It began on one of those many midnight, coffee-fuelled rabbit holes, scrolling endlessly. My recent bucket of choice: the corner of the algorithm that slowly convinces you your entire lifestyle is toxic. One minute you’re watching someone reorganise their pantry into glass jars; the next, you’re Googling whether microplastics have crossed the blood-brain barrier. Suddenly, every object in your house feels vaguely sinister. Non-stick pans must be flung out of your windows. Your chopping board is leaching chemicals into your dinner. I felt crappy about all my decisions.
I found myself looking for solutions with the intensity and optimism of someone who had slept too little and spent too much time online. I had already drifted, selectively, into strictly non-toxic territory (I still wear foundation and various creams with ingredient lists that read like pharmaceutical mergers, but I try where I can). Castor oil on the stomach, coconut oil pulling in the mornings and small natural swaps. Most of these habits don’t last.
The deodorant situation, however, had become serious. After years of aggressive chemical formulas, I switched to natural deodorants and spent an unreasonable amount of time testing them. Some were greasy. Some disappeared within an hour. Some reacted with sweat in ways that made things significantly worse. Eventually, I found one I liked: a neutral formula that survived both Bangalore and Mumbai (the latter, in summer, being less a city and more a full-body endurance trial). Mumbai had shown me I had pores on my body that I never knew about, but my natural deodorant still felt like it clogged them slightly. I remained unconvinced.
Then I watched someone talk about a bar of alum crystal or ‘fitkari’ for their underarms. That was it. No branding, no wellness jargon, no woman in oatmeal-coloured linen discussing hormone balance. Just: wet crystal = no smell. The next morning, I ordered a transparent little bar off Blinkit, still hungover from my four hours of sleep and low-level digital despair. I was equal parts suspicious and curious. I hate BO. On myself, on other people. If a cab smells faintly of stale sweat, my gag reflex is activated. Unless you genuinely cannot help it, body odour feels like bad manners to me. I like smelling good or, at the very least, neutral.
You wet the crystal slightly and rub it on your armpits. That is the entire process. No residue, no fragrance, no feeling that your pores have been shellacked shut. Day one and it worked. Day two, it still worked. My trust issues and I did not yet fully trust it. I tested it through April and May in Mumbai, during a heatwave. One application lasted all day.
My life contains a fair amount of air-conditioning, so I escalated conditions. The gym, long walks, synthetic viscose blouses that are flammable from a kilometre away. I could feel sweat under my arms, but there was no smell. That was the interesting part. It did not block perspiration like an antiperspirant. It just neutralised the odour. I even tested it while cooking in my kitchen, which we have, quite legitimately, renamed the steam room, signboard and all. Still nothing.
Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: vogue.in
