The Perfume that Harnesses the Monsoon

导读

作者从朋友那儿得知印度老德里的百年老店Gulab Singh Johrimal有种季风气味的香水,是从印度夏天的第一场雨中提取的,非常稀有。作者特意找到这家其貌不扬的香水店。这是个家族生意,仍旧保留着源自中世纪中亚地区的传统蒸馏萃取法来制造香水。大多数花香型的香水都可以在这家店里找到,而作者慕名而来的季风香水有着雨水的前调和檀香的尾调。据说要等到盛夏,人们开始渴望第一场雨时,有当时的温度和湿度配合才更有味道。而另一位在德国教授瑜伽和冥想顾客也说,她的欧洲朋友都不相信还有一款泥土香味的香水,可显然她也在这家印度老店里找到了自己心仪的味道,还有身心的放松。

更多剧透

第一步:解决高频单词

acquaintance [ə'kwentəns]

v. n. 熟人/了解

distillation [,dɪstl'eʃən]

n. 蒸馏/精华

sublime [sə'blaɪm]

adj. 庄严的/超群的/vt. vi. 升华/高尚

dispense [dɪ'spɛns]

vt. vi. 分发/豁免

teem [tim]

vi. 大量出现/vt. 倒出

distinguishable [dɪ'stɪŋgwɪʃəbl]

adj. 可辨识的

adorned [ʌnə'dɔːnd]

adj. 朴素的/不加装饰的

usher ['ʌʃɚ]

n. 引座员/vt. vi. 引导

subtle ['sʌtl]

adj. 精妙的/狡猾的/稀薄的

extract ['ɛkstrækt]

vt. n. 提取/摘录

60p

第二步:精读重点段落

(Tips: 双击文中单词可以查释义并加入你的生词本哦)

第04段
The shop was barely distinguishable from the outside. Its interior was unadorned and functional – a handful of men sat behind a counter, waiting on customers. But a closer look revealed much more: carved wooden shelving, a still-ticking vintage clock and a small sign bearing the year of the shop’s inauguration ‒ 1816.

  • Be distinguishable from 不同
  • A handful of 一小部分
  • Wait on 服侍/焦急等待

第11段
The oil emitted a rich, warm and woody fragrance. After numerous years in Delhi, I have many times experienced the juicy scent of the first rains hitting the parched summer earth, though I probably would not recognize it in attar form. Gundhi notes that timing is key: people like to wear the aroma in the height of summer, as it carries a visceral olfactory reminder of the monsoon, bringing a sense of relief.

  • Wear the aroma 擦香水
  • In the height of summer 盛夏
  • Carry a reminder of 唤起记忆
  • Bring a sense of relief 令人放松

第13段
So how exactly is it made? As I inhaled the earthy aroma, I pictured workers waiting for the first raindrops, then scooping up huge mounds of damp red soil and heaping them in wide copper bowls for distillation. Turns out I wasn’t too far off.

  • Picture sb. doing sth. 想象某人做某事的画面
  • Scoop up 掘取
  • Turn out 结果是
  • Far off 遥远的
85p

第三步:攻克必学语法

As的用法
第12段
But as it gets hotter, people want to wear this more as they wait for the monsoon.
随着天热起来,人们就更想喷这种香水,好像他们在热盼雨季一样。

1. As + adj./ adv. as 像……一样

修饰成分(twice, three times, half, a quarter) as + adj./ adv. as
not as/so + adj./ adv. as 否定式
This pen writes as smoothly as that one.
Her handbag is twice as expensive as mine.
The textbook is not as/so easy as you thought.

As soon as possible 尽快
Send the girl to the nearest hospital as soon as possible.

2. The same … as/ such… as

It’s the same book as I read last week.
I don’t like such movies as Lily recommended.

3. 引导状语从句

(时间状语从句)You will be able to read between the lines as you grow older.
(原因状语从句:多用于句首引出不言而喻的理由)As it was getting late, we decided to go back home.
(让步状语从句)Strange as it may seem, nobody was injured in the accident.
(条件状语从句:As long as 只要)I will help you as long as you need me.

4. 引导定语从句She is late, as is often the case.

