Sujata Maheshwari had two defining characteristics, both of which were contradictory and had their roots in her traditional upbringing and the strict schooling she had received. 

One was her talent for embroidery and the other was her disenchantment with rules and planning. She loved needlepoint, was a master in that art and had also won quite a few awards for her works. She could embroider landscapes, garden scenes and even portraits with skill and patience and the finished work resembled paintings or photography. She would spend a couple of weeks assembling the myriad colours and the subtle different shades before commencing the work. It took meticulous detailing and ample patience to design, embroider and finish her projects, which she did with an appearance of effortlessness.

Then there planning and preparation for the daily tasks, one in which she consistently and spectacularly failed. 

One could argue that her art also needed patience and attention to detail. That the embroidered masterpieces which she made could not be done without exacting  levels of planning, yet Sujata could never bring herself to plan her routine activities. For her, plans were perpetually associated with rules and regulations and she had enough of them in her childhood. Both at home with her Marwari family and at the convent school where she had studied for thirteen years, before finding a semblance of relief in college, Sujata had been subject to rules. How to walk, nimbly and gracefully, without sounding like a stomping bull; how to sit, knees, calves and feet together, no crossing over at ankles or knees; how to talk, in a uniform decibel level, not in coarse whispers or scream like an uncouth ruffian; the list was endless and though Sujata followed each of them, she resented the rules. And when her marriage was fixed with Ram Maheshwari, a further set of rules had been drilled into her, making her dread her life with her in-laws.

It had not helped that she had to face two mothers-in-law, Ram's mother and Mrs Gadodia. Apparently, though both women shared an amicable, if slightly distant relationship, it could not be denied that Sujata's entry disrupted the delicate balance that had been established over the years. The two women had come to their own unspoken truce with strict division of rules and territories and in the initial days of her married life, Sujata was in state of perpetual terror. She was unsure of what to do, for if she followed the instructions of her mother-in-law she ended up crossing boundaries set by Mrs Gadodia. And Mrs Gadodia seemed to be too strict for her to seek her side against her mother-in-law, and she did not even want to take sides.  It took her two weeks of tip toeing around before she gave up and pretended to be ill, effectively hiding in her room till she found out a workable solution. 

When she ventured out of her room, after two days, which was mostly on account of Ram having discovered her deceit and insisted that she learn her way around rather than hide, Sujata had been thrilled when she discovered the resolution, it was a win-win situation. She noted that in her absence, both Ram's mother and Bua had reverted to their old schedules and there was no tension around. That was the key, she decided, she would not volunteer for any job, she could simply tag behind them, hoping to be invisible as they continued with their daily chores. They instructed her, she followed those but she would never ever do a chore which would end up with her being responsible for it. A part of Sujata recognised that it was cowardice on her part that she preferred to hide rather than prove herself to be a responsible person but when she noted that quiet relief on the elder women's faces, she brushed aside all her doubts. So she continued to tag along, enjoying her time practicing her craft, perfecting the art of being a silent and unobtrusive daughter in law.

Peace had reigned in the Maheshwari house since then, and Sujata picked up a perceptiveness that made her an adored mother, who was more friend and confidante to her children and their friends.

And now, as she watched Swara and Sanskaar, she had some pieces fall in place.

Click...

Sanskaar had finally found Shona, the girl who had sent him three hundred and sixty five notes and flowers, though none could guess the reason why.

Click...

Sanskaar was interested in knowing more about her though what he planned to do and where his affections stood had to be determined.

Click...

Shona was embarrassed to being found out as the writer of the notes, which meant that she had something to hide. She knew this girl was a stranger to all their lives, yet that stranger had been a constant in Sanskaar's life for the past one year, staying hidden but still a part of them.

Click...

And she was going to find out more about this girl, she did not believe in interfering in her children's love life. And it was too soon to think that Sanskaar loved this girl, but she could not deny that the whole situation was unusual and intriguing. And as a mother, it was her right to do so, it came with the mother territory.

