Perfume Review – Mohur by Neela Vermeire Créations: A Princess’ Wistful Rose

The princess stared out into the garden from her cold marble bench. The sun was setting, turning the sky into an artist’s canvas of pinks, yellows, and fiery oranges before the oncoming wave of violet and blue. In the horizon, the silver birch trees trembled in the night wind. Delicate and frail, their thin bodies added a touch of somber beauty to the tableau of colours filling the sky behind them.

Source: my own photograph, taken in Sweden, near the Arctic Circle.

Source: my own photograph. Location: Sweden, near the Arctic Circle.

The Northern light rendered everything crisp and silvered, casting the tall rose bushes surrounding the princess into stark relief. Every pink petal — and every red one, too — seemed brighter, more concentrated and filled with the force of life. Their intensity was a sharp contrast to the princess’ pallor. As she welcomed the coming night, her large, dark eyes were filled with longing and wistfulness, as she remembered her lost love. How many times had they sat in this very spot, watching the sky turned violet and blue?

Source: my own photograph, taken in Sweden, near the Arctic Circle.

Source: my own photograph. Location: Sweden, near the Arctic Circle.

As the sun bid its final adieu, the princess took out a violin and played in the violet, blue light. A single tear streamed down her milky, almond skin to drop on the irises at her feet. The tall rose bushes around her quivered, as if trembling with the force of her longing; the peppered trees swayed over the water, sending out her call to distant shores; and her sandalwood satin dress glowed amber in the night like a beacon.

Fjallnas Sweden

Source: My own photograph.

Princesses of old, legends tinged with beauty and loss, the coming of violet night, and wistful remembrances of times past…. that’s what I feel when I wear Mohur by the French perfume house, Neela Vermeire Creations, Paris (“NVS“). So many times in the past — often in reference to a Guerlain classic — I’ve heard talk of wistfulness in a scent, but I’ve never truly felt it until now. Mohur is a stunningly haunting perfume whose very quietness lends strength to scenes of longing and melancholy. Filled with restrained elegance and classic notes of violets, irises and roses, it never takes me to India but, rather, to the silvery light of northern Scandinavia. It is a fragrance for Isolde in Tristan and Isolde, for Guinevere, for the countless maidens of legend whose beauty was tinged with loss.

Mohur.

Mohur.

Mohur is technically not supposed to evoke any of that. It is a tribute to 500 years of India’s history from Moghul era of the Taj Mahal to the end of the British Raj period in 1918. It is particularly inspired by India’s most powerful Empress. As the Neela Vermeire website explains:

Known as Mehrunissa, the most powerful Empress of the Mughal dynasty, Noor Jahan was the favorite wife of Emperor Jehangir. She was the true power behind the throne while her husband lived, so much so that after his death her male relatives had her sequestered (in comfort!) for the rest of her life. In her confinement, she devoted herself to the art of perfumery as it had been passed down from her mother.

Mohur is a rose-based fragrance, a combination of opulent moghul rose perfumes and a distinguished spicy leather bouquet that can only be imagined during a high tea after a polo match. To capture this moment, Mohur has been created as a refined rose-oudh alliance that pays tribute to Noor Jahan’s power and talent.

As for the name of the perfume, Neela Vermeire Creations explains that “the word ‘mohur’ derives from Sanskrit and refers to the most valuable gold coin in India’s history, the last of which were minted in 1918.”

Mohur is the second in a trio of scents, all of which were made in collaboration with the legendary perfumer, Bertrand Duchaufour, and all of which were released in 2011 to great acclaim. Mohur’s stunning sibling, the award-nominated Trayee, is perhaps one of my favorite perfumes that I’ve smelled in years and years. And Bombay Bling is pure joy in a bottle — so incandescent, bubbling, bouncy, happy and ebullient that people repeatedly call it their “happy” scent or the perfume equivalent of an anti-depressant.

