The smell of jasmine, a bowl of phở – what takes you back?

　　A post from a few days ago about my conversation with a young Salvadoran immigrant and his memories of the chickens back home - and of El Salvador’s beloved chicken soup – has led to a string of memories from readers. Several have posted comments about the tastes, smells and other sensations that take them back to the place of their childhood, both on the site and on KPCC’s Facebook page.

　　One reader, Premulu (Prem Kishore) posted this lovely mini-essay:

　　The smell of jasmine. What I find here is light in scent, not the heady, intense fragrance of the Indian jasmine back home. But one whiff of the American jasmine and I am transported back to Chennai, in South India where in my childhood youth and beyond, we bought jasmine every day from the flower seller who came to our door with an overflowing basket of the intoxicating pure white thick buds of jasmine.

　　She would stretch out her hand and measure from the tips of her fingers to her elbow…the correct measurement for one strand or MOLLUM and then neatly snip it off.

　　When I was young my mother would plait strings of jasmine into my braid every day. This was a ritual as hair had to always (be) sweet smelling. My children always kept flowers in their hair and I would wind ropes of jasmine around my hair that was pinned up in matronly fashion.

　　When guests arrived we always offered jasmine flowers, and a weekly trip to the flower sellers’ market would fill us with joy as we saw mountains of flowers, marigold, hibiscus, lilies, roses and of course the jasmine.

　　Several readers chimed in on Facebook, some with memories of something that took them back to another country, others to their childhood here in the United States.