It took her less than a minute to reach that conclusion. However, she was not going to admit she, and Sanskaar's family and close friends for that matter, knew about the notes, so she exclaimed, "Shona, the flower artist? I have to talk to her."

Swara might have made her escape after she managed to unfreeze once she had heard her name from Sanskaar. But in the next instant, when she heard Sujata's voice, curiosity and irritation took over. 'His mother knows about her? He had told his mother about the flowers? Did he also tell about the notes? What sort of grown up man tells all that to his mother?'

That anger and surprise made her hesitate and it was too late to run away though Swara could not help a tiny surge of pleasure at being addresses as a flower artist. That she was, and that was the only think that gave her a little reassurance and she allowed herself to be dragged around the nursery by Sujata. Her silent vow of not talking much, however, could not withstand the gentle probing of Sujata, who with subtlelty and quiet managed to draw her out. After almost an hour of walking around, during which Swara had pointed out the names and characteristics of the plants they passed by with growing enthusiasm and never even realised that she had also answered a lot of questions about herself.

Sanskaar stayed where he was; he was still not too sure as to what Uttara had been thinking when she had decided that their mother was the perfect  yet ignorant wingman, but being at his wits' end as to how he had to proceed further, he had allowed her to drag their mother into the . Now, as he watched his mother gently lead Swara around the nursery and into an animated conversation, he felt that his sister knew what she was doing. A part of him wanted to go along with them and listen in, yet he knew that it could end up with Swara clamming up. So he followed the rational voice of his mind and wandered around the nursery in a path that would not run into theirs.

Impatience and expectation slowed his steps till he was almost reduced to dragging his feet to the nursery exit gate and seeing no sign of his mother or Swara, he wondered if he would have to take another round of the nursery. A choice he did not have to make when he caught sight of his mother walking towards him, alone. Swara was no where to be seen and he did not want to ask any questions of his mother, so he quietly got into the car.

Sujata got into the passenger seat, belted herself and closed her eyes, as she thought back to her conversation with Swara. And when Sanskaar did not start the car, she smiled and opened her eyes; he was curious to know what they had talked but did not want to ask. He had always been like that, content with his planning, bewildered when things did not work out and a little too proud to ask for help. As he had grown up, those tendencies had toned down, but with his mother, he was always a child.

"If you want to know what we spoke about, you could ask, right?"

"Would it make any difference? You would tell me only when you are ready to do so. Till then I am going to drive in silence, hoping you have decided to tell me."

Sujata chuckled, she had always loved teasing her son, who despite his serious plans and insistence on being prepared, had a sense of humour.

"Okay, I will take pity on you. She loves flowers and passionate about her work. She has a degree in horticulture and stays with her grandmother and her sister, Kiara. She adores both of them, her eyes lit up when she spoke of them."

The name Kiara was familiar, Sujata was sure she had heard it before but she could not recollect the specifics. She rarely lived up to the expectations of a tradional mother, and had always been able to share a certain amount of with her children and their friends. Uttara was an introvert and did not have friends over on a frequent basis, but then Niraj and Anirudh were often in her home and were as much her sons as Sanskaar was. All of them adored her and she valued that adoration. She listened to them, offered friendly advice if requested or a  comfortable silence when warranted. And she was sure she had heard Kiara being mentioned a couple of times, in bitter melancholy and wistful remembrance. Not wanting to dwell on that she rushed along, "She stays with them, Kiara works  in some office, Shona did not tell me where, but her grandmother helps her out and her sister pitches in with the bookkeeping. From what I could gather, it is quite a successful venture. She is sweet, pretty, self independent woman so she would be strong and capable. Quite a nice girl, though not without problems.

She glanced at her Sanskaar, who just stared at her in silence. She reached out and ruffled his hair, " I know it is too early, considering that you are not sure of what you feel for her but it is better to be forewarned. It will not be easy, both winning her over and convincing your grandparents. She is a Bengali and an orphan—"

 and noting the quizzical look on his face she added, "—technically, since both her parents are dead. Further, she is awkward in her dealings and uncomfortable in presence of people, so it could be difficult to have her fit into our circle"—

she stopped when she saw the dumbfounded look on his face. She laughed, "guess I was seeing too much into the future but I will say this, for all that I said and all that could happen, I approve of her."