I actually hadn’t expected to like Mohur as much as I did. It’s considered to be the quiet sister to the other two, each of which were said to have more immediate impact — and I’m generally not one for the quiet, subdued, and restrained. Trayee is the mysterious, seductive older sister; Bombay Bling, the happy, innocent, playful, joyous baby sister. Mohur is the quiet, reserved, elegant one. To my surprise, however, it was immediate love upon first sniff. I never thought it could equal Trayee in my estimation, but it does. Oh, but it does!

Mohur has an enormously long list of notes. Unlike many perfumes nowadays with their six or, maybe, ten ingredients, Mohur has twenty-three! The fragrance has:

Top: Cardamom absolute, Coriander seed oil, Ambrette seed, Carrot, Black Pepper, Elemi oil;

Middle: Turkish rose oil, Moroccan Rose Absolute, Rose Accords 11%, Jasmine accord, Orris, Aubepin Flower [hawthorn], Almond milk notes, Violet Flower, Leather vitessence:

Bottom: Sandalwood, Amber, White Woods, Patchouli, Oudh Palao from Laos, Benzoin Siam [resin], Vanilla, Tonka bean.

In the opening seconds, Mohur begins with single note of great purity: roses. The most absolute, concentrated note and it quivers in the air, like the very first stroke of a bow on a violin. It’s as tens of thousands of rose petals — pink and ruby-red — have been distilled into a single drop. The purity and strength of that note is beautiful, but it’s never cloying or sickly sweet.

Immediately thereafter, other notes trip and dance on its footsteps: woody notes that seem soft and like the white woods of the description; spices; amber; almonds; and a base of creamy sandalwood. There is the merest hint of cardamom and, perhaps, some saffron too. The latter is never red, rich or reminiscent of Indian desserts. Rather, it just adds some underlying sweetness and depth to the fragrance. 

There is also something which truly surprised me. My notes read, “Oh my God, I actually do smell carrots!” Here, the carrot note is exactly like that in a really creamy, sweet, spiced carrot soup, the sort you’d mix with butternut squash or pumpkin to create a velvety sweetness and richness. And, somehow, it works magnificently with the roses — probably due to that amazingly creamy sandalwood which is such a significant note in all of Neela Vermeire’s creations.

VioletsAs time passes, the violet and almond notes become more distinctive, contrasting with the black pepper and the subtle hint of creamy vanilla. The violet notes…. words can’t describe its beauty or its melancholy. Yet, two hours in, the violets and almonds recede a little to make greater way for the peppery elemi woods which — in combination with the actual black pepper — turn the rose into something spicy and fiery. At the same time, the patchouli works in the background to make the rose very jammy and plummy as well. One can’t smell any actual patchouli, but its effect on the rose is distinctive. Parts of my arm smell like pure, sweet pink roses, while other parts smell like fruited, purple, jammy roses.

Roses may be the motor, but violets (and their accompanying purple sibling, irises) are the petrol which truly drive Mohur forward. They are the exquisite center of the fragrance, adding a classique and very European backbone to the spicy rose. It is these purple notes which add that longing and wistfulness to the scent, emotions which are so hard to explain in the context of perfume. When people talk about Guerlain‘s L’Heure Bleue‘s blue hour or the inherent sadness of certain perfumes, I’ve always been left a little at a loss. I’ve never found L’Heure Bleue to evoke melancholy, or any other perfume for that matter. Until now. 

"Proserpina" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

“Proserpina” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Mohur definitely seems to be a call back to the most classique of French perfumery and, for a thirty minutes, I struggled with what it was. Finally, it hit me: Guerlain‘s 1906 masterpiece, Après L’Ondée. Like Mohur, it too is a fragrance whose notes are filled with violets, irises, almonds, sandalwood, amber, vanilla, oriental resins and, yes, some roses, too. Bois de Jasmin has a lovely, emotional review of Après L’Ondée’s “radiant and exquisitely graceful composition… [with its] suggestion of a brooding darkness hiding in its opulent layers,” and its “bittersweet beauty” with its “wispy and ethereal” velvety iris heart.

