Jasmine in the Metro By Sarita Sharda Outside the bustling Rajiv Chowk Metro Station—amid the cacophony of hawkers, the hum of footsteps, and the metallic screech of trains—sits Rajjo, a florist with a modest basket of jasmine gajras. The scent of fresh blossoms, strung together with practiced care, rises above the city's chaos, creating a small pocket of serenity. For years, Rajjo has sold her fragrant garlands to women passing by—brides, lovers, and admirers of delicate things. One humid August evening, a woman in a crisp navy-blue suit stops abruptly before Rajjo’s stall. On impulse, she buys a gajra, paying more than its price in her hurry, barely noticing as she disappears into the crowd. Inside the Metro, the scent envelops her. Heads turn. In the polished corridors of her office, the garland becomes the subject of amused whispers. "A jasmine gajra in a board meeting?" her colleagues murmur. But Ananya Mehra—a senior executive at an investment firm, a woman of con...