Sanskaar almost stopped breathing and his mother continued, the laughter evident in her teasing tone, as she brushed a mud streak off his t shirt, "I like her, Sunny, I like her quite a bit. In fact, I think she is perfect for you.  She is just what you need to balance that extreme planning and tendency towards perfection, very irritating habits of yours. " 

Sanskaar rested his head on the steering wheel, as usual his mother left him stupefied. He was not sure as to how he felt about Swara and she appeared to be annoyed with him. The desire to know more about her was strong, but that was because he was curious as to why a woman who wrote to him for three hundred and sixty five days did not recognise him in the first place. Her displeasure and shock also left him frustrated. As of now, he wanted to understand her reaction, not go around falling in love with her. However, he could not deny that there was something alluring about Shona, her contradictory behaviour was appealing. She was an enigma begging to be unravelled, and Sanskaar never gave up a challenge.  

And currently his mother was being challenging and he would have to set the record straight, before she started making other inane plans, "Mom, I am just curious about why she wrote those notes and why she is now about meeting me. I am not..."

"Hush, you can think all you want, I have said what I think and what I want. Now do one last thing." 

She pulled out her mobile and typed for a few seconds and sent him a message. Sanskaar stared at the message which consisted of a single mobile number.

" That is her number, in the evening, text her saying that I, your mother, enjoyed the time with her and says thank you."

"Mom, no girl would like a guy thanking her on behalf of his mother, and if you have her number why can you not tell her yourself."

"Trust me, I know what am I doing.

Sanskaar fell silent, though he had to quash the urge to gnash his teeth at her, he had heard the same from Uttara and since she had done the ground work in identifying the possible nursery and had picked the day, he could not grudge her. And now hearing the same words from his mother, made him hesitate in protesting. He kept staring at the phone, while Sujata continued, "If she reacts by being upset, you know where you stand. If she simply shrugs it away and does not respond, you know how much work you have to do to win her over. Of course that is dependent on you being interested in her."

And with that Sujata got out of the car, leaving Sanskaar to mull over her words. He watched her go into the house before he drove off to his office, thinking about whether he should follow her suggestion or not. It galled that he was even considering what his mother said, he was twenty eight years old and definitely not one a mama's boy. He had not been one since he was a four year old child. Once Uttara had been born, he had shifted from being a child to a brother, so there was no clinging to his father or sobbing for his mother. 

Yet he had to admit that all his planning and preparations had failed him when it came to girls and women. His friends were useless too, with their lack of romantic liaisons. He was in a quandry and decided to defer the decision to a later time, for now, he would have to focus on his projects and clients.

It was late by the time Swara finished setting up her nursery purchases. The potted plants would stay for a few days but the seedlings needed to be planted in the potting beds as soon. It was a job she enjoyed, the feel of the moist soil against her fingers and the anticipation of watching them bloom hum in her veins. It was never a chore for her, she would always be happy and hum as she planted them. Today, she was silent, her hands working with the ease of having done it for a thousand times while her thoughts wandered.  

Swara flung her gardening tools in one corner of the shelf, the force rattling the windows. As she scrubbed her hands t, she cursed, 'Damn Sonal for paying to write those notes. Damn herself for giving in and then continuing against Kaira Di's advice. Damn Sanskaar for not knowing that Shona was Sonal. Damn him for being persistent, like a blood sucking mosquito, hunting her down and following her around. Damn him for dragging his mother into...

Damn everything, why did her mother have to die?'

She almost wailed out loud at the last thought, why did she think of her mother? She rarely did, for how could one miss what one never had? She was four years old when her parents had died and her memories of them were vague, the truama of her parents' death had obliterated what little she might have remembered.. Growing up with the unconditional and effusive love of her grandmother and sister, she never felt anything amiss. 

