The Narratives – Mohamed Miah

What makes you feel nostalgic?

Nostalgia is a strange thing. It creeps up on you when you least expect it, often triggered by the smallest things. For me, it’s usually smells that bring memories rushing back, transporting me to moments I thought I’d left behind.

A whiff of Aramis or Kouros, and suddenly, I’m reminded of my dad. Those scents were his signature, the ones that filled the room when he walked in. Even now, if I pass someone wearing them, it’s like he’s there again, even if just for a moment.

The smell of cooking takes me home—back to the kitchen, where life always felt warm and secure. The spices sizzling, the aroma of freshly made curry, or even something as simple as onions frying in oil remind me of those times when everything revolved around family meals.

Then there’s the smell of smoke and petrol. To most people, it might not mean much, but for me, it’s Bangladesh. It’s the streets, the rickshaws, and the air thick with life. That smell takes me straight to the heart of my roots, to visits where the world seemed so different yet so familiar.

Rain on pavement is another one. That earthy scent transports me back to my younger days, out with friends, not caring about the weather. Whether we were laughing, walking aimlessly, or just enjoying being out, it reminds me of a time when life felt simpler, when all that mattered was the moment we were in.

Music has its own way of pulling me back. If I hear an old song—one from my teenage years or even something my dad used to listen to—it can transform me. It’s not just the music; it’s the emotions tied to it. It’s where I was, who I was with, and how I felt.

Not all smells bring happy memories, though. The scent of hospitals is one I’d rather avoid. It reminds me of the times my mum was unwell and of my dad’s final days. That sterile, clinical smell carries the weight of worry and loss. It’s not a memory I revisit willingly, but it’s part of my story, part of what shaped me.

Sometimes, even objects like a fountain pen can stir up nostalgia. The smell of ink on paper takes me back to simpler times when life wasn’t so digital. Writing back then felt different—it had weight, permanence, and a bit of elegance that’s hard to replicate now.

And of course, there’s football. Watching clips of Cantona, Keane, or Ronaldo reminds me of what Manchester United used to be—a team that dominated, inspired, and gave us unforgettable moments. Those days might not come back, but I’m grateful to have witnessed them. Even now, as the team struggles, I stick by them. Maybe it’s loyalty, maybe it’s stubbornness, but it’s definitely not about being a glory hunter anymore.

Times have changed, for better or worse. Maybe that’s why nostalgia feels stronger as I get older. It’s not about wanting to relive those days—it’s about understanding their value, how they shaped who I am. Nostalgia reminds me that even though life keeps moving forward, the past is still part of me, and I’m okay with that.