Badde achhe lagte hain
Her eyes. Miles to go before I sleep. Her grace — a quiet reminder that nothing blooms without God’s grace. Birds chirping. Leaves shifting. Plants and flowers — some flowering, some done for the season. Two corners of the lawn: one sorted, one clustered. Two states of life. Both real. Both mine. What matters?Doing nothing.As Stephen Harrison suggests — perhaps it is simply acceptance. The end of the spiritual search. Not an achievement. Just a soft landing. She asks my age. I smile but don’t tell. Different people guess differently, depending on how I behave. Age, too, is perception — a reflection more of energy than numbers. We paint and sketch cards,play cross and nuts. Strategy meets chance. Order meets randomness. "What’s your agenda post-lunch?” she asks, popping black grapes into her mouth — dark, sweet, almost ceremonial. “Rest,” I say. Trying to make rest a daily practice. Not as escape. As discipline. “Any regrets?” Yes. I wish I had done less. My mind asks, What more ca...