💬 Mothballs take me straight back to my grandmother's steel almirah

Last week my mother opened her old trunk in the bedroom to take out blankets for winter. One sniff of mothballs and I was 8 years old again, sitting on a cold floor. My grandmother had a steel almirah with a key she wore tied to her saree. Every Eid she opened it, and that smell came out first, before anything else did. Inside were folded sarees, a tin of rock candy, and a small box of old photos. She let me touch only the sarees. The candy was for after namaz, one piece each. I once tried to open the almirah on my own at 7 am while everyone slept. It was locked, obviously. She was standing behind me in the doorway. I still remember her face. She didn't shout. She just held out her palm, and I gave her the key I'd stolen. Turns out she'd left the key on the shelf on purpose, to see what I'd do. I didn't know that till years later. My mother told me at a wedding. She said my grandmother laughed about it for a whole week after that, telling every aunt. She passed away when I was 19, and the almirah went to my uncle's house in Nampally. I haven't smelled mothballs in a proper way since then. Everyone uses sprays and sachets now. My mother is 74 and her trunk still has the old white balls rolling around. I stood there in her room holding one blanket for way longer than I needed to, not saying anything.

The key in the almirah story is lovely. Your grandmother clearly wanted you to find it. Mine is rose water. She kept a small bottle in a village drawer and dabbed my wrist at Eid.

I'm the other way round. Mothballs just make me sneeze, and an old almirah gives me a headache. Mine is hot oil from the samosa cart outside my school gate at 1 pm every single day. The cart man kept a small stove going under a green umbrella, even in the rain. I walk past a similar one now and I'm 10 again for about 3 seconds.

Mothballs for me too, but from my school bag. My mother put 2 inside to keep the bugs away. My classmates asked why I smelled like a cupboard. I never lived it down in Class 6. Your story about the key made me smile. My grandmother also kept her almirah key tied to her saree. She never caught me, but I think she knew. Old people always know.