I feel as though all those words are the perfect description for Mohur. That said, there are substantial differences in the two scents. Mohur is predominantly a rose fragrance which is significantly woodier, as well as spicier. And, unlike many Guerlain perfumes, the powder note is subtle on my skin. But, despite those differences, there is a definite connection between the two fragrances in my mind. If Après L’Ondèe had an affair with a very tall, dark, woodsy, peppery Orientalist, their love child would definitely be Mohur. And she would be as blue as the blue hour of L’Heure Bleue, mourning a lost love like those fragile beauties who so stole my heart in Pre-Raphaelite art. In truth, Mohur’s representative woman probably would be one of Gabriel Dante Rossetti’s feminine, graceful beauties with their long necks, large eyes, quivering lips and haunted gaze.

"La Ghirlandata" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, the leader of the Pre-Raphaelites.

“La Ghirlandata” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, the leader of the Pre-Raphaelites.

As Mohur develops, it shifts away from the blue wistfulness of the violets and the dark, brooding heart of elemi and black pepper. Now, it turns softer, creamier, sweeter. The sandalwood is out in full force: creamy, heady, and as lush as custard. At the same time, the amber and benzoin resin turn things soft and hazy; the milky almonds return; and the vanilla becomes much more noticeable. There is also the merest suggestion of oud. It’s sheer, light, far from pungent, and never (thankfully) medicinal or antiseptic. For some on Fragrantica, however, the oud was a significant part of the perfume’s later hours; and a few smelled leather. I did not.

It’s an odd experience but, on both occasions, when I tested Mohur, different parts of my skin would reflect different scents — all at the same time. It’s not only the constantly shifting nature of the rose note — sometimes pure, sometimes peppery, sometimes spicy, sometimes jammy or fruited — but the perfume as a whole. It’s so incredibly well-blended that I suspect it will throw off different prisms at different times, like a light-reflecting crystal. All of Neela Vermeire’s creations are like that; they reflect different facets each time you wear them.

Despite Mohur’s prismatic nature, the final hours were — for the most part — the same during both tests. There was endless creamy sandalwood, vanilla, tonka bean, and dollops of jammy rose that would pop up, then flit away. Sometimes, there seemed to be more vanilla; at other times, there would be more almond. Sometimes, it was slightly more amber than sandalwood; at other times, the reverse.

All in all, Mohur lasted a little over 9.5 hours on me. For my perfume-consuming skin, that’s very good, though I have to note that it was much less than Trayee which lasted around 13 hours. (And, almost 14.5 on a recent day). But, then again, Mohur is a much softer fragrance. As noted on Fragrantica, its sillage is good-to-moderate for the first hour. If you apply two good sprays, the scent noticeable from a few feet away; if you put on a few dabs, the projection will obviously be significantly less. At no time, however, is Mohur ever bullying or bludgeoning in its presence; it’s not going to keel over your office mate. After that first hour, Mohur becomes much softer and hovers about five inches over your skin. It becomes fully close to the skin after about 4.5 hours, but it remains like a lovely silken caress for much longer.

I think Mohur is an extremely versatile fragrance. Its moderate sillage also makes it very suitable for the office, especially if you don’t apply it heavily. However, I must be frank, I don’t think the majority of men would be able to wear Mohur. Despite its woody underpinnings and the occasionally biting black pepper, the sheer quantities of roses — with one accord being at 11% concentration — makes this a very feminine fragrance.

"Boreas" by John William Waterhouse.

“Boreas” by John William Waterhouse.

It also has such a retro, classique, restrained elegance that I wonder if very young women might think it too mature a scent for them. Or, perhaps, one just has to have experienced a lot of life and heartache to respond to Mohur’s wistful, longing calls. To be frank, it actually bowled me over. And I found that to be an enormous surprise. Traditionally, I am not a huge fan of rose scents, and I certainly am not one who usually falls for restrained florals. Yet, Mohur stole my heart from the very first sniff. I find its blue-violet melancholy to be absolutely exquisite — and exquisitely haunting.