100p

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(Tips: 双击文中单词可以查释义并加入你的生词本哦)

The Perfume that Harnesses the Monsoon

[1] Years ago, an Indian acquaintance told me of a particularly special perfume, one that is a distillation of the first rains of the monsoon. I’d long wanted to find it ­– but with the modern proliferation of synthetic-based scents, traditional attars, or oil-based perfumes, are increasingly hard to source. Gulab Singh Johrimal in Old Delhi, I was told, is likely to have it.

  • Harness vt. 治理/利用
  • Acquaintance vt. 包围/环绕
  • Distillation n. 蒸馏/精华
  • Proliferation n. 增殖
  • Synthetic adj. 综合的/n. 合成物
  • Attar n. 香精油

[2] Gulab Singh Johrimal has been dispensing attars for more than 200 years. Soon after rolling up the shutters in the morning, the perfumery attracts a steady stream of visitors of all stripes, from well-dressed women with cut-glass accents to teenage suitors buying a scent for their paramour. All know Gulab Singh Johrimal as the house of sublime scents.

  • Dispense vt. vi. 分配
  • Stripe n. 条纹/种类
  • Paramour n. 情人
  • Sublime adj. 超群的

[3] When I arrived at Gulab Singh Johrimal at 10 am, the street was teeming with cars, buses and rickshaws, humans, horses and the occasional goat also trying to carve out space. 

[4] The shop was barely distinguishable from the outside. Its interior was unadorned and functional – a handful of men sat behind a counter, waiting on customers. But a closer look revealed much more: carved wooden shelving, a still-ticking vintage clock and a small sign bearing the year of the shop’s inauguration ‒ 1816.

  • Teem with 充满
  • Rickshaw n. 黄包车
  • Distinguishable adj. 可辨识的
  • Interior n. 本质/adj. 内部的
  • Unadorned adj. 未装饰的
  • inauguration n. 开创

[5] The shop is currently run by Praful Gundhi, along with his brothers, father and uncle. “Me and my brothers are seventh generation in this shop,” Gundhi told me proudly, adding that a nephew has recently joined the business, ushering in the eighth generation.

  • Usher vt. 引导

[6] I sat at the counter while Gundhi brought out perfume after perfume, all of them distillations of flowers: mogra (an Indian variety of jasmine), lotus, frangipani and khus, or vetiver root. The most precious of all is the pure rose oil, which costs more than 33,000 rupees for 10ml. Its smell is subtle, yet ambrosial.

  • Jasmine n. 茉莉
  • Lotus n. 莲花
  • Frangipani n. 鸡蛋花
  • Khus n. 岩兰草
  • Vetiver n. 香根草
  • Subtle adj. 精细的/微妙的
  • Ambrosial adj. 芬香的

[7] “We sell mostly Indian perfumes, which are made by distilling flowers the traditional way,” Gundhi said, as he unscrewed the lid of yet another bottle and proffered it towards me.

  • Unscrew vt. 旋松
  • Proffer vt. n. 提供

[8] He explained that steam distillation, an ancient process dating back thousands of years, was most likely revived in India by the Mughal rulers who came from Central Asia in the Middle Ages. The process involves suspending flowers and other objects over boiling water in a sealed container. The essential oil contained in the steam is then extracted.

  • Revive vi. vt. 复兴/苏醒
  • Extract vt. 提取/n. 榨出物

[9] I smelled my way through a sampler box, dabbing the oil into my skin to release the scent. Kewra (pandanus), which has a nutty aroma with hints of saffron, comes from the eastern state of Orissa, while sweet and heady jasmine comes from Coimbatore in the south.

  • Dab n. v. 轻拍
  • Pandanus n. 露兜树
  • Nutty adj. 多坚果的/古怪的
  • Aroma n. 芳香
  • Saffron n. 藏红花
  • Orissa n. 奥里萨邦(印度邦名)
  • Coimbatore n. 哥印拜陀市(印度南部城市)

[10] Finally we reached the one I’d come for: attar mitti, or gill (mitti means ‘earth’, while gill means ‘wet’, so the words are used interchangeably when referring to the perfume). Grinning, Gundhi rubbed a drop on my hand, watching my reaction closely. 

