Scent of a Woman || Perfume by Priyanka

“Sugar, Spice & Everything Nice…” such goes the list of ingredients for a lovely girl. Ask anyone, even the hobo living in a cardboard box, everyone agrees: A Girl Always Smells Nice.

Nice? You mean like peaches & bergamot or lavender & honey?? I’m a girl and I demand an answer?!!

My favorite scent remains to be that of musty old books in the attic. Or of rain, just before it rains. Or of winter… when your breathe freezes fogging up your view of the sunset. Or like cheese oozing from a double burst pizza! Or like babies who have been squeaked clean and dressed up in pinks & blue, just perfect for a day in the park!!

But you never get these in a bottle in any store! Hmmm…

You know what all of it reminds me of? Home. My Mom.

Each time I return home for a few days, I pause for a moment before I enter. I fill up my lungs with the air outside, with all its smells… dust, grime, exhaust, litter… and then step in.

When I take in my next breath, it’s like being reborn…

They tell you about how when you hear a song that you once loved in the past and have it instantly bring you back to that moment in time? I think whenever I smell anything nice, I go back in time to this moment:

Entering my home again… right into the arms of my mom!

When you look around and notice how nothing has changed, everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same; you realize what’s changed, is you.

~The books, aging gracefully, even with the silverfish scurrying across… right as I’d left them in the box last year. The colorful pages which mom read out when I knew no difference between a and z

~The drops on my forehead as I run to cover, leaving mom drenching in the rain; struggling to save the achaar instead of herself

~The steaming cup of tea not helping keep my fingers warm enough, I snuggle next to mom as she keeps down her cup and hugs me

~The doorbell rings and it way before it’s been 30 mins, mom beats me to the door. The wide grin on her face as she opens the pizza make me wonder, “Who’s the kid here?” No one, or both of us?

~The Johnson’s Baby Soap mom still keep in my bathroom... willfully forgetting her daughter is older than she was when she bought the first bar for her first-born

That’s it according to me…. The ingredients of the perfect perfume for any woman:

Niceness inside-out.

Sweat, blood, tears, sleepless nights and aching muscles, slain dragons and dying dreams, birds leaving the nest or just stopping by for a moment… it all has to go in, without an ounce of dishonesty.

Love you mom!

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Posted in: Love,Mom,Perfume,Priyanka,Week 1

Perfume - Somewhere in Time || Ion

A face stares out at me from under the covers, I don’t recognize. Lovely eyes, I don’t know at all. The warmth of the room is suddenly taken away, and i feel a shiver run down my spine. There is something I want to remember, but I can’t. I try harder, but all I feel is the numbness of a mind drained off all its thoughts.

I stand up and let my stupor guide me around the room for a while. Grabbing the whiskey, I pour some in a glass. Desperate to burn my throat back to sense, I stand there looking out at the busy street, some 15 storeys down. Not sure if “this is just a feeling” that I have, I try to shake myself out of this stupor. Yet again, nothing happens. I can hear a buzz in my ears. But then, I think it’s been there for some time now.

All I keep seeing are flashes of a distant place. And I can’t recognize the faces in these as well. Flashes, I’m sure, that belong to a different place and time. Sometimes I think I see a lot of younger people in them. They all seem happy.
And the next thing I know is I have been taken back to that morning. The very one which changed everything forever. Where, a receding smell of yours, still lingers. I think it’s your perfume I can smell. And then suddenly, an avalanche of beautiful light floods my eyes completely. It blinds me for a moment. And then it’s gone, and the intense pain starts all over again.

I drown the whiskey in me, in one gulp. The throat feels a sudden sting and yet I can’t make sense of any of this. It is a ritual that my mind follows, and on which I absolutely have no control. It is just like walking the streets with her. She would let you hold her hand but not quite guide her through. And you’d still love her for doing that. I pour myself another drink, smiling.

As the whiskey hits me numb I slide under the sheets, undetected. I always try not to disturb them when they are sleeping. Closing my eyes I think to myself, “.. but your perfume… it still lingers on me.”

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Posted in: Ayan,Ion,Perfume,Time,Whiskey