Scents

Yesterday I was video-chatting with my parents. Sriram, my 4 year old, was sitting next to me. I asked my father if he could small Sriram’s hair.

“Yes” – he said.

“No, Achachan!” my boy said “You can’t smell me”

Then he explained to us that Achachan is sitting in India and he can only see and hear ‘mon’ but not smell him.

Later he came up to me and asked if Achachan could INFACT smell his hair. I said ‘may be’.
“Can daddy smell me?”

“Yes” I said

“Can you smell me when I go to school?”

“Yes I could just close my eyes and still smell you as if you were here”

That IS true. I can smell him even when if he is not around. Ramu bears the scent of almond baby oil and pears soap. He smells of dirt and water color, played with enthusiastically. His hair smells like sweat, full of innocence and pure of caffeine or cholesterol. To me he smells of nothing but pure love I have ever known.

Of all the five senses, I think olfactory is the one that is directly wired to the brain. The presence of some scents can snap you right back to a time and place in your life where memories are alive and vivid.

Strong smell of wild trees takes me back to a trip we made to Kudajadri from college. I smell sour curd and my grand father comes to mind. I can SEE him feeding me rice mixed with curd. Thick buttery curd dripped from his hand. There are certain smells that I associate with my Amma. The smell of petrol reminds me of my friends Sujith and Jacob. And so does the smell of beer. Certain cells in my olfactory are plugged directly into my memory.

For me, memories of home is triggered by the smell of cattle and hay and goats and chicken manure. Scent of ripe mangos and guava and tamarind and jackfruit and rotten coconut leafs and the smell of dust that rises when my aunt sweeps the front porch with a broomstick. I can't say all of those were pleasant, but it is firmly lodged in my memory. Once upon a time, that was how my home smelled like, and I can still smell it.