The sun also took care of all smells. I don’t remember any smells. Or only the smell of the spent hand-flare shells. They smelled like cumin. Did I mention that?

I remember the smell of the spent hand-flare shells. By some freak of nature they smelled exactly like cumin. It was intoxicating. I sniffed the plastic shells and immediately Pondicherry came to life in my mind, a marvellous relief from the disappointment of calling for relief and not being heard. The experience was very strong, nearly a hallucination. From a single smell a whole town arose. (Now when I smell cumin, I see the Pacific Ocean.)”

– Martel, Y (2003) The Life of Pi p. 238 Edinburgh. Canongate