Yet, today, in the little time spent with Sujata, Swara realised what it could mean to have a mother. The warmth of Sujata's company had enveloped her in mellow comfort, bringing forth the ice cold loss of not having a mother. It must be lovely to have a mother, someone who would hang on to every word she said, even if it was rambling about unconnected things. Someone whose eyes would have genuine appreciation at her knowledge of plants and love for flowers, an appreciation she rarely saw in anyone's eyes. Someone who would not address her as a florist or a nursery girl but consider her as a artist whose medium was real cut flowers. 

A tear escaped her tightly squeezed eyes. There was no guarantee her mother or father would have seen her in that way; would have appreciated her and her work, but then Sujata's had awakened those deep and desperate longing. That mostly forgotten yearning, for her parents, for a complete family; it surfaced and grew to a distinct burn, one that she would not admit and could not say it out loud.

Her bad mood continued during dinner, and turned worse, for her Dida, who maintained a stony silence throughout, did not give her a reason to spit out her anger. Dida had realised that letting Swara stew was a easier way of allowing her to overcome her anger rather than trying to understand her tempestuous moods and offering suggestions. Kiara's absence grated on Swara, she missed her sister, which was another thing to curse, 'Damn the new project of Kiara's, her sister was rarely home.'

The hour grew late, Kiara was late and sleep was late too. Swara watched the clock, the minute hand appeared to be taking hours to move and the hours seemed stationary. Having satiated her hunger, the day's irritation lost its edge. As she tossed in bed, trying and hoping to sleep, her mind turned to Sanskaar. 

Twice they had met and twice she had knocked him to the ground; Sanskaar seemed to reduce her bones to jelly and she answered with knee jerk reactions. To top it, she had covered up her embarrassment with anger while he had just smiled at her, not a word of complaint. It was incredulous that someone could continue to smile after being knocked flat into the dirt. She would have thrown a raging fit but he had only smiled. And what a smile it was, warm and welcoming. A smile that could melt her in a thousand ways, a smile that lit up her hear and made it hum. Even now, just the memory of his beaming face was enough to make her smile. He looked good too, and she turned dreamy as she tried recalling his features and her heart skipped to a quick beat. 

The buzz of her mobile annoyed her, though a thrill filled her as she scrolled through the message, 'Hi, this is Sanskaar Maheswari.'

She closed her eyes, a goofy smile lighting up her face, the elation that she felt was new and baseless. Rather she knew she was elated because Sanskaar was texting her and yet, a part of her wanted her to be cautious. There hardly knew each other and 

She glared at the message, her elation evaporating as she read it, 'Just wanted you to know that my mother loved meeting you.' 

Her ire built up and she knocked off a text, 'Great knowing that, please convey my regards to Aunty.'

On reflex she texted again, 'And I sure she would have let me know that herself, you need not have troubled yourself to let me know.'

Her irritation with life returned with a bang, though now she had a target to pin it to, Sanskaar Maheswari. Who was an insufferable, overgrown baby who apparently did nothing without his mother's intervention. She would have nothing to do with him, anymore. She switched off her mobile, threw it on the bedside table and tried her best to sleep. Which was not easy and she spent the night in a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of Sankaar.

Across the city, when Sanskaar read Swara's messages, he could imagine her angry pout as she typed them out. And that made him smile; she was as intrigued as he was. Which was interesting. And would need careful planning. He could not help himself, the past failures of his planned dates could not deter him from making future ones. He too slept in a fitful slumber, though he welcomed the intermittent visions of Swara.

And finally, after an unforgivable abandonment lasting for more than eight months, I am back to this tale. I know it is not much about SwaSan and more about Sujata, but I hope it was interesting and might keep you interested in this tale. From now onward it would be about them, for the path is clear right? Despite their reluctance, they are interested to know more about each other. Do let me know your thoughts, I love to hear from you.

love,

Nyna