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 can you still do?

My intellect counters, What stops you from doing it now?

My heart does not argue.

It looks at the lawn, the sky, the season turning quietly…

and hums —

“Bade achhe lagte hain…

yeh dharti, yeh nadiya, yeh raina…”

And ......

I include myself in that list.