AustLit

'Hyderabad in December is as hot and dry as Adelaide and requires the same kind of drenching. As I bumped around the city in the back of an autorickshaw, my cotton shirt forming a damp membrane between my skin and the cracked vinyl seat, the white wine on my shopping list became a priority. I came to a roadside bottle shop in Jubilee Hills, where the rich inhabit cool, shaded mansions and liquor is sold from shacks. I stood on a concrete step, peering through a metal grating at the wine selection on the shelves within; my purchase was dusted off, secreted in a black plastic bag and passed over. I moved under a nearby tree to stash my bottle and realised, glancing up, that the trunk belonged to a lonely, lofty gum tree stretching out wide boughs of twisting leaves. I reached up to pluck one, pinched it along the seam and cracked it open with the lizard-quick, agile movements of someone who's done it all her life. As I inhaled the scent of eucalyptus I recalled Proust's account of involuntary memory before I was engulfed. I tumbled back through the years, over kilometres of land and ocean, until I found myself in the west of Adelaide, walking to school past similar trees; smelling their oil under the scorch of a similar sun, with the southern light pulsing through the streets. That day, I carried a handful of gum leaves back to my flat, where I left them to turn ash-brown and brittle. My life in Hyderabad continued; I didn't think of Australia or eucalyptus again, though the scent of the oil lingered on my fingertips until evening.'  (Introduction)