That a smell or an aroma sparks a vivid memory is a fact proven by science and an experience endorsed by many of us. When the famous and influential French Novelist Marcel Proust said,’the small and taste of things remain poised a long time like souls, ready to remind us.’, he did not know that the phenomenon transcends literature and can be interpreted and explained in terms of interplay of physiology and anatomy of human chemistry.
Humans have more than 400 types of olfactory(smell) receptors, offering huge amounts of olfactory data and the nervous system categorises all of this smell input. Scientists believe that as there are five senses of taste – sweet, salty, sour, bitter and umami – there are ten basic dimensions of smell such as fruity, nutty, woody, and citrus. The exact mechanism of how a smell triggers the brain centre that stores these smells and transfers the neural signal to other parts of the brain like memory, is one of the frontier areas of research. However, the nexus is undisputedly accepted.
Many of our childhood memories are associated with smell. Many people are reminded of their mothers and are assailed with the memories associated with her, triggered by a smell similar to the food she used to cook. The taste, aroma and excitement of childhood food seldom subdue in our adult lives. And the strongest stimulus is that of smell. It is not uncommon to hear people in a restaurant or a dinner talk about the dishes of their childhood and the memories of those days. The memories of one’s mother often linger and last through the smells of the food prepared by her in one’s childhood.
The smell also reminds one of sights and scenes associated with that smell. The aroma of freshly drenched earth, of a breeze laden with the subtle fragrance of flowers, or the subdued redolence of wild bushes and trees ,carries one down the memory lane of the monsoons days in one’s native place, or visit to a garden resplendent with the colours and sights of beautiful flowers, or a walk on a forest trail on a spring afternoon. These memories are usually pleasant, rarely disturbing and often soothing.
The aroma of a pine wood, even a whiff of breeze carrying the scent of pine needles and cones take me to decades back days of school, a residential school that nestled amidst densely forested hills. The passage from my hostel to school building passed through a long patch of pine forests. The ground covered by the dry pine needles created a thick cushion. Walking on that soft and soothing ground and breathing in the aroma and redolence of those tall, ever green pine trees that will sway majestically in the cool gentle breeze always filled me with an elation and sprightliness that never visited me in my adult life.One would often pick up the dried pine cones and put them in our backpacks along with our books and which later in our art class will be adorned by the colours red, green, orange and blue giving us a sense of tremendous joy and innocent exuberance. These memories have never diminished nor have become lighter in intensity and brilliance, even half a century later.
Whenever I have visited a place at home or abroad, which took me to a pine forest or a clump of pine trees, it’s aroma triggers the memory of years spent in my school, bringing such joy and bliss and a nostalgia unmatched in delight and divinity, and never without a tinge of sadness of longing.
But smells could also trigger unpleasant and morbid memories. And perhaps that should be expected in the natural order of things in this world. A set of smells transport me to a place and sights that are so sombre and humbling. The saving grace is that such smells rarely assail my olfactory senses.
The odour emanating from burning flesh, its acrid obnoxious smell brings me vivid memories of the burning ghats of Manikarnika, on the banks of river Ganges in Varanasi. It is said that the fire of the burning pyres at Manikarnika is eternally lit as the dead bodies ceaselessly arrive there for cremation. There is a strange smell that permeates the air there, unmistakable and like no other smell in the world. A chance visit to this extra-ordinary place out of curiosity and callow immaturity of college days, stamped on me an indelible impressions of both sight and smell that I have neither been able to erase or attenuate. And strangely, I will rather like to live with it.
Which of these memories matter more to me is a question that has arisen in my mind often, with no clear answers!
scribo ad LX 