The olfactory receptors often induce a surge of memories. The smell of old books conjures up a recollection of childhood memories, of fairytales and granny, who used to read me those stories at bedtime. The fresh fragrance of frangipani flowers reminds me of long summer afternoons spent at my maternal grandma’s house. Isn’t it pretty interesting that such smells, most of the time, register memories entwined with our childhood? At least, I’ve experienced it in that way.
I’ve minimal furniture at my home. I don’t like clutter; it makes me feel like a claustrophobic. So, I often have to shuffle things to make space. As I was sorting the books, which definitely are prioritized over other things, suddenly a light-blue envelope slipped from one of the tomes. As I opened it, few petals of a dried rose, as thin as paper, appeared. A few moments; the sudden rush of memories almost dazzled my thought process for some time. It was like facing a few thousand-watt flood light just after emerging from a dark cave!
I could almost see that tall, not-so-fair boy with big, clever eyes and aquiline nose. He didn’t say anything, handed me the envelope on a rainy evening. I didn’t return the favour. Never exchanged a word after that evening. Still, I retained the envelope quite painstakingly. Why? I asked myself. Deep down, a voice whispered, you know! Or maybe, you never know!