Fragrance of memories...

Fragrances…more than what they are, they are more about what they bring to us.
The people, places, memories , feelings associated with them.
Written many times, many places, I take the tag too, here.


The first rains on the parched earth…this might be the most clichéd fragrance liked by almost all. What is it about the smell of the earth at the first rain that is so enchanting?
May be it emphasizes the saying that we come from, we return to and we all belong to the earth. Even I don’t know what it is about, but it takes my mood to a different level, which I may describe as mystic?

The fragrance of the starched clothes, dried in the sun. May be one of the sweetest memories from my childhood would be helping my mother dry her long cotton sarees in the sun.
Once starched, the saree is stretched out with me holding one end of it and mother at the other end and drying out in the sun. The modern day instant starches or the drier machines may have made life easier , but that sweet memory lingers along with the fragrance. And may be that could be one reason, I feel pictures of clothlines with clothes stretched out, a beautiful one.

The smell of coriander powder. The most basic ingredient to many of the Kerala dishes. The reminder of feasts..Christmas, Easter, special days. I know, some people may think it quite queer to consider the mundane smell of something so trivial as one of my favorites. But for me, the smell of Coriander is the first sign of something good in the making. The delicacy, however good it may smell, however good it may taste, the smell of the coriander from where it starts captures me more.


Strong coffee. Along with the fragrance of the coffee comes the feel of its addiction. May be its because I am addicted so much to coffee that I love the smell of coffee beans and fresh strong coffee. Be it to console my depressed mind, or to enjoy something sweet secretly, or to enjoy the rain, or to let out my anger over something, or to celebrate my solitude…I depend so much on coffee…and hence, may be, the smell of coffee enthralls me.


The smell of Cuticura powder. The smell of my mother. It may have been a wedding, the Sunday morning church or the first show at the cinema. The few occasions she gets ready to go out. Fresh from bath , sun dried saree and the cuticura powder. It’s the warmth, it’s the presence, it’s the touch. Its mother.


Rubber sheets put up under the chimney to be dried. I don’t know how many of you could recognize this smell…but for me it’s the smell of vacation. The smell of summer. The smell of my childhood. The smell of my roots. The dark rooms in the house and the dark courtyards outside. The kitchen where the fire and the smoke never died down. The bananas and the rubber sheets tied up above the stove to be dried. The togetherness of a joint family.


Medimix soap – Well, I have never been able to keep away those little craziness and this would be one of them. I feel the fragrance of medimix soap is one of the most romantic one I know of. No, I do not have any memory to associate with the smell , or any people…but for no reason, I love its fragrance.


Frankincense – {I googled the term } – Chirstmas night. I have been to the midnight service in church only a few times in my life but there is nothin else that comes to my mind as strong as the memory of the christmas night at church , with the smell of frankincense. The cold night, the sound of crackers and carols…the christmas star…the chirstmas crib…the twinkiling small bulbs and the content mind as I kneel down…pure bliss.


I may have missed so many of my memories…and hence so many fragrances…the smell of new books, the smell of slate pencils…the smell of Rexona and Cinthol soaps, the smell of broot, the fragrance of jasmine flowers, the smell of nutmeg, the smell of amrutanjan are all memories…old and new…fresh and torn apart…may be if not for the fragrances, I would lost the memories too, long ago…

Anyone want to continue?...

It was some days of dreaded silence. When I tried hiding from the world, hiding from the problems, hiding from relations, hiding from people and hiding from myself. At the end of which, I realize, it doesn't help a bit. Unless they are faced and shoved away, they don't go away by themselves.
So at the end of the introspections, I declare for myself, I don't deserve to stay in the ditch for ever. Why one mourn, when the world celebrates. Why one stay away , when the world parties. So here I am, to join the party.
Now, all I wish is to get back. Get back and get into those roads, that belong to me.Go for a long walk, get a chocolate or a coffee for myself , stare at the high class life across the road and get lost in my dreams. I need to celebrate....just celebrate.

Kill them!

When does one lose the right to live?
-When one ceases to support oneself.

When does one lose the right to happiness?
-When one ceases to amuse oneself.

When does one lose the right to hope?
-When one ceases to live for one's dreams.

And what to do with those who have lost all these rights?
-Kill them! Kill them hard!

Dreams never come for wholesale!

A pale of gloomy staleness…then a chilly wind…
And then the white flakes of snow…

I checked the messenger list once again…No ..no one there to share the excitement.
I glanced through the phone book. Gone were the days, when I could simply dial a number and shout out “Hey, its snowing”.
All I could do was to blankly look out into the white fields and wonder , how true was my friend, who tried to convince me always “dreams come true…though in packets of different shape than what was asked for.”

