And it's returned to me. I used to associate it with my neighbourhood back in Baroda, but it's caught up with me, like the flamingoes that return to the Rann of Kutch each year. It returns like the mating season, like a festival, like the falling beauty of autumn. With autumn.
It's probably got something to do with me. I was traveling to Powai the other day, late in the evening, in a cramped auto, with Nishant and his friend, when the fragrance suddenly emerged from all the wooded corridors along the road and the darkness. Looking for the source would'a been vain, because there are no street lights on that road. But I smelt it again last night, while I was driving to KC, and it found me again! And I go a little ballistic inhaling it. And I try exhaling as quickly as possible so that I can take another shot...
These flowers are mysterious. Their fragrance hits you first. Then the curiosity of where from it emanate, and finally if you're lucky and persistent enough, you might spot the picture perfect tree. Like a cluster of umbrellas-in-miniature, waiting for the rain to stop, shading the white bunches from its wrath. The strangest thing about this sweet odour is that you cannot taste it. It is not like a Mogra or Jasmine, you cannot feel it on your tongue.
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