Delhi Smells

The smells in Old Delhi are described in guidebooks as “overpowering”. But beyond the underlying mingle of sweat, urine and flowers, what makes the old Delhi experience deeply olfactory is the clarity and isolation of unique smells. Weaving along the sidewalk, suddenly there is an inkling of oil and flour in my nose. “Mmmm” I think, and continue walking. Suddenly I am engulfed with the smell; the essence of fried puffs and samosas envelopes me in the thick air. The oil is thick. The heat is thick. The humidity is thick. The crowd is thick. Samosa-essence melts and mingles into a samosa cloud. I pass the samosa stand but the samosa cloud lingers until the equally encompassing smell of freshly carved wood and petrol of a carpentry shop replaces it.

I step over a splashed, thick, yellow liquid on the sidewalk, beneath the electricity poles as tangled as the lives the stolen current illuminates. Hundreds of wires crossed and twisted every which way: stolen, borrowed, reclaimed by Delhites from their state power supply. The scent of the yellow splash cannot permeate the overpowering carpentry smell. Lentils or vomit, I can’t smell.

The hot, wet, smell-clouds accumulate into pools of urine along imposing red walls, then abruptly dissipate inside the mosque’s courtyard. The red sandstone, the marble, the decadent carving, smell like cool, dry earth. The stones twinge my bared feet, but the burn is as dry and clean as the air. The wind breathes, the sun pounds, the children dance, the faithful perform ablutions, the exhausted nap in the shaded periphery, and the demure scent of a tiny white pigeon feather stuck to my bare toe does not infiltrate my marble-calmed nostrils.