Like the heady scent of Raat ki Raani blossoms in the still night.
Like the sizzle of aloo tikki splashing into hot oil on a wintry evening.
Like the midnight blue ink that left stains all over our fingers.
Like that magical vanilla scent of old books from dusty library shelves.
Like the aroma of the onion tadka as you head home after an evening of playtime.
Like nani's hugs - talcum powder and love enveloped in the soft folds of her sari.
Like the first monsoon as it kissed the parched soil, releasing that earthy scent.
Like napthalene and surprise change from the back pockets of my winter wardrobe.
Like the crushed blades of grass that grazed my face as I attempted another catch.
Like the rainy school playground as my black school shoes squelched in the mud.
Like that brown dog with the adorable eyes who'd nuzzle my palm in search of treats.
Like the splotches of iodine the school nurse applied to my knee as I flinched.
Like a freshly filled swimming pool as I dreaded taking the first dive in.
Like brown paper and stacks of new books from Raju bhaiya's school stationery shop.
Like the Axe our annoying class boys would spray on to be 'cool'.
Like the water cooler as it thundered on through the hot summer.
Like the brand new uniform every other year since my height never stayed the same.
Like feminism, books and incense in the college 'audi'.
Like Limca and beer, my first drink, an inexplicable combination.
Like ice cold Keventers at CP on a freezing morning with the sibling.
Like steaming hot Maggi in a tent on a remote Himachal camping trip.
Like stale beer, vinyl and memories at a Bangalore pub.
Like vodka and aftershave when he kissed me in an old Maruti.
Like the limoncellos I drank after I broke his heart.
Like kissing the top of my cat's soft little head as we said goodbye forever.
Like the streets of Bangkok - incense, excess and fried treats.
Like the salty Bali sea as I attempted my first surfing lesson.
Like the calm, magical streets of Ubud with little offerings at every corner.
Like the freshly picked tea from a little Ooty plantation.
Like freedom.
Like joy...pain.
Like moments lived fully.
Ⓒ NANDINI SWAMINATHAN
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