Deep Within Old Delhi’s Lanes, is a Magical Perfume Called Oud

How I made my way, on a cold winter morning, through chaotic Old Delhi to search for an elusive, magical scent.

It is cold season in Delhi. That time when the trees are bare and the winter sun dull grey. I am standing near the south gate of Jama Masjid.

Lodged in the busiest centre of the metropolis, the 17th-century sandstone monument overlooks Matia Mahal – the bloated commercial nerve centre of the Walled City. This universe of colours and smells is light years away from tony south Delhi malls and carefully crafted hipster enclaves of Hauz Khas.

I am looking for oud, an aroma coerced from the heart of the agarwood tree. It is in Old Delhi that my search begins.

Following an Elusive Scent

I climb out of the metro staircase and walk south from the old mosque towards Chitli Qabar. Overhead, black tangles of electrical cables and political banners crisscross from every building. Garment shops selling nylon pullovers and cosmetics jostle for space with kebab sellers stoking their charcoal grills. The cold air smells of incense and meats roasting over embers.

Somewhere in the congestion sits ittar-seller Syed Tahir, in a four-by-two shop with a rusty shutter and a galaxy of scents.

A strapping 30-something with an aquiline nose, Tahir has been in charge of Mehboob Perfumery Works from a young age. He has a clean-cut beard and glinting, deep-set eyes. On days like this, he wears a crisp pathan suit with a dark, sheep wool jacket.

The shop is enchanting – a fairyland of twinkling lights and old smells – which forms the perfect backdrop for our conversation that follows.

Tahir has with him today a small pile of Cambodian agarwood. The resinous, dark wood flakes are packed in a blue plastic bag – the sort that butchers in the area pack meat in.

The Magical, Complex Smell of Oud

“This is the ordinary variety that sells for around a hundred and fifty thousand rupees to the kilo, but I have stocks that sell for higher,” he remarks with certain nonchalance. He reveals that the top-tier business in the shop happens from clients who come from abroad. These connoisseurs purchase rare floral distillates, vintage musk, and the finest oud. Transactions are completed in hushed tones, and crisp sheaves of currency change hands in a flash.

I explain that I am looking for an affordable oud blend. Tahir lets the long digits of his hands linger over a dozen stoppered bottles, and stops over a round glass carafe with gold metalwork around the edges. “Golden Oud. Try it.” he says, dabbing a smidgen from the crystal stopper on my outstretched arm.

The exact smell of oud is difficult to describe in a sentence. It is a complex, peculiar fragrance that puts off many first timers. Opening notes can present a barnyard-like, near-faecal sweetness that often upsets expectations. Let it linger, and the sweeter heart notes open up. The perfume begins its life as a defensive resin secreted in the heart of the agarwood tree, when a fungal infection attacks the tree trunk. The resin makes the wood heavy, loading the cells with aromatic molecules. A complex distilling process yields the volatile molecules trapped in the wood, as a viscous oily compound that smells of magic.

Why I Know I Will be Back

Standing in Tahir’s little shop, I close my eyes and take a whiff along the line of perfume glistening on my arm, not knowing what to expect. I almost reel back as a cacophony of old leather, moss, incense, molasses, musk, and old books explodes in my head.

After a while the perfume begins to settle, revealing sweeter heart notes. The woody, mossy blend is complex, slowly uncovering the smells of winter in an ancient town. It feels like the soft afternoon sun on a cold day.

I am captivated.

I ask for half a tollah (around 6ml) from Tahir. “You’ll be back for more,” he wagers with a smirk. He pours the fiery liquid into a small glass phial. In a few minutes, the container is stoppered and packed into a maroon velvet pouch emblazoned with their branding.

I part with promises of a cup of tea the next time around. It’ll be another few weeks until the drudgery of New Delhi wears me out and pulls me back to the chaos of the old town. The master perfumer will still be behind his twinkling glass counter, conjuring aromatic enchantments.

Each vial tinged with a sort of magic.

(When he’s not hunting for rare smells in Old Delhi, Rahul spends his days being just a regular bloke with a magnificent beard. He loves buying pajamas and blogs on rare days at Of This and That.)