Nostalgia brings with it this strong sense of yearning, like a chasm that is open deep within your being. It’s a space that cannot be filled by anything. Try recreating a moment with the same elements and you will find that it doesn’t replace what you are missing.
There is such uniqueness in the way one remembers.
Personally, I am an extremely sensory person, so my memories are triggered with flavour and colour and touch, with sound and smell or some combination of all these. The strongest ones come at the most unexpected moments and leave me lost for a while.
This note stems from a general conversation about the smells of floor cleaners (yes, one does have this kind of conversation). I mentioned using a particular product and without realising it, I also gave voice to why I prefer it. It reminds me of my grandparent’s house when I was a young child. Since they were sticklers for cleanliness, I associate this smell with a clean house.
Here’s the funny thing about this remembrance path; it then branches out into a memory map, bouncing from one to the next in rapid succession.
My immediate next thought was about the mosquito spray used in all the bedrooms to ensure a safe night.
Just thinking of that smell brought an image to my mind of walking into this large marble floored bedroom, with dark art deco wooden cupboards lining the walls on two sides. A similar cabinet (where all our toys lived) with an attached dressing table on the third side and this big low bed with pristine white linen on it against the far side of the room. The lights were kept dim, the air conditioning on and the room smelling of the spray.
I am at a loss of words to describe how comforting the combination was. Just imagining it, I can feel my body relax. No wonder sleep came so easily even though I fought it as a child.
I meant to talk in more general terms, but this image evoked such a visceral feeling in me, it’s like I have gone back in time and I am standing right there, at the door just about to enter this world of comfort. To get under the blankets and open up my Archie comic. Which I will pass to my cousin and take the one she is reading after we are done. We will giggle and be reprimanded and then we will whisper some more before both of us fall asleep with the books in our hand.
My memory map takes me now to the smell of incense and my grandmother’s perfume, to the smell of freshly made bhakris and fresh wet earth when the gardens are watered. My childhood is flashing before my eyes with many a happy memory.
I miss those days of innocence, of family, of weightlessness. There is no re-creating these moments. My grandparents are gone and with them, the connect with that branch of the family. I haven’t stepped into that house in years and am not likely to again. But I am still very close to my cousin, and her I can call to share this happy memory. Which is just what I am going to do after I end this sentence.