I fear that, like many middle sisters, Mohur will get lost in the much more exuberant or forceful company of its sisters. Those who expect the immediate POW that they get from Bombay Bling or the WOW glam of the FiFi-award nominated Trayee will undoubtedly be disappointed upon the first sniff of Mohur. I think Mohur is like one of those quietly elegant women whom you never notice amidst all the exuberant, fun, laughing girls, or the smoldering seductresses. But, if you gaze upon her face long enough, you suddenly wonder: how did I ever missed her beauty?

When you apply Mohur for the very first time, I think you need to close your eyes, imagine Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, and see that princess on her marble bench surrounded by roses amidst the incoming wave of violet night, as she thinks wistfully of the past and of her one true love. I think, maybe, just maybe, you’ll be haunted by her quiet beauty, too.

[UPDATE: Mohur will be released in a pure parfum concentration in Fall 2013. It will be called Mohur Extrait de Parfum, and it's magnificent. You can read my early review for it here.]

DETAILS:

Full bottle, boxed, of Bombay Bling.

Full bottle, boxed, of Bombay Bling.

Cost & Availability: In the U.S., Mohur is an eau de parfum that is available exclusively at Luckyscent where it costs $250 for a 55 ml bottle. Samples are also offered at $7 for a 0.7 ml vial. (And the site ships world-wide.) Samples are also available from The Perfumed Court where they start at $7.99 for a 1/2 ml vial. A much better offer than both of those comes from Neela Vermeire Creations itself which offers Mohur as part of two different sets: A Taste of India set and the Discovery Set. Both sets are exclusive to the Neela Vermeire website and both include the award-nominated Trayee and the fan-favorite, Bombay Bling, Neela Vermeire’s fruity-floral perfume.The Taste of India set costs: €21 (or about $27) for three, much larger, 2 ml vials; the Discovery Set is $117 or €85/90 (depending on your location) for three, large 10 ml decants. Shipping is included in the price. In Europe, Mohur costs €200 for the 55 ml bottle and is available at Jovoy Paris, along with the Swiss Osswald Parfumerie. You can find a few additional retailers from the Netherlands to Moscow which carry Trayee on the store’s Points of Sale page. 

48 thoughts on “Perfume Review – Mohur by Neela Vermeire Créations: A Princess’ Wistful Rose

  1. “I fear that, like many middle sisters, Mohur will get lost in the much more exuberant or forceful company of its sisters. ” Spot on assessment! Mohur seems to be the least popular of the three, but I really enjoyed it. It may have been my favorite, although I need to try them all in closer succession to really rank them. What can I say, I root for the underdog at all costs! LOL.

    Trayee is definitely my least favorite. I’m not sure any of them really speak to me in the way they seem to for others, but I still have quite a few more wears out of my sample pack to change my mind. :)

    • Mohur is definitely the classic middle sister, though I don’t want anyone to start saying, “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia”…. (Mohur is no Jan Brady!) :D I’m so glad you liked it too. And yes, we both always seem to go for the underdogs, don’t we?

      I’m sad to hear Trayee caused you some difficulties. I wonder what the troublesome note is? It does have black currant in it which I know has caused you difficulties in the past. It was light on my skin and, thankfully, wasn’t like the Enchanted Forest, but maybe it was that? As for the perfumes not speaking to you as compared to others, I suspect it might be because they veer a little *too* feminine. Yes, you wear feminine scents but they are much more unisex for the most part than blazingly feminine like these might be considered to be? Bombay Bling is perhaps the most unisex of the lot but fruit isn’t your huge thing.