Dreams have always been unlimited. Many of them, not hoped to or wished to come true.
To see snow, was just one of them.
And I still say, monsoons back home is much more enchanting than a snowfall!

Well, so are dreams being sent from above in small packets? Who knows!
But then I have also dreamed of bringing the first Wimbledon title home, being the single Prime Minister of a united nation of India and Pakistan, winning a cricket match when my side needs 36 of the last over (yes, it was before the T20 times! :)) , solving the most difficult issue in the spacecraft by the stroke of a single key (Ah! Those days I thought as we see in movies, a series of hard thinking and background music and finally a doubtful stroke of some red key on the keyboard panel is the solution to all computeric problems! ) and so on…

A beutiful dream....just got over.

A beautiful dream just got over.
How I wish, my guardian angels stood over
Not just when I walked, but in my dreams too.


If ever I knew, they were not with me when I woke up
I would have said a prayer, before I went to sleep
Let there be no dreams today, peacefully let me sleep.

If ever I knew, they were not with me when I woke up
I would stay awake all night, not an eyelid closed
For I dread the broken dreams more than the sleepless nights.

O dear friends, wish me not good night.
Mamma my dear, kiss me not good night.
For if dreams are to be broken, let me never fall asleep.

Unpacking the suitcases.

To begin a new life is always a nice thing to do.
To move to places...to start all over again...
Especially when your life hasnt been going well. Even otherwise.
And I have been fortunate ( or unfortunate) to keep moving from places to places.
Just when I think, I have set my foot and have started settling down...I have been asked to move on. May be a special message to me from God, that nothing stays for ever? Or not to get attached to anything or anyone beyond the limit to say bye anytime?
anyways, so here I am in the new room. Just finished setting up my room, and my little table. I feel great. not thinking about the wonderful time I may have in this new place, not worrying about adjusting to this entirely new place, but simple, the thought that I have this little space given for myself makes me feel great.

I remember , the first time I moved out of home to a hostel room, it was just one suticase full of clothes, the hand written old letters and birthday cards of dear friends, my treasured diary and the bible that I carried. The suitcase got full with many more things in the hostel with each passing birthday, the numerous letters of friends left behind...the anticipation of those letters is some feeling that cannot be explained or expressed, and even more diaries.

When I left for the first job, the suitcases were more, but again, things werre almost similar. More clothes (even costlier than last time, cause I was moving into a "corporate" world :)),more letters, the same old bible ( but with the difference that the pages of Psalms was also distinguishly seen as read .Thanks to my unseen friend during college days who made me realize there was more to read in the Bible than just the new testament ).

Then it was moving from places to places. Without much difference,the clothes moved on, the Bible moved on, though the letters remained the same( nothing more added sadly!).

And this time, as I unpacked, I was surprised myself to see the items I had to arrange. When did old torn letters and postcards give way to laptop, camera, pendrives, gadgets and all electronic items!
Still, at the corner of the suitcase, there is still the Bible, that has moved on (though read less these days!:().

The mornings...

Morning blues...yes, I have been a victim too...
But still...in the faint memories, there are memories of mornings, sweet and beloved.

######
One of the best mornings I remember is during the vacation time back home during my childhood.
We would wake up to the morning news on Akashavani...I dont know if anyone ever heard the news, but it would be going on loud...
You can hear them at the kitchen, amidst the thick smoke from the clay stove. You can hear them at the bathroom, where someone would be always taking bath.
You can hear them at the varanda, where all the elders would be reading the paper sipping the hot coffee, and discussing Mani group and Joseph group politics...
I dotn know if its the news that woke me up those days, but the feeling of waking up to another day of play and fun in a joint family...more than the blues of waking up in the morning, I would treasure thembfor ever.


#######
The very rare overnight journeys during earlier days in life. May be it was the tour from school, or the vacation where you travel to visit relatives.
As you open your eyes to the cold wind that tickled you, the dawn would be just breaking out and your bus climbing the ever so fresh mountain ranges.
It may soon stop for everyone to have a hot tea, and you can see the small vehicles climbing the hairpin bends that your bus has already conquered.
The mornign was ever so fresh then!


#####
The exam may have been tough...it may have been easy. But it was the last one. And you wake up , as usual and realize its a two month vacation lying to embrace you with all its warmth. You just sit up on the bed and wonder where to start. Thats an ever so amusing feeling.

#####
And these days? Staying up awake all night, have you lost the freshness of waking up in the morning? To wake up at so odd hours only to smile at the message on the mobile phone or trying hard to complete the half broken dream , is that what triggers your mornings these days??