A Love Like None Other

2

Sanskaar and his cousin, Laksh were in a client's meeting when the clinic's receptionist had contacted him. He answered the call and took one minute to chart his course of action. He simply mouthed, "Swara, emergency" and Laksh took over, no questions asked. Everyone, even those remotely acquainted with Sanskaar, knew that Swara was priority for him and she took precedence over everything in his life. Laksh was not unduly worried either; Swara's definition of emergency varied as per her perception of the event and usually was at odds with what normal people classified situations as such. But there would never be an occasion when Sanskaar would not respond to Swara's call.

Even though the nurse had apprised him of the full situation, he reached the clinic in record time and with a growing anxiety; he had to reassure himself that she was fine. He saw her sitting alone in the waiting room which was quite empty, it appeared that survival did not attract as much interest as injury or death did. As he dropped into the chair beside her, he heard her say, "And what does Sanskaar do?"

Sanskaar sighed, the melancholy of the question gave him an inkling of what she had been thinking; she must have been thinking about Sahil and him. He gave a wan smile as he thought that he never did much. The only thing he did was to love her. For as long as he could remember she had always been a part of his life and he had loved her almost from the time she had been born.

He had first seen her when she was three hours old when his mother had taken him to see Mishti Aunty and her daughter. He had been very unwillingly dragged to the visit and was visibly sulking. Somehow, the sombre atmosphere of the hospital, despite it being a happy occasion had prevented him from launching into a tantrum. He had looked at the crib trying to understand why his mother and Mishti Aunty were going gaga over someone so tiny, she was just a little bigger than the big dolls he had seen a few of his classmates play with. 'Not at all interesting,' he thought, peering at her and would have resumed his attempts at a tantrum if she had not opened her eyes at that very instant.

All newborn babies are near sighted and their vision is clear up to a maximum distance of twelve inches and Sanskaar's peering face was well within this distance. He seemed to have fascinated her, for she raised one tiny fist, which brushed his face and she made a small cooing noise. Sanskaar had frozen at her touch, too young to realize that she had already cast a spell on his heart, but had immediately felt a warm emotion fill him. Though the intensity and expression of that emotion had varied, he had loved her then and always would.

For the first eight years of her life, she had ensured that the predominant feeling in him was irritation. From the moment she could walk, she would unerringly find her way to him. He had hated it; even his sister Uttara did not follow him like Swara did. There were times when he felt it would have been better if either Uttara or Swara's sister, Ragini had followed him; they were quite cherubic and behaved like bubbly angels. Swara was, on the other hand, a personification of mischief.

There was hardly a place that could provide him sanctuary from Swara's presence, wherever he went she would be there. In the initial years, school was a relief but that was also lost when she joined the same school, their parents overriding all his vehement protests. Both their parents delighted in seeing Swara's fascination with him, a feeling that simply added to his ire. And apart from following him everywhere, she asserted all rights over everything and anything that was remotely his.

His room was hers to use and play in whenever she was in the Maheshwari Mansion, which was most of the time. His books were used by her to practice her colouring; she was still learning so they were not artistic but she did a complete job, no page of that book could be deciphered once she finished colouring it. The drawers of his study table were a storehouse for her treasure of smooth pebbles and dried flowers. His bed would frequently be occupied by that monstrosity of a teddy bear and a couple of other stuffed toys, who, as Swara stated, loved it. And as though this was not enough, she even claimed ownership of his clothes. Whenever the sisters came over to play with Uttara, she would invariably get dirty (not much of a surprise, he used to think, considering that she was always playing in the mud) and would insist that she change into one of his t-shirts. In what he considered his greatest betrayal, his mother would entertain Swara, saying that she looked cute. It was only in the later years that he agreed with his mom; Swara at five years, wearing a ten year old's t-shirt, his t-shirt, which came to below her knees and kept slipping off her shoulders, was very cute indeed.