There was the aroma of soil and grass kicked up by the sandal-clad feet of the crowd and the hooves of hungry animals. There was the scent of sweat and turmeric wafting from the hurried bodies rushing from lunch to prayer. There was, too, the fetor of rot and garbage strewn and trampled along the roadside.
And yet in spite of this nasal onslaught there remained the discernable smell of orangeness and the redolence of whistling. Present also was the fragrance of friendship blowing gently on the breeze. It was sullied only by the odor of nervosity and the sour stench of a grandmother’s secretive perspiration.
Meanwhile, the funk of strangeness impinged on the air from behind with a knowing sort of bouquet.