After I converted my dollars to stapled stacks of rupees, I sneaked out like a thief into the warm Chennai night, hoping the boyfriend had departed so I wouldn't get him into trouble. I spotted the driver the Sheraton had sent for me, and we were off, as I was handed a cool damp washcloth rolled in tin foil and an equally chilled bottle of water. It was around 3 am and the streets were practically empty, though I did experience the thrill of the silhouette of a cow crossing the road, my first bovine sighting. The driver informed me I would be staying in on this, my first day. He explained there was a bandh called, to protest the midnight arrest of the sunglass-wearing former chief minister, and advised that, as shops and offices would be closed, I should take it easy.

We pulled up at the Chola Sheraton and I found a semicircle of four people waiting for me. One offered me a fruity milkshake on a small silver tray, the other a bouquet of flowers, I think the third person took my luggage and the fourth accompanied me to my room. I'll admit it: In my average, middle class existence back in NYC, no one has ever welcomed me like that anywhere. I felt like Miss World. After a quick call from home, I slept until noon. When I got up, there was a local news crew on the street below, smack in the middle of traffic, reporting on the bandh.

Before I set foot out of my room, I was already enthralled. When I could tear myself away from the channels of Hindi, Tamil, Telugu and Malayali videos, the coverage on CNN was so much more in-depth than back home. I ordered up a decoction (aka filter coffee) and relaxed with the morning papers. As I ventured out the next day, I was paired up with a driver, Prabhu, who was to become my right hand man, for that trip and many others, though it took some getting used to being called 'Ma'am' as a form of address and also a pronoun. What a luxury to have a driver! It allowed me to drink in the sights on the roads as we moved around neighborhoods called Kodambakkam and Nungumbakkam, and on to Spencer Plaza mall and handloom mecca FabIndia. I marveled at the women in saris, so elegant while riding sidesaddle on the pillion of their husbands' motorcycles, clusters of jasmine buds dangling from their hair, and the groups of giggling schoolgirls in their crisply pressed matching salwars and perfect braids.

It's funny how sensorial cues can trigger memories. I was startled last year in Bangkok when I hopped into a taxi and caught that same perfume in the car. I saw a tiny garland of jasmine draped around the driver's rearview mirror, but I might as well have been at Anna Airport. I think the smell of fresh jasmine will forever remind me of Chennai.