The tulips and hyacinths are out in my garden. Hot pink and purple. The colorful pansies in shades of yellow and crimson, border the flower bed and bloom in the delicate urns. They never fail to bring a smile when I return home from work.
But I still crave the jasmines and gardenias which grew with such abundance in a small town in India, where I spent my childhood. The memory of balmy firefly evenings and the heady scent of flowers has stayed with me for long, and become this one fragrance, that a sudden whiff of something instantly makes unknown surroundings familiar. Just for a second.
Migrated 17 years ago, but the small town girl has not left me. This is my home now, has been for a while. I miss my family in India, the groovy food and the shopping. Memories have replaced the small town as my home.
But I still crave the jasmines and gardenias which grew with such abundance in a small town in India, where I spent my childhood. The memory of balmy firefly evenings and the heady scent of flowers has stayed with me for long, and become this one fragrance, that a sudden whiff of something instantly makes unknown surroundings familiar. Just for a second.
Migrated 17 years ago, but the small town girl has not left me. This is my home now, has been for a while. I miss my family in India, the groovy food and the shopping. Memories have replaced the small town as my home.
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