Scents. They imprint themselves. Not just with their whiff,
but with their stories.
They become a part of us. They take away a part of us. And
store it with them.
They take us back in time and bring alive memories as fresh
as dewdrops.
The scent of the floral soap in the bathroom where you grew
up, reminding you of the early mornings for school and the towel whipping your
long hair received after a wash.
The scent of antiseptic taking you back to the ‘stumble’ in
the playground which left a scar on your calf that hasn’t faded.
The scent of mustard seeds and curry leaves as they crackled
in the pan to bring alive feelings of anticipation, eagerness, hunger.
The scent of Gulmohar flowers squashed upon the road,
turning the path red. Just like the one you lived on as a child.
The scent of mogra flowers bringing back the prayer songs to
your ears. Close your eyes and you can feel your grandmother’s touch once again,
holding on to her pallu at the temple.
The scent of musk and sweat, blending with your emotions and
taking you back to the tizzy of your first kiss.
The scent of freshly brewed tea with sprigs of mint, taking
you to the little tea stall on the highway and an hour long conversation with a
stranger.
The scent of an old book can make you nervous again. It
holds the entire library where you spent the weeks just before the exams.
The scent of fresh ink, little love notes scribbled on tiny
paper that made your day.
The blended scent of marigold and grass and you can almost
taste the salty tears from your first heartbreak at the park.
The scent of smoke and perfume, and nights half forgotten.
Music and lights, friendship and frenzy, adventures and regrets.
The scent of that deodorant. Used liberally on the trip of a
lifetime, with hours spent in the train and on the road.
The scent of you. Bottled in my head. Locked away in my
mind.
The scents linger. The scents never go away. The scents will
always stay mine.
January 2017
