Listen to this article
•
15:34 min
How did it smell? Memory rummages.
The nose was awake much before the eyes. Smoke rising from the cooking fire. Mustard oil permeated food. And people.
Fragrances announced the seasons. Faint sweetness of the bitter neem (Azadirachta indica), the earthy aroma of the mango blossom, the damp of the attic in the monsoon. Can a ripe jackfruit be kept hidden?
Mud floors plastered with cow dung, visits to the village every summer. Bamboo shoots cooked in tomato, eaten with a bowl of fermented rice.
A rare paan for the children from the neighbourhood grandma, with jasmine-infused katha (Acacia catechu).
Studying late into the night, raat ki rani (night-blooming jasmine) wafting through the open window, keeping us company, while we slog for the upcoming final exams, in anticipation of the summer holidays that will follow. Madhumalati (Rangoon creeper) scented summer evenings, lying on a mat on the lawn, looking up at the star-studded night sky.
As I pluck a guava, or the mangoes, or the champa (Magnolia champaca) — the familiar scent of each envelops me. Which house in the neighbourhood had which kinds of fruits, flowers, people.
By myself in my first job, apprehensive mornings brightened up to the yellow allamanda and the red hibiscus, poised on the terracotta tiles of the hut across, like a painting. Work that took me to walks in the forest, in knee-deep leaf litter, mahua (Madhuca longifolia) in the air.
Bapa, the gentle soul, crossed over when the earth’s lap was lined with the tender fragrance of akash malli (Millingtonia hortensis). The bael tree (Aegle marmelos) died before him, forewarning us.
Smells gave clues. Is it a happy time or a sad one? Are we celebrating or mourning?
When we meet now, erstwhile neighbours scattered across cities and countries, trees, fruits, flowers are our reference points. Remember when you brought a bag full of champa flowers? The bright orange of that mango in their garden, and you had the only litchi tree. The aroma of pitha (rice dumplings) steamed in turmeric leaves, marking the festivity. Burning sal tree resin to invoke the divine.
Smells are the few remaining constants. Our bonding, our common connections to the past. Certain times are remembered by how they smelled. What the nose remembers.
Nature Conscious is a series built from reader contributions. It is a collection of fieldnotes, moments or brief encounters with the wild, expressed through words, art, music, photographs or poetry. The series is curated by author and guest editor Aasheesh Pittie.
About the Author
