“Hey, that looks like a neat bottle of perfume!” she
thought to herself. She was making her way home from work when the bottle
caught her eye, tucked away amongst other knick knacks in a shady looking shop.
A quick enquiry elicited that the shopkeeper was willing to part with for the
princely sum of thousand rupees. It was a big amount, and she already had
scores of perfumes at home. But there was something special about this one, and
anyway she firmly believed that there wasn't anything more mundane than
shopping only for stuff you actually needed. She pitied those who had never
experienced the thrills of a spontaneous buy. That principle had stood her in
good stead in life, or so she thought anyway; and anyone who disagreed could
take a hike!
The decision to buy the bottle was taken in a matter of seconds
and a brief bout of haggling ensued. It ended predictably with the shop keeper
wrapping the bottle up, clutching a five hundred note with a slightly dazed
expression on his face. Meera took the package and resumed her home ward
journey, well content with her day’s work.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Her mood changed over the half an hour metro ride home
however, typical of her mercurial nature; and as she climbed the stairs to her
third floor flat, she was already chiding herself for yet another unnecessary
purchase. Why couldn’t she have just bought the groceries and come home
sensibly, like she’d planned. Why did the path to a carton of milk and a dozen
eggs have to be interspersed with bangles, perfumes, chappals and what not.
On reaching home, she unpacked the bottle of perfume
distastefully, bracing herself mentally for yet another lecture from her conscientious
flat-mate. However, as soon as she took the bottle out from its box, she fell
in love for a second time. It was a dainty little crystal bottle; and the amber
liquid inside it gave it an almost ethereal glow. It looked much prettier than
it had in the shop, where its beauty had been lost amongst the plethora of
bric-a-bracs around it. She opened the fragile lid of the bottle gingerly, and
took a tentative whiff; and was transported into a different world. The
fragrance seemed to be a combination of vanilla, sandalwood, roses, and all the
good things in the world! Even though she prided herself for being a connoisseur
of perfumes, she had never quite smelt something like this. She hugged herself
mentally for her wonderful purchase, and replaced the lid quickly; so that not
even a fraction of the precious vapors could escape.
The bottle was given a place of pride on her mantelpiece,
right beside her sister’s photo and the photo of her family vacation to Shimla.
It soon became the envy of her friends, and she would shepherd them around it like
a fussy curator. Woe betide anyone who dared to compare its fragrance unfavorably
with that of some well known brand! With time, the bottle of perfume ceased to
be a fashion accessory and became a symbol of a utopian place – a place where
everything was just the way she wanted it to be. Whenever she had a bad day at
work; or when she was melancholic, she would wear it, and feel her mood
lifting. It became a panacea for all her troubles, a soothing balm to ease her
worries away. It came to represent all the things she liked about herself – her
impulsive nature, her good judgment, her fine taste. The perfume was also a beacon
of constancy, something which would always be there, even though everything else
might not. It was remarkable how something so seemingly trivial and
common-place could assume such significance!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are some moments which are etched into your memory.
Your mind behaves almost like a media player; and you can recall each scene
screen by screen. And just like a video, you can watch it over and again. Of course when the day began, Meera didn’t
know that this was going to be one of those occasions, but as it turned out
eventually, it was.
The day started off normally enough. She was rushing to
office, late as usual. Running around the room, frantically combing her hair
with a half eaten bread in the other hand, she collided with the mantelpiece.
The mantelpiece tilted slightly, and the bottle of perfume dropped towards the
floor. Although the entire episode couldn’t have taken more than five seconds,
it appeared much longer to her. Time seemed to stop still. She could vividly visualize
the bottle dropping to the floor, could see the spot where it was going to hit.
And the worst thing was the feeling of helplessness. She knew something bad was
going to happen, could see it happening in her front of her eyes, but could do
nothing to prevent it.
The perfume hit the floor with a sickening crash, and
broke into a million pieces. The amber fluid started oozing out, spreading
across the floor, seeping into the rug. There were even some splashes on the
sofa. At first she was too stunned to even react. She just stood there in
disbelief, watching the whole thing unfolding before her eyes. Then she dropped
to the floor, and tried to pick the shards up. She didn’t know what she was
doing, or why she was doing it. There was a faint hope that she would be able
to pick all the pieces up, would miraculously be able to put the perfume back
somehow. But she soon realized how futile such an effort was. And in the
process of trying to rectify the damage, she was actually hurting herself. The
glass shards were biting her hands, drawing amber liquid of their own.
She got up then. She realized that there was nothing
which she could do. Painful as it was, she could do nothing better than be a
spectator.
Soon all the perfume had disappeared – either evaporated
into nothingness or soaked up by the rug. All that was left behind were the
crystal fragments, glittering in the sunlight.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Every once in a while, when she would sit on the sofa,
she would catch a whiff of the familiar fragrance. Maybe some of the perfume
had still not evaporated. Maybe it was some other odour. Or maybe it was just
her imagination. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew that either way, it didn’t
matter...
