Like all other senses the sense of smell is on the decline for me, so these words are an encouragement from the feelings of my lady in her memory.
There are a variety of festivals, with a lot of money and time spent to make an impression, but this is a different sort.
It was one of the school days and we went there to pay for the kids education for the first quarter, it was lunch time and the kids were just getting ready, when the bell hit the gong, with the surge of electricity flowing through the wires.
The school suddenly came to life like a hive of a honey bee all buzzing, the kids washed and all found their favorite haunts and friends to make their lunch time a festival, and this time one of taste and aroma.
My lady remembers the times when the kids opened their lunch boxes and the aroma that floated across the school was a thrill of homeliness.
Imagine the loving care the mothers took to get that food for their child, to get it as neat and fresh as possible, and all that flowed at once at lunch time.
For some it was curd rice, with that lime pickle, others it was sambar sadam,or a celebration of biriyani to be shared with the whole gang who take off with that rack of the tiffin carrier, some had leftovers of the breakfast hastily done, so as not to miss that school van.
Whatever is the food, sitting in the shade of a neem tree or on the verandah of the block with the neatly folded towel on the lap and the company of friends, is the moment one gets to realize when one sends their kid to school.
These are times which linger in memory for long, and get rekindled with that aroma flowing in the air at a function.
A simple dish can get to bring friends closer and distant quite ones to the fold. With a soft music of patriotic spirit in the background, lunch time is one of the best times to visit the school, and learn to appreciate the warmth of the homely school ness, a blend of both at a time.