[11] The oil emitted a rich, warm and woody fragrance. After numerous years in Delhi, I have many times experienced the juicy scent of the first rains hitting the parched summer earth, though I probably would not recognize it in attar form. Gundhi notes that timing is key: people like to wear the aroma in the height of summer, as it carries a visceral olfactory reminder of the monsoon, bringing a sense of relief.

  • Emit vt. 放射/发行
  • Fragrance n. 香味
  • Parch vt. vi. 烘烤
  • Visceral adj. 内脏的/出于本能的/发自肺腑的
  • Olfactory adj. 嗅觉的

[12] “Right now it’s spring, so the smell doesn’t have much impact,” Gundhi said. “But as it gets hotter, people want to wear this more as they wait for the monsoon. They appreciate it much more then.”

[13] So how exactly is it made? As I inhaled the earthy aroma, I pictured workers waiting for the first raindrops, then scooping up huge mounds of damp red soil and heaping them in wide copper bowls for distillation. Turns out I wasn’t too far off.

  • Inhale vt. vi. 吸气
  • Earthy adj. 土的/朴实的/粗俗的
  • Scoop vt. 掘/搜集/n. 铲子
  • Mound n. 高地/坟堆/vt. 堆起
  • Damp vt. 使潮湿/使沮丧/adj. 潮湿的
  • Heap vt. 堆积

[14] “To recreate the smell, we get lots of broken earthenware in big copper vessels, put water in that and heat it up,” Gundhi explained.
The steam from the vessel is passed over sandalwood oil; the oil captures the scent from the steam, and the water is separated out. “When you smell this perfume, the base note is sandalwood, but the top note is the first rain after summers,” he continued. “It’s the smell of the monsoon.”

  • Recreate vi. vt. 消遣
  • Earthenware n. 陶器
  • Vessel n. 船舰/容器
  • Sandalwood n. 檀香

[15] Just then, a genteel couple entered the shop. “Do you have the oil of raat ki rani?” the woman asked, referring to a variety of night-blooming jasmine.
 “No ma’am, but we do have tuberose, another flower of the night,” Gundhi replied. He shuffled through his stocks and emerged with an antique cut-glass jug.

  • Genteel adj. 有教养的/上流社会的
  • Tuberose n. 晚香玉
  • Jug n. 水壶/vt. 放入壶中

[16] The woman looked at her hands, searching for a clean spot. “I’ve tried so many flower oils, the bees are going to chase me down the street!” she joked. 
She then asked for mitti. “I teach yoga and meditation in Germany for part of the year, and I tell Europeans that we have a perfume based on mud, and they just don’t believe me,” she said.

  • Mitti n. 印度产可用于面膜等护肤品的“漂白土”

[17] We both bought a bottle and exited the shop. Already, the air was growing warmer with each passing day. At the very height of the searing North Indian summer, I plan to dab my mitti attar on my wrist, take a sniff and feel relief.

  • Sear vt. vi. 烤焦/adj. 枯萎的
  • Wrist n. 手腕
  • Sniff vi. vt. n. 闻
200p

acquaintance [ə'kwentəns]

v. n. 熟人/了解

distillation [,dɪstl'eʃən]

n. 蒸馏/精华

sublime [sə'blaɪm]

adj. 庄严的/超群的/vt. vi. 升华/高尚

dispense [dɪ'spɛns]

vt. vi. 分发/豁免

teem [tim]

vi. 大量出现/vt. 倒出

distinguishable [dɪ'stɪŋgwɪʃəbl]

adj. 可辨识的

adorned [ʌnə'dɔːnd]

adj. 朴素的/不加装饰的

usher ['ʌʃɚ]

n. 引座员/vt. vi. 引导

subtle ['sʌtl]

adj. 精妙的/狡猾的/稀薄的

extract ['ɛkstrækt]

vt. n. 提取/摘录

不要一时兴起,就要天天在一起

明天见!


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The Perfume that Harnesses the Monsoon

[1] Years ago, an Indian acquaintance told me of a particularly special perfume, one that is a distillation of the first rains of the monsoon. I’d long wanted to find it ­– but with the modern proliferation of synthetic-based scents, traditional attars, or oil-based perfumes, are increasingly hard to source. Gulab Singh Johrimal in Old Delhi, I was told, is likely to have it.