      • I really don’t know what the note is that’s problematic, but I’ve smelled it before. I swear, this was the problem with Equipage, but I looked and they don’t seem to share notes. So strange. Bombay Bling was pretty, but I agree the fruit was possibly what makes me not super enthused. As a rule, I don’t really love the smell of mango (which is weird because I enjoy mangoes very much), so it may be a dealbreaker of sorts. I’m sort of okay that I didn’t fall in love with any of them (yet), as I don’t need to lust after another full bottle of something. :)

  2. Happy to hear that you like Mohur, it’s even more great that you’re surprised by this fact either. It’s a lovely fragrance. Great review!
    I don’t know if it’s my browser or it was intended but I see blank spot right behind “Mohur opens with” and then before “Details”

    • OMG, OMG, OOOOOHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOO, the damn update/save thing somehow erased most of my text. Hours of work… gone! I think I just had a heart attack until I figured out how to restore the prior, full version. Oh sweet heaven, my heart just about stopped as I thought I lost everything. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU a million times over for letting me know. I would never have realised otherwise. I don’t know what happen. I know the correct version posted originally, then there was another thing up and I must have pressed “Update” when…. Oh, never mind. It’s back and it’s there in full.

      Dear God, I must have 10 more white hairs now after that. I think I need to go lie down for a second.

      • Calm down my dear, OK, it’s all fine now! I know wordpress can sometimes be kind of painful, but luckily you managed to restore a good version, now I’ll read what was hiding in those blank spots ;)

  3. It’s a tribute to your writing that I want all three of these I sniffed! I am not sure my left kidney is worth $600 though.

    • I don’t know what part of my writing you saw since, apparently, I accidentally UN-posted my full review and replaced it with a pre-pre-pre draft for about 2 hours! I only caught the mistake now and *only* thanks to Lucas alerting me. So, if you read a review with a ton of white space in it, that wasn’t it. LOL. If, however, you read the full one, then I take your enormous compliment with enormous thanks and much appreciation! :)

      As for your kidney, it wouldn’t require $600 unless you’re up for the full bottles! How about a small sample set, like the Mini Taste of India, to let you see how it works on your skin? :D

      • The original was there at some point because I definitely saw the whole thing immediately after it was posted, and then I saw Lucas’ comment and it had vanished. Thankfully, it’s back in all its glory! :)

  4. When I tried the trio, I found Mohur to be the most subdued of the three. Bombay Bling insprired immediate, full-blown full-bottle lust, and Trayee just made me swoon. Mohur has grown on me and now I can think of so many different occasions in which it would be not only appropriate, but the only thing I want to smell like.

    Surely there must be $700+ dollars lying around here somewhere . . . :-) Maybe under the couch? :-)

    • YAY for more Mohur love! I definitely think it can grow on one if given the chance to shine a little outside of the long shadows cast by its more intense siblings. I hope people will read your words and give it that chance.

      As for the $700+ dollars lying around under the couch, I once found a $100 bill just lying on the grass when I took The Hairy German out to do his stuff. If only things like that happened more often!

        • HAHAHA! You know, now that you mention it, I have no idea why I haven’t used his phenomenal nose to sniff out money before! *grin* I definitely need his help for my Neela Vermeire Full Bottle Collection Fund! Maybe if I send him to NY, he can help you look under those sofas and help you out too! ;)

  5. Longevity to Neela. I think she bought the remaining stock of vintage Mysore sandalwood or has access to a trove of the real and now rare ingredient. It will be interesting to see if the Mysore trees that are currently growing on huge plantations in Australia will match this scent profile. They will be ready for sustainable harvesting soon. I think terroir and water must have some effect though on the scent.

    • I think about Neela Vermeire’s sandalwood stock ALLLLLLLLLLLLL the time! lol. Seriously, I do — and not just when testing or wearing one of her perfumes. I find its quality and quantity to be simply astounding. I can’t think of when I last smelled sandalwood that was that genuine, that rich and in that sort of quantity in a modern perfume (other than hers). That sort of true sandalwood scent is one reason why I love vintage perfumes so much. They used it in such abundance.

      Really, really interesting about Australia’s cultivation of the Mysore trees. I’m sure you’re right about terroir and water differences having an effect, but I’m still hopeful. With all due respect to Australia’s version of the tree, it simply isn’t as good. Did you hear about Frederic Malle and finding some sort of sustainable sandalwood source for his new Dries van Noten fragrance?

