you hear the word fragrant
and you think of floral remains
on temple premises
and bottles of perfume
and the words
fray - frazzle - ruffle / grunt - groan - tone / vagrant - flagrant - in flagrante delicto
and how you have now
been caught red-handed
trying to pluck out a poem
that is simply unwilling
to bloom tonight
i.
Grandmother always smelled
of fresh sandalwood paste,
grandfather, too much sweat
Father came reeking cigarettes
And mother, she smelled like
Sambhar powder and Ginger.
ii.
Men in this house tell us
that they try their best,
women pray a lot.
Me and this city, we are in
a perpetual state of summer
craving for childhood pieces,
coral jasmines,
and winter mornings.
iii.
They say history repeats,
I never agreed
but I have started to smell
like Sambhar powder and fresh Ginger.
First rain
Crushed cardamoms
A rope of mullapoo on her hair
Baking
Orange peel
The raat rani in the nocturnal air.
.
A baby’s head
Chopped basil
Melted chocolate
Freshly laundered sheets on the bed.
.
Sautéed garlic
Roasted corn on a chulla
Coffee
Smouldering looks
A crate of haapus slowly ripening inside a room.
freshly minted money,
a room full of books
A room full of books.
When I feel particularly low
I think of you
And, immediately, I am enveloped by smells that take me back to a different time
Smelly socks, long cues and large bags of garbage
Pretzels, banana pudding and chicken-over-rice from the Halal cart on W 53rd
Clear blue skies, Bethesda fountain and the carousel at Bryant Park
I think of the fragrant flowers on a summer morning at Central Park
And that smell of freshly roasted coffee at my favourite Brooklyn cafe
And the first snows that covered the subway tracks (how can I ever forget that?)
When I feel particularly low
I think of you, New York City
And am transported home with a bundle of fragrances
Out in the garden,
Back home
We had a beautiful tree
Of curry leaves
Whose smell spread all over.
The leaves were used,
In our kitchen often
In many dishes;
Poha for breakfast,
Dal for lunch
And lemon rice for dinner.
The curry leaves, and that tree
Were an integral part.
We left that house,
Moved to a new place
And the tree was also left behind.
But the leaves, their aroma
And taste,
They stayed.
To this day,
Whenever its used in cooking
The house is fragrant
Again,
With same old smell.
And suddenly I’m standing
In our old garden,
Under the same old tree,
With the same old fragrance!
i once told you
how i loved the smell of books
so you took me to a library
to whisper your way
into my heart