A Sense of Security by Sravanthi Challapalli

 

Anita was taking a break from her job as Supplies Manager in a large printing press to help her daughter prepare for some exams. She had grown to dislike her home. The entire building was splattered with pigeon shit. Her own windows and sills were no exception. The building was full of barking, mewing, growling, spitting, hissing pet canines and felines. Their behaviour often irked other neighbours, who would then themselves bark, growl, mewl, spit and bite — the police had been called in, on occasion.

The building reeked of them all — dogs, cats, humans. Her home smelt of incense sticks, incontinence, old-people things, curry, sickly-sweet detergent and overripe fruit that existed in the hope of being eaten one day. The cloying, soapy smell of floor disinfectant being swished around attacked her from the lobby below, bringing on a flurry of sneezes. Her husband had taken to installing room fresheners that emitted a puff of jasmine or lavender every 20 minutes. She did not tell him she found them no better than the other smells that assailed their abode.

Today had been a bad day. She had visited the salon to escape the chaos of her home but a dead rat somewhere was stinking up the place. She had returned, shoulders drooping, only to see her daughter studying with a vanilla-scented candle for company. It revolted Anita but also made her crave dessert.  She bolted into her room and inhaled long and hard. The smells continued to hound her. She drew the curtains, switched off the light and still not satisfied, covered her face with the newspaper that was lying on the bed. Aha! Now, wasn’t that the best smell ever, just like a breath of fresh air?