Scent

I’m turning into this person who seeks comfort in the smell of freshly cleaned clothes, the heady mix of Genteel liquid detergent (it’s cheaper than Surf Excel), and the subtle hint of Comfort washing conditioner. Lemongrass room sprays. The super fragrant floor cleaner we pick up from Big Bazaar (it usually comes in a pack of three). The aroma of warm butter-toasted bread. The splutter of mustard seeds-jeera-chilly-ginger-garlic-asafoetida-curry leaves in oil. The crackle of roasting garlic; the soothing fragrance of basil simmering in boiling water. The smell of freshly brewed filter coffee. The smell of pages of books I’ll never read. The intoxicating air of cigarettes, whisky, coffee, perfume and finger food that lingers in my living room the morning after a party. Peppermint mouthwash. The way the bathroom feels after a nice long bath with Hamam soap. Or Bath And Body Works body wash. And shampoo. Aftershave. M’s perfume (A & B Fierce). The cozy and familiar stuffiness in M’s car with a strong tinge of Silly Citrus air purifier, when the air conditioner is on. The way a fancy salon smells of fancy hair and skin products I have no intention of buying. Hotel lobbies. Shopping malls. Every time I cross Cookieman. Coffee shops. Madras mornings. The smell of winter in Delhi; of Saptaparni trees in full bloom.Talcum powder. Coffee beans being ground in Leo Coffee, Mylapore. The earthy smell that wafts past when I water the plants in my balcony. The lemony whiff of Prill liquid when I wash utensils. Lifebuoy handwash (the blue one). Parachute coconut hair oil. Scent of the sea. Clothes from my previous evening soaked in sweat, grime and Davidoff perfume. The warm and fuzzy aroma of something baking in the oven. Fresh coriander. The comforting drone of the ceiling fan. A barely-there hint of Good Knight mosquito repellent. Camphor. Vaseline body lotion. Dusty shelves. Closed rooms. Old clothes preserved with naphthalene balls. Crumbling photo books. Forgotten letters and greeting cards. The scent of nostalgia.

An anecdote gone wrong

Since I couldn’t find an appropriate picture, here’s one, of a banana-almond-Nutella ice cream I once made at home:) I will post the recipe soon:)

There is a story from my childhood which could potentially be a classic anecdote. Except that it is not. Because no one seems to believe me when I say that I was offered a cup of ice cream by none other than Kamal Haasan (a very famous Indian actor) when I was a kid. I know you don’t believe it either. Which is why I stopped telling that story to people. But this is how it goes, anyway. I was a kid – must have been about 4 or 5 years I think – and we were at a pretty rad restaurant in Madras. I still call it Madras, because as the cliche goes, ‘Chennai is a city, Madras is an emotion’. I am not from the city but spent about four years or so in Madras before I got married, and it’s home, in so many ways that my real home isn’t.
So yes, I had gone to Madras then on a holiday mostly because a lot of people from my extended family live there. I avoid most of them like the plague these days, but when you are a kid, you don’t have much choice in these matters, do you? I remember that my cousin was there and so were my grandparents. I was crying over something really silly, like being denied ice cream or some such, and there he was, the greatest actor I had ever known, coming over to us, and very sweetly asking my grandmother if he can please offer a cup of ice cream to this sweet little girl. Of course, my grandmom refused to entertain him. And I’m sure she’d have noticed that it was Kamal Haasan. But she didn’t. And she denies that the episode ever happened. So now, you see the problem with the anecdote right? Sucks when it happens. You think you have a great story but then it’s authenticity is highly questionable and you are not sure if it really happened or if it’s in your head.
In other news, I have only about ten days of my notice period left at my news organisation, and I’m already looking forward to life as a freelancer. I have a few projects lined up and it will keep me busy for a few months. So exciting. I’m watching Notting Hill and it reminds me of how much I love (or once loved) Hugh Grant. Who doesn’t love a good rom-com!