Tangents
The Nose <i>Knows </i>
Is Lemon the Defining Smell of Kolkata? Photo: Ihtisham Kabir
A recent incident reminded me that smell, more than any other sense, triggers our most primordial memories. What happened? While visiting Kolkata after several decades, I unwittingly entered a large indoor butcher area in New Market and found myself immersed in a strange unpleasant odour. My mind was instantly awash in a childhood memory. As a child, I was visiting Kolkata with my parents many decades ago. We stayed in the house of a friend of the family. One memory of that trip remains vivid, that of breakfast. Every morning at breakfast I was overpowered by an odour from the hosts' kitchen. Its source remained mysterious. More like petrol or gas than organic, it did not affect others. But I gagged every morning, worrying my parents and embarrassing our hosts. Visiting Kolkata after decades, it took an instant in this butcher area for those breakfast memories to return. This time around I also discovered the happy smell of Kolkata's Nebu Pani (lemonade) that our hotel served on arrival. It is made from a subtly flavoured lemon, similar to Kagji Lebu. The lemony flavour lingered after the last drop. I found myself salivating whenever I saw those lemons at street corners. In my memory, places often attach themselves to smells. For example, I cannot picture the Pacific in northern California without thinking of salt air mixed with kelp and seaweed on the beaches the odours from my first visit. Flavours of Bangkok's street foods, especially fresh fruits and barbecued meats, remain, for me, a magnetic attraction of that city. Memories of a visit to Iceland are coated in a sulphurous odour because of a geothermal pool that I swam in. As a child growing up in Sylhet, I enjoyed collecting Bokul flowers with my grandmother. To this day, Bokul's fragrance reminds me of my hometown. Our survival instincts often attach smells to imminent danger. I, too, experienced this fear one afternoon when I aimlessly wandered into old Dhaka's Tanti Bazar with my camera. I noticed the streets emptying as I approached Shankhari Bazar. An unknown chemical smell, reminiscent of gunpowder or potash, put me on guard. Then I saw it- purple, green and yellow colours on everything, including people! I had inadvertently walked into Holi celebrations. My camera survived the revelry, but after a few ambushes my face turned a deep purple. Dhaka's odours change through the year. The aroma of fried foods of Ramzan afternoons changes into the fragrance of attar on Eid day. Around Eid ul Azha everything smells of cows. In dry season, streets are reasonably odour-free, but the rivers - Buriganga, Balu and Turag - emanate an awful stench. The roles switch during monsoon. The river pollution is washed clean, but the city starts smelling, sometimes compounded by flooding and overflowing sewage. For all that, Dhaka to me lacks a defining smell. Perhaps there are so many of them that my nose is confused!
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