Old wood. Jasmine from the garden. Something warm from the kitchen. You know this place.
Some houses have a smell that is entirely their own, and you carry it with you for the rest of your life without meaning to.
Nani ka ghar is usually one of them. It's not a grand smell — it's quiet and layered and completely specific. The old wooden furniture that's been there since before you were born. The jasmine that grew outside the window that nobody ever cut back properly. The perpetual suggestion of something cooking, even at odd hours. A softness underneath it all, like the house has absorbed decades of the same warmth and is quietly giving it back to you.
You never notice it when you're there. You only notice it when you leave.
