Stories I’ve written
“Food & Cultural Centre, a place for collective memories and un-heard stories of south asian immigrants in Canada”
These stories are a reflection of emotions captured through these images for my thesis:
Kathmandu, Nepal:
“Kathmandu smells like deep flavors of authentic food and generations-old traditions ingrained in the culture. The steamy mornings, and eastern hilly regions of Nepal, perfectly fit in the window frame of my house. Seeing Kathmandu as the city wakes up is the pure sound of the bells, the sweet laughter of children outdoors, sacks of spices, and piles of pink Himalayan salt. In the evening, the crunch of wai wai with the strong smell of kinema that my sister has prepared is strong enough for the neighbors to notice it. The smell of Kathmandu is in the religious attachment to Hindu ethics, and the charming tune of rich musical heritage. And just like that every night in Kathmandu, before going to bed as I take off my Dhaka topi (traditional Nepali hat) – the now settled smell of hard work, the bright moonlight falling on you mixed with the trees fighting their way to fit in the gap perfectly, find a way from that slightly broken window”
Delhi, India
“Delhi smells like 5 am on the terrace of your friend’s house. It smells like one of those nights that feel nostalgic even while you’re living through it. It is a sweet mid-october scent with a teasing chilly winter, my favorite month of the year. It’s the aroma of the freshly sieved samosas from the hot sizzling oil, the unforgettable taste of the street food like art served on a plate, and the smell of post-naphthalene, sun-soaked cardigans on everyone’s shoulders that have just been brought down from the terrace. Preparing for winter, welcoming Diwali, the scent of this city is in making your way out from the narrow lanes of old Delhi, with the web of wires like roots of trees floating over your head, a guitarist playing old bollywood songs on the street, and a hot plate of samosas in hand”.
Dhaka, Bangladesh
“Dhaka smells like my grandparent’s home. The ridden damp walls have absorbed the love and laughter of the families who lived here through decades, the lazy afternoon naps in the courtyard while the whiff of hilsha fish curry escaped the kitchen towards you. The warm familiarity of the only two sweet shops we visit every year for the anniversary cake, followed by the musky yet classic scent of the ancient sofas in the restaurants there. Dhaka is sometimes that lurking scent of smoke on your balcony, you have known the smell for years, it is from your neighbor’s kitchen who cooks barbeque fish every Saturday evening with a dash of spices on it”.