[2] Gulab Singh Johrimal has been dispensing attars for more than 200 years. Soon after rolling up the shutters in the morning, the perfumery attracts a steady stream of visitors of all stripes, from well-dressed women with cut-glass accents to teenage suitors buying a scent for their paramour. All know Gulab Singh Johrimal as the house of sublime scents.

[3] When I arrived at Gulab Singh Johrimal at 10 am, the street was teeming with cars, buses and rickshaws, humans, horses and the occasional goat also trying to carve out space. 

[4] The shop was barely distinguishable from the outside. Its interior was unadorned and functional – a handful of men sat behind a counter, waiting on customers. But a closer look revealed much more: carved wooden shelving, a still-ticking vintage clock and a small sign bearing the year of the shop’s inauguration ‒ 1816.

[5] The shop is currently run by Praful Gundhi, along with his brothers, father and uncle. “Me and my brothers are seventh generation in this shop,” Gundhi told me proudly, adding that a nephew has recently joined the business, ushering in the eighth generation.

[6] I sat at the counter while Gundhi brought out perfume after perfume, all of them distillations of flowers: mogra (an Indian variety of jasmine), lotus, frangipani and khus, or vetiver root. The most precious of all is the pure rose oil, which costs more than 33,000 rupees for 10ml. Its smell is subtle, yet ambrosial.

[7] “We sell mostly Indian perfumes, which are made by distilling flowers the traditional way,” Gundhi said, as he unscrewed the lid of yet another bottle and proffered it towards me.

[8] He explained that steam distillation, an ancient process dating back thousands of years, was most likely revived in India by the Mughal rulers who came from Central Asia in the Middle Ages. The process involves suspending flowers and other objects over boiling water in a sealed container. The essential oil contained in the steam is then extracted.

[9] I smelled my way through a sampler box, dabbing the oil into my skin to release the scent. Kewra (pandanus), which has a nutty aroma with hints of saffron, comes from the eastern state of Orissa, while sweet and heady jasmine comes from Coimbatore in the south.

[10] Finally we reached the one I’d come for: attar mitti, or gill (mitti means ‘earth’, while gill means ‘wet’, so the words are used interchangeably when referring to the perfume). Grinning, Gundhi rubbed a drop on my hand, watching my reaction closely. 

[11] The oil emitted a rich, warm and woody fragrance. After numerous years in Delhi, I have many times experienced the juicy scent of the first rains hitting the parched summer earth, though I probably would not recognize it in attar form. Gundhi notes that timing is key: people like to wear the aroma in the height of summer, as it carries a visceral olfactory reminder of the monsoon, bringing a sense of relief.

[12] “Right now it’s spring, so the smell doesn’t have much impact,” Gundhi said. “But as it gets hotter, people want to wear this more as they wait for the monsoon. They appreciate it much more then.”

[13] So how exactly is it made? As I inhaled the earthy aroma, I pictured workers waiting for the first raindrops, then scooping up huge mounds of damp red soil and heaping them in wide copper bowls for distillation. Turns out I wasn’t too far off.

[14] “To recreate the smell, we get lots of broken earthenware in big copper vessels, put water in that and heat it up,” Gundhi explained.

[15] The steam from the vessel is passed over sandalwood oil; the oil captures the scent from the steam, and the water is separated out. “When you smell this perfume, the base note is sandalwood, but the top note is the first rain after summers,” he continued. “It’s the smell of the monsoon.”

[16] Just then, a genteel couple entered the shop. “Do you have the oil of raat ki rani?” the woman asked, referring to a variety of night-blooming jasmine.

[17] “No ma’am, but we do have tuberose, another flower of the night,” Gundhi replied. He shuffled through his stocks and emerged with an antique cut-glass jug.

[18] The woman looked at her hands, searching for a clean spot. “I’ve tried so many flower oils, the bees are going to chase me down the street!” she joked. 

[19] She then asked for mitti. “I teach yoga and meditation in Germany for part of the year, and I tell Europeans that we have a perfume based on mud, and they just don’t believe me,” she said.

[20] We both bought a bottle and exited the shop. Already, the air was growing warmer with each passing day. At the very height of the searing North Indian summer, I plan to dab my mitti attar on my wrist, take a sniff and feel relief.

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