The monsoon in Mumbai divides people into two camps: romantics who adore its drama and pragmatists who despise its disruptive nature. I firmly belong to the latter. On a dreary Saturday, as rain relentlessly pounded my window, my mother and I decided to make the most of our confinement by tackling a long-overdue task – cleaning out my grandmother’s wardrobe. She had passed away two years ago from leukemia, and we had been postponing this duty, a burden only the heart can understand.
We hauled down dusty suitcases from the attic, releasing a cascade of naphthalene balls as we unpacked. Within, nestled in muslin bags, were my grandmother’s most prized possessions – her saris. Kanjivarams, tussar silk, cotton silk, Banarasi, chiffon, tissue, and delicate lace – each a testament to her elegant taste. As I lifted a sari, a familiar scent wafted through the air – the unmistakable, iconic fragrance of Chanel N°5.
My childhood memories are deeply intertwined with this scent, its elegance mirroring my grandmother’s poise. She adored me, her first grandchild, and my toddlerhood was a whirlwind of spoiling. She made my favorite chocolates from scratch, a heady mix of condensed milk and Hershey’s cacao powder, secretly slipped me envelopes of money, and ensured I wore only tailor-made dresses from fabrics she meticulously selected. My every tantrum was met with understanding, every whim fulfilled.
The summer vacations I spent in my mother’s childhood home, under my grandmother’s loving care, remain among my most treasured memories. As I grew into adulthood, our perspectives diverged. We clashed on numerous issues. My grandmother, a paragon of tradition, insisted on doing things the ‘right way’, while I embodied rebellion. Our disagreements were frequent, fueled by my struggle to understand her need for decorum and generosity towards even those who wouldn’t reciprocate. She couldn’t accept my blatant disregard for things I disagreed with. Our approaches to life were worlds apart.
At the time, I didn’t understand it, but her actions were rooted in a legacy of kindness and grace. I, on the other hand, was still discovering my path. Days after our belated spring cleaning, I found myself in Berlin, investigating a new rendition of Chanel N°5 – ‘L’Eau’, a fragrance born in 2016 from the iconic lineage. This floral upstart built on its predecessor’s core notes – aldehyde, jasmine, rose, and ylang-ylang – by incorporating citrus and cedar. It was the first fragrance in the family to abandon the classic decanter-shaped bottle, finding a new home in a small, transparent glass vial resembling a pebble or a shaft of light.
The evolution of her beloved perfume, the contemporary reinterpretation of the N°5 L’Eau, mirrored the evolving connection between my grandmother and me. Today, I understand the backstory of these fragrances, just as I have come to appreciate the depth and resilience of my grandmother.
Over the years, through professional and personal setbacks, I’ve learned the importance of preserving relationships, even the challenging ones. They shape us in ways we can’t always foresee. I’ve learned to make allowances for people, especially those we care about. I realize now that this was the wisdom guiding her decisions. If there’s one thing I know today, it’s that I share this core belief.
At an exhibition at Stiftung Reinbeckhallen, a cultural center in Berlin, we entered a sensory chamber where we were immersed in the new scent. I couldn’t help but find echoes of my own journey of finding a balance between rebellion and responsibility. Just as the modern fragrance retains the distinctive notes of the original, close friends and family often tell me they see traces of my nani in me. A beloved aunt frequently points out my meticulous planning and attention to detail, while my younger brother begrudgingly admits that people almost never refuse me. It was the same way with my grandmother. And that’s telling of the lasting impact of legacies.
