I have very strong associations with smell, associated events; they always remind me of something. The frosty smell of early mornings of winter, makes me feel sick at my heart. The constant stinking garbage smell, you could laugh, it comforts me! That boot polish smell, the weird dry smell, if it’s around, gives me a sense of care-free-ness. Smell of the freshly prepared aloo-chaat, the smell of the yellow turned pages of the old books, the fragrance of the flowers that amma used to put on her hair, they are clear and distinguishingly placed in separate yet binded columns of my head.
These form my most precious memories.
Well ofcourse, I remember other things too. Chikki, Monu, Vidi, Charu, we used to play, as happy as the free flying bees, with the only single doll we had. The doll’s name was kept chutty. It was actually a bottle that read “L-a-k-m-e moisturizer” on it and that Vidi had found lying near her home. With a saree stitched by amma to drape around it, it did more than perfect a job as our dear doll. I remember the smell that the bottle had still carried, of the cream. That smell became the smell I associate with joy, the joy of finding our own little doll, the one we had read about in our school books, D for Doll teachers said; now we had one, of our own.
Chutty was generally made to sleep out, behind the big stone in front of my home. It was already crowded . Amma, appa, anna and me, all fitting in the little space. When I learnt the different geometrical shapes in class third, I used to proudly tell amma that we live in a pyramid. I was the only one who could stand inside our home, it was after all a small pyramid. I enjoyed the privilege. The others came in just to sleep.
We were around 20 homes , stacked together, in minimum possible space; even the best space-utilization-algorithms couldn’t have placed us in a smaller area. Our colony was named ‘the slums’.
I had nothing to complain. I had amma, appa who loved me. I had school too. I was, as teachers would say, an outstanding student. There was a huge gate some distance away from our homes. It led to a place with birds and trees and colors and flowers. Whenever i went there, I always used to take the most pretty flower for Amma back home. The gate at the enterance read – International Institute of Information technology. I knew the individual meanings of the words then – International, Institute, Information and technology – separately. But not the combined meaning that came out when the words were put together! We used to go there for extra studies after school, tusions for maths and english. That place, gave me a comfort and a sense of belongingness. It was much bigger than my sweet pyramid home. Here there were no pyramids, but more of cuboids, much taller ones.
I grew among the smells , along with the children of the 20 homes and with the cuboidal buildings that grew faster than any of us. I don’t remember when exactly we forgot about chutty. After my school, I qualified for a scholarship, free education, at my dream place, IIIT.
Amma, appa still lived there, in the very same house. Anna too. When friends used to go to ‘cakes and more’ , I would stop by the street, behind the big stone, at my home and would play with the kids around. That garbage smell comforted me. That was the smell of my home. The boot polish smell was still there too. It came form anna’s clothes instead of appa’s shirts now. Anna had taken over the boot polishing job. Years passed, the fragrance stayed. Passed on, like the family legacy.
Sitting in the hostel room which was bigger than my home, I had made plans of how I would make everything change, how I would make it better for every child that lived on that indira-nagar street. That place was afterall my home.
I was so sure that I will make the difference, now that I had risen above!
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It is the alumni meet, today, at iiit. I am travelling to Hyderabad.
The smell of the air conditioning of the airplane reminds me of the foggy chilly mornings when we didn’t have enough clothes to cover ourselves. The cold used to make me sick. It doesn’t matter that I am well covered today. I can still feel the cold. In my heart.
It also reminds me of the wondeful plans that I had made to make my childhood home-place better. I am amazed how so wonderfully in my blessed life, I have forgotten about them!
I am sure again though. Sure-r. Now that I have returned, I shall remember. I shall finally execute my plans.
As I move out of the Hyderabad airport , Pia, my daughter is continuously pulling my hand and pointing towards a barbie store. She wants the new sports-look-barbie, with all the different dresses. I smile and take her to the store. We together select a doll for her.
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And I, yet again, forget about my solid plans of making the dear old Indira Nagar street better!
It still survives and breathes, along with the huge cuboids. So do the plans in my head, unexecuted!
