1

Scent of a Woman

“Mahek, are you in there?” Nia barged into the pantry area, looking for Mahek, exasperation writ large on her face.

Mahek was unfazed. She was enjoying her ‘me-time’ in the breakout area of the luxury perfume store, situated in an upmarket locality in South Delhi, and aptly titled ‘House of Luxe’. Most of Delhi’s elite frequented the store for the latest and fi nest international perfumes.

“Yes and no. Your friend Mahek is in here, but your colleague Mahek is on DND mode—Do Not Disturb! She’s on her break, and she would like to sip her coff ee in peace, while you, Ms Nia Saxena, enjoy your quality time with your favourite page-three people of Delhi,” Mahek took a leisurely sip and replied.

“Well, I badly need my frolleague Mahek—my friend and my colleague. Have you seen her, by any chance? She is this gorgeous girl with big eyes and a kind heart! She never abandons her friends. She knows how to handle both the social butterflies and the huffing-puffing drakainas of South Delhi. Her sense of smell, oh my God, don’t even ask! Her deep understanding of the world of perfumes is exceptional!

Her way of tackling tough customers—simply magical!

She is the queen of fragrances. She is a super-smeller and a super-seller. Help me out, sweetie, pretty please, I really need you to handle this customer!” Nia begged, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Fine! Save your flattery and fluttering for your hot yoga guru. I will come in two minutes, as soon as I finish this croissant. Your customer can explore the options on her own for a while. Who is it, by the way?”

“It’s the Miranda Priestly of Vasant Kunj, the desi Devil Wears Prada, Mrs Sylvie Khurana, and she wants something different.”

“Doesn’t every single one of them want something different?” Mahek asked, rolling her eyes.

“I offered her many options, but she was unimpressed.

Something different is too elusive, yaar!”

“What about Miss Dior? It’s the quintessential millefiori, carrying the fragrance of a thousand flowers. In fact, it’s one of the best ones we have, and it sells the most. Did she try it?”

“She did. In fact, she has tested every new fragrance we have got. Apparently, nothing is making her go wow! She keeps rejecting them all. It’s like listening to Ariana Grande’s ‘Thank You, Next’ on loop. I am frustrated, Mahek! She won’t buy; she won’t leave either. The drakaina is breathing fire down my neck. She is the worst customer ever! God, please make her disappear!”

“Hey, don’t say that. Remember, customer is the most important visitor on our premises. She is not dependent on us. We are dependent on her. She is not an interruption; she is the purpose of our work. She is not an outsider; she is part of our business. Don’t give me that look, Gandhiji said so!”

“Dear God! Who quotes Gandhi in Vasant Kunj? Sometimes I really wonder, how can you identify a Birkin bag from the latest line of Hermès, an ultra-luxe perfume from Yves Saint Laurent, and then go on and quote Gandhi and Mandela with the same ease?”

“Just like you can party till the wee hours and make it to an early morning yoga class at 5 o’clock, looking fresh like a daisy!”

“That’s because my yoga guru Chuck’s HQ—‘Hotness Quotient’ is so damn high! What a hunk! He is the reason I wake up early. He is the reason I perform thirty sun salutations back-to-back every freaking day. He is the reason I eat light! He is the reason I eat right! His vibe, his aura, his swag, oof!”

“Also, he is the reason why you have twenty-six sets of gym wear in your wardrobe! Let me guess, one set for every day of the month, barring Sundays!”

“Guilty as charged! But at least I don’t ruin my mornings by reading those depressing things you call newspapers! No one I know reads newspapers these days. They are so passé! Just get your daily updates from Insta and join my yoga class! It’s like therapy for the body and soul, and a feast for the eyes!”

“Nah, that’s not for me. How can you enjoy that vibe? That yoga studio is buzzing with all these socialites every morning. All the parking space is eaten up by gaudy Audis belonging to people like Sylvie Khurana!”

Right at that moment, Sylvie Khurana entered the pantry, wearing all-white co-ords, a luxury Hermès bag and an all-knowing expression. Thankfully, she didn’t hear the gossip.

“Talk of the devil,” Nia muttered under her breath.

Mahek greeted her with a beaming smile, “Hello, ma’am! How are you? Nia was just telling me about you. It seems you want something unique today, something classy and elegant, don’t you? Please let me show you some options.”

“Thank you, dear! So, you two were talking about me. Good things, I hope? Now, about my specific requirement. Look, I don’t want Chanel, I don’t want Hugo Boss, and I don’t want the usual Armani, Miss Dior and DKNY. Show me something new, something different, something high-end and niche, something that exudes youth and playfulness. And class!”

“Of course, ma’am. House of Luxe is all about the scent of class and luxury. We take immense pride in the olfactory paradise we have created in this swanky corner of Delhi. Every fragrance that we sell says, ‘I smell expensive!’ I think I know what you want. May I tempt you with an exquisite aphrodisiac, an irresistible scent that women all over the world vouch for?”

“Absolutely! Go for it.”

“Here you go. YSL Opium. It is sophisticated and elegant. The top notes are pear, spicy pink pepper and orange blossom; they create the opening. Then the heat evokes the middle notes of coffee, jasmine, liquorice and bitter almond; finally, the base notes of vanilla, cedar and cashmere wood come into play. This fragrance arouses the most sensual responses thanks to the blend of coffee, vanilla and pear. It’s smooth, it’s edgy, and it oozes opulence. Try it on.”

“Hmm. . . It’s good, but I’ve used it before. It’s a bit, I don’t know. . . gloomy, wintery, a bit blah! Show me something raw and new. . . something more youthful.”

Nia, standing right behind Mrs Khurana, made a funny face and imitated her ‘a bit blah’ expression. Mahek had to bite her lips to stop herself from laughing. She regained her composure, put on her professional smile and attended to Mrs Khurana.

“Sure, I believe Nia has already presented you with the options of Coco Chanel’s Mademoiselle Intense and Gucci’s Guilty Intense. Both are sharp, stunning and attention grabbing.”

“Yeah, I tried them. Not appealing enough for my requirement!”

“You could try Chanel N°5. It is an absolute classic. Coco Chanel called it a woman’s perfume with a woman’s scent. It’s elegant. It’s enduring. And, it’s timeless.”

“Well, pure classic is not something I am looking for today.”

“If I may ask, do you have any special occasion coming up? Or are you meeting anyone special, for that matter? If you can give me some details, I will be able to suggest better.”

“I can’t give you details, but it is someone special. Before you ask, it’s not my husband. But hey, you are not a South Delhi elite till you haven’t got a secret lover. Everyone in the club has a paramour. I am sure my husband has a floozy or two as well. So, all’s fair. Now this guy—he is suave, charming, young and hot. So, I need to put in extra effort too, you know! That is why I want to smell mysteriously sexy; you know what I mean? He is not rich, but the guy has good taste. I want him to notice me when I whizz past him. And I need your help to make that happen.”

“Say no more. I have the perfect fragrance for you. It’s an exclusive, ma’am. It’s the current favourite among the haut monde of New York and London—J’adore. Well, flowers have been the quintessence of J’adore for two decades. But their latest offering is insanely captivating. The rich, voluptuous floral nuances blend to form a seductive nectar. The sublime Grasse jasmine lends it a fresh, enduring allure. Here is the bottle.”