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  • Sometimes, a sight, sound, or smell sets off a trigger for reels of still frames cramped somewhere in the corner of your mind, it spins smoothly, on and on and on, adding bits at whim. People and their stories, ageing in the mind. Today, it was a whiff of Mysore Sandal Soap.

    This particular unassuming soap always takes me back to a small bathroom in my ancestral home - evening baths with a red drum, steel buckets, a round-ish, weathered, brass water bowl to collect water and pour over myself. I'm around 8, clambering over a stool, trying to get some cold water to adjust the temperature of the bathing water. Then my grandmum coming and opening the door (I was never shy about my baths and anyone could stick their head in, and converse with me) and telling me to finish fast, because dinner would be ready.

    Sandalwood vapours rising in the air, bellies gleaming in the low lamp light, and one mildly-wary eye on a lone spider with her yellow stripes, staring.
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