Have you ever noticed how a single scent can pull you back to a moment, a place, or a feeling long gone but never forgotten? For me, the scents of India are like old friends—familiar, comforting, and always ready to wrap me in a warm embrace. As I sit here, sipping my morning tea, I’m reminded of a journey through the symphony of scents that have shaped my life and memories, taking me from the warmth of home to the sacred spaces of prayer, and the vibrant streets of my childhood.
It all begins in my mother’s kitchen, the heart of our home. I would wake up to the rhythmic sounds of her preparing breakfast, the aroma of dal frying in the pan heralding the start of the day. When mustard seeds hit the hot oil, they would crackle and pop, releasing a sharp, nutty fragrance that filled the room. Soon, cumin and asafoetida would join in, their earthy and pungent scents mingling to create a fragrance that felt like a warm, reassuring hug. Even now, whenever I catch a whiff of that familiar tadka, I’m instantly transported back to those mornings, surrounded by the comfort of home and the love that comes with every meal. As the day moved on, we would often plan a family outing to Sagar Ratna, a restaurant in Lucknow. The anticipation would build as we neared the restaurant, knowing that soon we would be savoring the delightful dosas that Sagar Ratna is known for. I still remember standing outside, waiting for our order, the smell of dosa cooking on the grill wafting through the air. The crisp, golden batter sizzled and hissed, its toasty aroma blending with the tangy scent of sambar bubbling nearby. The anticipation was almost as delicious as the meal itself—a reminder of the simple joys of sharing food with family, where the scent of the dosa brought us together.
And then, there was the afternoon adrak chai, a ritual in its own right during my days in IT, in Bengaluru. This wasn’t just any tea; it was a much-needed break, a stress buster, and the perfect excuse for a bit of gossip among colleagues. The chaiwala at the corner of our office street knew how we liked it. The sharp, invigorating fragrance of ginger boiling in water would drift up as I approached, mingling with the sweet notes of cardamom and the rich, earthy aroma of tea leaves. As I wrapped my hands around the steaming cup, I felt the warmth spread through me, each sips a small celebration of the familiar comfort that marked the transition from day to evening. But, the world beyond my home was just as rich in scents that carried their own stories. On special occasions, we would visit the Phool Wali Gali in Lucknow. The narrow lane, bustling with life, was a sensory feast. The scent of marigolds—bright, sweet, and slightly peppery—mingled with the delicate perfume of jasmine and the soft, romantic aroma of roses. Each step through the market was like walking through a living painting, where every breath drew me deeper into the world of tradition and celebration.
Holi was another time when the air was thick with unforgettable scents. The day would begin with the sharp, almost metallic smell of gulaal as it filled the air, turning everything around us into a riot of color. But it was the sweet aroma of gujiyas frying in ghee that truly signaled the arrival of the festival. The scent would waft through the streets, drawing us all into the heart of the celebration. Even now, the smell of frying gujiyas instantly brings back memories of laughter, music, and the sheer joy of being surrounded by family and friends. As the day passed to evening, the scents of celebration would often be replaced by the more serene, spiritual fragrances that marked our family’s rituals. I remember the evenings spent in quiet prayer, the smell of chandan dhoop filling the air as my father led the hawan. The first curl of smoke would rise slowly, carrying with it the warm, woody fragrance of sandalwood. It was a scent that brought peace and connection, a reminder of the divine presence in our everyday lives.
One of my most cherished memories is of visiting Haji Ali Dargah, in Mumbai with my family. The journey there was always filled with anticipation, and as we approached, the scent of the phool wali chadar would reach us before we even saw the dargah. The air was thick with the fragrance of roses and jasmine, mingling with the salty breeze from the sea. That scent wasn’t just an offering—it was a reminder of the devotion and reverence that brought us to that sacred place. It lingered long after we left, a gentle whisper of peace and spirituality that stayed with me, even as we returned to the bustling life of the city. Even in the simple, everyday moments, some scents became markers of time and place. The press wale bhaiya would come every morning to press our clothes, his old-fashioned iron filled with smoldering charcoal. The warm, slightly smoky smell of the charcoal mixed with the crisp, clean scent of freshly laundered clothes, signaling the start of another day. It was a scent that, to this day, takes me back to those quiet, early mornings, when the world was just waking up, and everything seemed possible.
As the day wound down, we would sometimes visit an old coffee house, a place where time seemed to stand still. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, strong and dark, curling around me like a warm hug. The smell of old books—musty, comforting—added to the atmosphere, making it a place where I could lose myself in thought, the fragrance of nostalgia hanging in the air like a gentle reminder of the passage of time. Then there were those special moments that called for a different kind of scent. The excitement of having Mehndi applied to my hands is a memory I hold dear. The deep, earthy smell of the henna paste was rich and grounding, filling the room with its fragrance as the intricate patterns took shape on my skin. It was a scent that lingered long after the paste had dried, a sweet reminder of the joy and celebration that had brought us all together.
Finally, as the night drew near, I often found myself surrounded by the delicate scent of mogra flowers. My grandmother would weave them into a gajra for me to wear in my hair, her hands gentle and sure. The tiny white buds released a sweet, slightly intoxicating perfume that followed me throughout the evening, making me feel elegant and connected to a tradition that had been passed down through generations. But even amidst all these man-made fragrances, nature had its way of leaving a lasting impression. The first rain of the monsoon was something I eagerly awaited every year. As the first drops hit the dry earth, there was a sudden release of that unmistakable smell—petrichor. I would stand outside, eyes closed, breathing in the fresh, earthy scent as the rain washed away the dust and heat of summer. That smell brought a sense of renewal and hope, a reminder of the beauty that comes with change.
And then there was the Valley of Flowers, a place that took my breath away in more ways than one. As I trekked through the valley, the air was filled with the scent of wildflowers—crisp, clean, and unbelievably fresh. That fragrance was so pure, so overwhelming, that it filled not just my lungs but my entire being. It was a scent that made me feel alive, and connected to the natural world in a way that was both humbling and exhilarating.
As I sit here, reflecting on these memories, I realize that India is a country of scents—each one a thread in the rich assortment of memories and traditions that make up my life. Whether it’s the smell of dal frying in my mother’s kitchen, the sweet fragrance of mogra flowers in my hair, or the fresh, earthy scent of the first rain, these are the scents that define who I am.
The Scents of India are as diverse and vibrant as the country itself, guiding me through my life journey, one fragrance at a time.
Authors Note
Saumya Sachan
She is a budding writer. Homesickness fuels her creativity, and when she is not immersed in the world of tech, she finds joy in dancing and devouring books. She considers writing as her sanctuary, a means of reconnecting with the warmth of home, offering escape and catharsis in a world of words.