      • I had to return to this post for bedtime reading, I love a good story. Beautifully written and photographed. But there is still something missing in the post which Łucas didn’t pick up. Kafka, where o where is The Prince? Will he be restored too? Or has he banished by WordPress? Probably exiled to Blogger or Tumblr.
        In Australia there is the native sandalwood which only Serge has been able to make sing (in capital letters no less). Also now in Australia the original Mysore stock is growing as we speak on several sustainable plantations. I can smell them from here. Whoops, I am repeating myself in olfactory anticipation.
        And where o where did Neela find Laotion Oud? There has been none for years. All the agarwood trees there were carved up into fragrant beads and fragrant statues rather than distilled into oud oil.
        And yes what will she do next with her sandalwood?
        As for Dries and Frederic it is unconfirmed but I think it must be Australian – where else is growing sustainable sandalwood? Let me know if you know other sources.

        • You’re so sweet and such a romantic at heart, Jordan! As for the Prince, let’s hope that, for his sake, he hasn’t been condemned to exile in Blogger. We may never get him out that Byzantine maze! No, I see him more as being lost at sea or away at the Crusades.

          Interesting about the Laotian Oud. I had no idea that there was so little — or none — left. There is no doubt that the company has spent a fortune on the purity and richness of its ingredients but, clearly, it’s even more expensive than I might have imagined. Good for them!

  6. I love Trayee, followed closely by Mohur. I love your review. It really captures a different side of the scent. Great reading as always.

    • I’m so glad you enjoyed the review, but even more glad that there is some love for Mohur! It always seems to get forgotten in the shuffle. If I can change that for just one or two people who may stumble upon this review in the future, I’ll be happy. I’m like you with regard to my preferences. Trayee, followed closely by Mohur.

  7. Ooooh, now I want to sniff Mohur at least as much as I do Bombay Bling. I see a sampler or Taste of India set in my near future. Reading your description, I feel I was this woman in a past life. It doesn’t hurt that I’m 1/4 Danish and very distantly related to the Boleyns. Another wonderful post and enable!

    • Hi Vicki! So good to see you here. And thank you so much for your kind words. If I could really convey the sense and feeling of that woman, then I’m really happy. I hope you get the chance to try the set very soon. You have to let me know what you think of it when you do!

  8. I have just recently found your blog, and I love your posts. This post has me intrigued, as I love rose perfumes. Thank you for exposing me to new and different perfumes!

    • Kellilee, first, a huge, big welcome!!! I’m so glad you posted and spoke up, and I hope to hear a lot more from you. The more, the merrier! :D

      I’m so glad you liked the review and are intrigued by Mohur. If you adore roses but with far more spices, then you may want to look into Mohur’s older sister, the award-nominated Trayee. (My review of it is linked within the Mohur post.) Trayee is roses, saffron (mmmm, saffron!), spices, sandalwood, incense, and much more! It’s a significantly more powerful, forceful, seductive, sexpot perfume as compared to Mohur’s restrained elegance and quiet beauty, but if your tastes include that genre of perfumes, it’s absolutely one to consider. I don’t know your perfume tastes yet, but I hope that will change soon. :) Again, welcome!

      • Thank you for the welcome! It’s always nice to be greeted so warmly. I may have to check out Trayee as well. So far, I’ve been following your nose (my nose is still on training wheels, I’m afraid) and I haven’t been steered wrong yet. :)

  9. Lovely review, Kafka. I love the pictures you took. I have never been to Sweden but will make it there at some point in the future.

    Mohur, what can I say? I tried it for the 2nd time on Sunday and …. the first thing that came to mind was pencil shavings. PENCIL SHAVINGS! I’m supposed to smell ROSE and I got PENCIL SHAVINGS. I also got leather…so yesterday, I wore SL Boxeuses to compare and contrast and they are totally different.

    Mohur was far from love at first sniff for me but it is certainly worth trying again. PLUS, I have a swap set AND a Discovery Set coming so I can spritz at leisure and not worry about running out anytime soon.

