Memories are olfactory.
Find them easier for
Memory games to play,
For the journey to my childhood
Smells of a soap powder.
They walk on a mosaicked floor,
Parted in green boarders.
On which I had walked as If
I was on a bridge,
Moving from rooms to rooms
Hindering adults walking aimlessly.
Pillars to my memory house,
The legs of a Nilkamal Red Chair
With peeled off skin
On which I had got in to watch Juke Box or TCN
On an LG television, only to sip
An orange-flavoured tang in a steel glass.
A telephone on the corner stand
That smelled of my grandmother,
The rusted window sills of my neighbours
And the centre table, of newspapers, mixture bowls
And too frothy chai cups.
Sunny afternoons smelled of oranges
And mirrors of Shinkar bindi boxes.
Doors closed at the forgotten scents
Takes me to my late twenties,
Where I drink oranges
For the smell of those
reminds me of a happier self.
Memories are olfactory.
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