There are some memories etched deep in our psyche. Similarly some smells. They stay with us. We may temporarily forget the event, the situation, even the person associated with the events. But the smell lingers. Not on the surface. Deep inside the heart, like a pearl in the ocean, it stays. Only to be picked.
Do I pick it intentionally? On purpose? Never. It surfaces. Just the way it has touched my senses for the first time, just the way it had made its own space in my memory, it comes back to me bringing a little nostalgic smile to my lips.
Today I was picking flowers in my garden. These are the beautiful yellow Spatika flowers. The ones you won't get in the market. They are only tucked lovingly in the little home gardens.
After coming to Bangalore from Gulbarga way back in 1987, I hadn't seen them. Aren't they grown here in Bangalore? I think they are. But I haven't seen. My sister Geetha bought a sapling all the way from Gangavathi to give to my sister Shobha. This beautiful lady became a mother giving birth to many more little saplings and one little girl came to my home, to my garden.
When I was plucking the flowers today again that smell, that memory, that nostalgia came back rushing to me filling my heart with a longing to look back at those beautiful days.
Though these flowers don't have a distinct smell, the memory does create a smell. Those were the good old school days I spent in Gulbarga in the company of my closest friends Shobha, Geetha, Pamma, Sudha.....
In the childhood they were not just friends, not just an extended family but they were your alter ego, your other half. The life was so simple, so beautiful and so memorable.
I, along with my sister Shaila would go to their house for sleepover and in the morning before rushing to catch the bus to the school, in between eating Bhakri, packing our carriers and tying our plaits, we would rush to the front yard garden to pluck these golden flowers. And tie them while someone was tying our plait from behind. It used to be two plaits and these flowers would adorn one and while running for the bus it was such a thrill when my flower mala would swing on my ear.
Similarly, there are varieties of Jasmine I am growing in my garden. Always their fragrance fills my home, my bedroom, but there are only a few fleeting moments that this smell creates that same magic. May be it's the combination of the climate, the weather and the fragrance, I am not able to put my finger on the exact situation but suddenly a memory floats. Of the wedding day of my sisters in Gulbarga when we used to get these flowers all the way from Bellary. Loose flowers packed in a patroli ele ( sal leaves pack ) would be brought from some relatives from Bellary and on the night before the wedding all the ladies would sit around, chatting, singing, joking while the fingers deftly tied the flower malas. I feel exactly that aroma, that sweetness floating from my flowers on some rare magical moments. It's here now and then it's gone.
And then when I was in my mom's place in Bangalore during my pregnancy where the neighbours were into flowers business. I would be lying on a cot by the window, it used to be summer evenings and the intoxicating smell of Dundu mallige would waft through the window and it would have such a soothing effect on my senses - it is to be experienced to be believed.
It has to be a combination of late summer evening, the cloudy sky and on some days there would be little drops of rain sprinkling on my face through the window while the beautiful smell would engulf me. How beautifully nostalgic!!
Life is too short and too precious. It's all about creating beautiful memories when you can, enjoying beautiful smells, which come back to you to be cherished again and again and again in the evenings of your life.
