Why do I feel responsible? Why can’t I rest easy at night? I didn’t kill anyone; I was only a mute witness to a brutal murder. But then, I didn’t do anything to prevent it, so, in a way, I am guilty too.

“Help!” Someone, please help me, don’t let her touch me. She will spray me on her multi-layered, stinking, sweaty body and I will choke to death.”

These were the terrified words I had heard when I had walked into the powder room and seen Mrs. Makhija, dressing up to go to the mall. She is a middle-aged, obese woman and insists on wearing synthetic Saris and heavy gold jewelery 24/7. Be it any occasion, while going shopping, visiting friends, on her trip to the temple, all the time, she is heavily made up and swathed in shiny, blingy cheap nylon saris.

It’s a common saying that, “The more load you carry, the more you sweat.” Mrs. Makhija is about 120kgs light and has rivulets of perspiration, dripping from her forehead to her toes, at all times. To counter the body odor, she went and bought a deo-spray, which looks sleek and cool and is frightfully expensive.

Now, coming back to the screams for help. This morning, I had been a guest at Pinky Makhija’s place, and while dressing up to go out, I had heard the body-spray cry out for help. Pink’s mom, Mrs. Makhija, oblivious to the plight of the deo , had been liberally spraying her neck, and hairy under-arms, with the fresh smelling life-saving spray and in the process, had been, smothering and choking the same.

Eventually, the cries and pleas had faded into silence and I had accompanied Pinky and Mrs. Makhija to the mall. There was a niggling ache in my heart; I had not done anything to stop Mrs. Makhija from murdering the poor innocent Deo-Spray. But every man for himself, had I tried to save the spray, I would have choked to death on the toxic fumes, emanating from Mrs. Makhija’s umpteen layers of flab.

Lucks aka Sulekha

P.s. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.