I can remember when she would be happy in the kitchen preparing her specialty “Cod Fish Cakes.” When I would eat them, I can remember how the flavor of them would stick to my tongue. Unfortunately, after a few years of her preparing them for my siblings and I she passed away, so I was unable to taste her cod fish cakes anymore. As years went by, I would often reminisce on how she would make these cakes in the kitchen while I would watch sometimes although playing around in the kitchen with her just being a young man enjoying our younger years was more like it. After thinking about all the ingredients, she used I decided to give it a try myself. As I think about this now this is probably where my love for cooking all began. To prepare these cod fish cakes, you need Cod Fish, potatoes, onions, green peppers, eggs, and... [View Full Comment]
Reply 3 replies: Angela, Mary, Mary
User avatar
Angela Jan 18, 2025
I see that you posted this a few years ago and I was just wondering have you attempted to make them lately. Your post has brought back so many memories from my childhood back home sir and I thank you for that. I don't know where you are located in the world but I would love to try your fish cakes.
User avatar
Mary Sep 14, 2025
Hey Patrick, just wanted to let you know I just read your reply and when I got to yhe bit where you recited the recipe it actually made me cry, It's so lovely that you thought to share this and even made me laugh to think that from your sisters perspective that you remembered it.. I have screen shotted in the hopes to have a go at making them myself.. Something I could share with my daughter as she likes these and is now of age she's creating her own dishes which I'm very proud of. I wish you all the best. Thank you for sharing a special thought provoking memory xx
User avatar
Mary Sep 14, 2025
Sorry Larry, not Patrick.. x
User avatar
Patrick Watters Nov 9, 2018

Beautiful musings of an oft tormented soul. Though he may have later professed atheism or agnosticism, Proust clearly was tapping into the spiritual in his writings.