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Ruchira explores her childhood home in Assam, showcasing unique scents, nature, and food delights through her keen sense of smell, exclusively for Different Truths.
Most people may think I am kind of crazy as I write this, but let me confess that I am probably gifted with rather strong and overactive olfactory nerves, which afford me immense pleasure through smells and scents. Here, I endeavour to jot down vignettes from my olfactory journeys and experiences. Having opened my eyes to this beautiful planet Earth, so many moons ago, my earliest recollection is the quaint odour emanating from the arid soil after the first showers drench it. In modern times, this has assumed an interesting nomenclature, i.e., petrichor.
The term itself is derived from two Greek words: “petros,” meaning “stone,” and “ichor,” which, according to Greek mythology, denotes the fluid that flowed in the veins of the gods. The scientists use the term to highlight the connection between the earth and the air, which is fundamental to releasing this scent during or after the preliminary showers and subsequent rainfall. In the picturesque state of Assam, where I was born and partly raised, rainfall was plentiful and frequent; therefore, petrichor was almost like a household word.
One of the many dwellings I have lived in during my life’s fairly long journey had a huge archway over the massive main gate. This
space boasted a huge thicket of the highly aromatic madhumalati (aka madhabilata) flowers; during the summer evenings and nights, the air heavily laden with their fragrance had a soothing, soporific effect on every one of us. Akin to rain, fog is an annual natural phenomenon during the winter months. Folks may or may not believe it, but I seem to perceive in it a mild but distinct scent—moist yet mysterious.
During my childhood, ethnic clay ovens were in vogue. Clouds of smoke spiralling skyward from freshly lit ovens in so many households were a familiar sight. Their strong, powerful smell –pure carbon monoxide in content–is still etched in my psyche.
Now visualise the smoky air on a foggy morning. A formidable environment, honestly.
Relocating to the northern part of the country, much later I became familiar with aandhi (dust storms), which were annual, regular occurrences with the onset of summer and the gruelling months that followed. Swirling clouds of dust and loose soil, violent gusts of wind blowing dried leaves, scrap, bits and pieces galore, exude a subtle scent that envelops everything while the storm rages on.
While still on the topic of elements of nature, one must not forget to mention the Sea. A whiff of the sea breeze is a blend of myriad
objects: wet sand, sprays of salty water, driftwood, lifeless molluscs and sea shells tossed onto the beach by mighty breakers,
damp wood of country boats moored nearby and what have you!
Time to step into the wonderland of food- and beverage-related aromas. My list of favourites comprises freshly roasted coffee beans, freshly grounded peppercorns, fennel (saunf ), and asafetida (hing). Some more ‘likes’ are Sambar the Southern staple, and mint-
coriander-onion-garlic green chutney of the North, a motley of pickles, and the ubiquitous Bong style maach bhaja/fish fried in
mustard oil. Ditto for the commonplace alu-phulkopi-mottr (dry potato, cauliflower, & peas) curry.
However, (this is without malice to anyone) I fail to enjoy the aroma of radish and sarson-da-saag/mustard greens on the boil. Also, excuse me for giving shuNtki maach (aka shidol/ dried fish) a miss. Even the most ardent eaters cannot but complain about its
characteristic pong, before and after cooking is over.
As far as natural fragrances are concerned, flowers help to create an ethereal world. I feel mesmerized by the so-called white blossoms – bel/beli, juin(juhi), chameli (jasmine), kamini (satinwood or orange jasmine), gandharaaj (gardenia cape jasmine), the short-lived chaatim (devil’s tree), as well as Shiuli/harsingar (night jasmine). Undoubtedly, however, the jewel in the crown of the ‘aromatic’ blossoms is Rajanigandha (tube rose). I would label it ‘intoxicating’ During our post-wedding festivities, I received three delightful bouquets of Rajanigandha as gifts. I recall how they cast a ‘spell‘ over the entire flat, transporting us into a world of dreams.
In our last family home, my ‘green finger’ Maa had planted and lovingly nurtured a jasmine creeper which eventually rose from the mini garden to the front porch. The house has since been sold and my parents have departed this world, but our former neighbours report that the creeper still grows.
Picture design Anumita Roy
