The Perfume Project: Journeys Through Indian Fragrance

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For as far back as it's possible to investigate such a thing, it appears that Indians have concerned themselves with making their environs, and themselves, smell good. The sensualist dandies and master perfumers of yesteryear have led to a sophisticated culture of fragrance aesthetics-not entirely surprising in a land that's home to 18,500 varieties of aromatic plants. From the voluptuous allure of the rose to the musky tang of oud, the woody notes of sandalwood to the heady smell of jasmine and the lingering aroma of vetiver, fragrances unlock something at the very heart of India.

In this vivid narrative that blends the science of aromatics with travel writing, history and insights into India's contemporary perfume trade, Divrina Dhingra investigates the idea of scent as a powerful trigger for memories and emotions, as well as a mode of self-expression and identity. In her telling, aromatic ingredients are not a mere indulgence but the backbone of the country's struggling perfume industry and a source of livelihood for many. A compelling, unusual narrative by a writer schooled in the art of perfumery.

I WAS STANDING ON an average-looking Manhattan city I block under my university-subsidised studio, outside the coffee shop I usually frequented, staring down my front in dismay. Wilco's Jesus, Etc. crooned gently into my ear; there was half a cup of iced soya latte in my hand, the rest had slopped down my shirt and was dripping steadily onto the pavement. I was attempting to minimise the mess by energetically dabbing at it with a bit of tissue when the scent of the scene hit me. Hot asphalt mixed with sweet coffee, rising and mingling with the faint aroma of my own perfume, En Passant, with its delicate notes of lilac, rain and, unexpectedly, wheat. They came together to form a perfect fragrance, the smell of New York to me, a beautiful addition to the scent library I carry around in my head.

The library is a collection of memories, catalogued by scent, that spring from a Proustian paraphernalia of childhood memories.