Shiuli Phool
The air outside felt so crisp and clean, I could practically smell the freshness in it. Then suddenly I smelt something familiar - a faint whiff of something very dear and precious came my way and went. It was the sweet fragrance of the Shiuli (The Coral Jasmine or the Parijata) flower. It lasted only a sniff but in that fraction of a second it took over my senses so fully that I had to stand right there with my eyes closed for a few moments. I was surprised, bewildered for I never expected that in this foreign land and I was desperate to find the source of that aroma. But I was finding it very hard to concentrate in the present because waves after waves of nostalgia were hitting me square in my chest. I was shocked by the speed with which my olfactory memories transported me back to those cherished times of my childhood. I had to give in to the sweet torture, to revel in those good times I knew would never happen to me again. As long as I remember, we have always had the Shiuli tree in the backyard of our home. With the onset of autumn, the flowers would start blooming signifying that it was time for Durga Puja again. The newly foggy and chilly mornings always found me along with my grandmother and a cane flower basket collecting the fragrant white flowers abundantly. Later we would sit on the veranda with the slanting sunrays kissing our feet and stitch the flowers into a garland. During these times, sometimes my grandma would tell tales about how the flower came into its being. One of them was the story of Lord Krishna who found the tree during the ‘Samudra Manthan’. His first wife, Sathyabhama demanded that the tree should be planted in her backyard and so it was done. But the flowers always fell in Rukmini’s backyard, which was adjacent. This was how he kept peace between his two wives. Another tale told the story of the princess Parijata and Surya, the sun. They fell in love and got married. During a fateful morning in summer when the sun was in his most powerful self, Parijata accidentally came too close to him. It was too much for her and she wilted. The sun was very upset. After a long prayer, with lord Agni's blessings, Parijata was reborn as a tree. The sun then always visited her in the night and that’s why she bloomed in night. She still could’t face the sun in the morning so she shed all her flowers at dawn. And my grandma said, the flowers were so fragrant because they were kissed by the sun. I liked this version better. We placed the Shiuli flowers face down on water in a brass bowl and kept it in our home. The heavy fragrance made our home feel like a heavenly shrine. As I tangle more in my nostalgia I remember another distinct smell that signified Durga Puja - the smell of new clothes. The advent of autumn meant lots of them. I would inhale the fabric deeply and close my eyes. Each of them smelled so differently. So many planning went on – the accessories, the shoes, the day of the festival on which to wear them, morning or evening. I would smell them and I would know.
Dhunuchi
The smell of the hay and the clay punctuated by the smell of the smouldering coconut shells and powdered incense (dhuno) during those evenings when we sat with the potter uncle while he made the idol in our local community club. As I lose my way through the fragrant lanes of my childhood, I remember so many different smells, each of them so distinctly associated with a fond memory. All of them clamour in my head knotting themselves up in random orders. The aromatic cocktail of several perfumes, flowers, candyfloss, sweat, tamarind water from the phuchka stalls and diesel that always made me high when we hopped pandals. The hospital smell that strangely evokes happy memories in me because that smell at the front door meant Maa was back home after a day of saving dying people's lives.
Pithe
The sickly sweet gunpowder that filled our lungs when we so happily burst our crackers during the Kalipuja (Diwali). The scent of the candle that has been just put out meant it was time to cut the cake. The smell of the new rice and the new jaggery in the winter and the heavenly aroma that rose when Maa made Pithe from them.
The Mango Flower
The smell of the trimmed grass and the wet soil that greeted us on the day of the school sports. The aromatic smell of the mango blossoms that filled our entire garden in spring. The smell of the fresh paint and the look of our renovated house. I can’t stop, it’s like a floodgate of memories has opened in my head. I didn’t know a sniff of a long lost smell could bring back so much. It’s the same time of the year when the Shiuli tree blooms in our garden. And yet, it’s another year when I’d miss all those I loved. Thousands of miles away probably the flowers are still carpeting the garden floor in my home white, but probably no one picks them up in cane baskets now. Probably they wilt away unnoticed, unloved. Do they miss me? I couldn’t find the source of the smell that had pulled me into the whirlwind of nostalgia. Probably it was my Shiulis sending their aromatic love all the way just to say that they missed me!
The fallen darlings of my garden
Love
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Riot of Random
