Leisure talk: Grandma's scent

The image I often saw was her mouth chewing noisily, occasionally she would spit out the betel juice into a tube. Sometimes, I asked her to let me arrange a betel leaf myself. First, I would strip the betel leaf into two equal pieces, smear a little lime on it, put in the areca nut, the bark, and some tobacco fibers, then roll it up, near the tip of the leaf, I would use a lime wrench to poke a small hole and insert the leaf stem. A small, pretty, green betel leaf, like a trumpet worm, fit neatly in the palm of my hand. I gave it to her, solemnly inviting her to enjoy it. The first few times I arranged it, the betel leaf was messy and misshapen, but gradually it became beautiful, neat, and eye-catching. She said, "A hundred good things are not as good as a familiar hand." Once, I tried to take a small piece and put it in my mouth to taste it, but the smell of the leaves and lime was so strong that I had to spit it out quickly. She laughed heartily, saying that she couldn't eat it if she wasn't used to it, and that some people who were used to it got drunk.

I can’t chew betel, but I’m addicted to its smell. The smell lingers in my grandmother’s clothes, her scarf, and her silver-white hair. The scent of betel wafts in the yard, in the house, and in the kitchen. Coming home from somewhere far away, I haven’t seen her hunched back yet, but I can already feel her presence through the warm scent of betel. I remember those cold, rainy winter nights, when I snuggled into my blanket and hugged my grandmother to sleep, the whole room was warm. When I woke up in the morning, my body also smelled of betel. When I went to class, my friends wondered what strange smell my uncle had.

My grandmother's scent is also the scent of "tiger balm" - my hometown still calls it by that name. In her shirt pocket, she always has a bottle of oil - an inseparable item. She applies the oil early in the morning to warm her neck and relieve coughs; rubs her temples in the afternoon if she feels dizzy; at night, she calls her grandchildren over and massages her arms and legs to stretch her muscles. Before going to bed, she applies it under the soles of her feet. She says there are many acupuncture points under the soles of her feet, and rubbing it will help her sleep better... Indeed, at first, I did not like that pungent, strong smell at all. But gradually, I found it strangely familiar. On days when I did not smell the lingering scent of oil, I wondered. She was chewing betel and smiling, saying that because she had just taken a bath, the scent of oil had gone away. At that time, only the scent of betel lingered on her white hair drying in the sun. Then, just a little while later, the house would be filled with the legendary, spicy scent of oil.

In addition to the scent of betel and tiger balm, my grandmother also smells of fruits and vegetables from her garden. The garden is her reason for living. Morning and evening, she wanders around the land and trees. In the spring, when she opens the garden door, the scent of lemon blossoms, grapefruit flowers, and pungent grass follows her footsteps. In the summer, it is the scent of custard apples and ripe jackfruit; in the fall, the scent of the first grapefruit of the season or the golden custard apple, fragrant as the sun; in the winter, it is the scent of rotten garden soil, ready to scatter handfuls of seeds...

The scent of my grandmother - that is also the scent of time. Now she has gone away forever, but in every corner of the familiar house, in the small garden, in the kitchen, in the yard... there is still a small, agile, and diligent figure. And the scent of betel, tiger balm, flowers, leaves, and grass mixed together, making my eyes sting!

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/nhan-dam-mui-huong-ba-ngoai-185250926211018802.htm