    • Pencil shavings? PENCIL SHAVINGS?????!?! Bwahaha, you poor, poor thing. I can only imagine your bewildered face when you took that first sniff! LOL. I can relate because I had a similarly disconcerting, wholly unexpected experience with the much-adored, hugely hyped Azemour by Parfum d’Empires. It’s supposed to be all about oranges and orange orchards. You can imagine my shock when I got nothing but the dustbowl in 1930s America! And there was no end to the dust and dryness! When those first sniffs go so, so wrong, it’s very disconcerting indeed!

      Did you spray Mohur as a mist and walk through it, as you sometimes do or did you put it your skin? I’m trying to figure out what note could possibly lead to a smell of pencil shavings, but I’m a bit stumped. I have smelled the like before with L’Artisan Parfumeur’s Passage d’Enfer, so I know exactly how it can appear in a fragrance. It must have been one of the wood accords. Maybe the “white woods” listed in Mohur’s ingredients? Hmm.

      • This was a “walk into the mist” application as I do practically all my perfumes. Other than real pencil shavings, I have no other point of reference.

        Passage d’Enfer eh? If I remember, I will make sure to take a whiff of it and see if I get the same pencil shavings smell. I will probably follow in Undina’s footsteps and wait until the weather is warmer before trying Mohur again.

        I actually like Azemour and have a FB. I got lots and lots of oranges from it.

  10. When it gets a little warmer I’ll try Mohur again but so far this is one of the three that isn’t too friendly with me. I blame agarwood: it must be in there in the proportion that isn’t right for me.

    • Interesting. I smelled much more agarwood in Trayee than I did here, but I’ve read a few people on Fragrantica who, like you, found the oud to be quite strong in Mohur. I know it’s a very tricky note for you (as it can be for me, too), so you’ll have to let me know if warmer weather bring out more of the spices for you. :)

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  12. This was my favourite of the three when I first tried them – it comes as no surprise to me that I should be drawn to the overlooked middle sister in a scent trio! – but admittedly it has been a while. I feel a retrial is indicated, not least to check out that surprise carrot note! When my cold has eased, maybe, as smelling is off limits at the moment.

    • I hope you feel better soon, Vanessa. You’ve been plagued by this for at least a week now it seems. And I’m so glad you love Mohur! Who knows, the Evil Scent Twins may have a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee bit more in common than we had thought. ;) Do let me know if you re-try Mohur and detect the carrot note. It’s just like the kind in a delicious creamy soup that you yourself might make!

  13. Those are some stunning pics of my hoem country!!! If you ever have the oportunity to come here agagin, don’t forget to come by and visit :)

    I also found Mohur a lot less “Indian” than Trayee and Bombay Bling but for me I picturerd something British, like ladies having high tea and biscuits in their rose garden. These are not official notes and I’m not even sure I can smell them in there but for some reason they haunt me while wearing Mohur. It’s funny when travelling, whereever you go, the easiest way to spot by whom a country has been colonized by is looking at the baked goods. If there are baguettes sold on the streets, it has been colonized by the French (as in Vietnam and Cambodia), and if the Brits have been there, you’ll find biscuits (India). That might be why I think of the British?

    Sweden was never serious about having colonies, but if we had, there had been knäckebröd left all over those places :)

    • Thank you, Sigrun, but I fear my photos do not do your country (or it’s mindbogglingly beautiful light) any justice! I was in the South as well as far, far up North, and what a lovely country you have. The northern part, in particular, was exquisite. I was there in September, so it was quite … er… warm, relatively speaking, but that wind…. ouch! And, unlike some of the others I was with, I didn’t even dare approach the water for a swim. Brrrrrrrrr! ;)

      You raise a fantastically astute point about the food left behind by the colonizers. It’s one which the great world traveller and chef, Anthony Bourdain, has mentioned quite a bit, especially in his vists to parts of Asia. I think you’re definitely right about the British leaving behind their love of biscuits in India. And I love the image that Mohur evoked for you — high-born ladies having tea in their rose garden. Perhaps as the men played polo nearby?

      I think I must get my hands on knäckebröd — I don’t know how that will be possible but I shall do it some day! LOL

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