Friday, 7 August 2020

What's that smell ?

 It is late evening . Babblers are still arguing about the best perch in the tree . Some kid runs past , curving full tilt into his garden , hooting all the while . Mothers on phone are checking phones and absently pushing prams on their way home . An old man with his arthritic wife walk slowly ahead .

Somewhere , off the road , in some kitchen , potatoes are being fried , with garlic . To go with crispy paranthas . Both the smells waft out on the road . Seductively intertwined . Snaking into the still summer air , sitting there , heavy with promise . Hastening people’s footsteps . Dieters , who want to avoid the smell , foodies welcoming it . The aroma of nostalgia for some .


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December morning , fog and sweaters . Mom in hospital . Tiffin has been packed . My poor sister made jam sandwiches while it was still dark . 
After hot water bath , I wear my uniform . My sister combs my hair . My mom's sister is at the helm of the affairs . She is strict about my cup of bournvita in the morning . 

But wait . What's that smell? It is fried arhar dal . My favourite . I burst into the kitchen . Maasi is stirring a pot of yellow deliciousness . She sees me . Pinches my cheeks . I redden . Missing mom more than ever . Papa enters the doorway . He sleeps in the hospital , next to Maa . There are lines under his eyes . He too brightens up at the smell of the dal .


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