At the End of a Quarter of a Century

 As a quarter of a century comes to an end,

I noticed,
Here in Bengaluru,

There are street dogs near familiar crossings. They know which shops open early, which corners stay warm, which roads grow loud by evening. People pass by. Some smile, some laugh, some don’t notice. Life keeps moving.

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At times, stones are thrown carelessly, sudden, not always meant to hurt. A mark may remain for a while. Movement slows, habits change, ways adjust. By evening, they are still there, watching the day settle, sharing space, staying alert.

These dogs remember the roads they have walked, but they don’t sit on them. Memory helps with direction, not with weight. What matters more is the smell of food nearby, the sound of familiar footsteps, the stretch of road that remains open.

As 2025 wraps itself up, heads lift quietly. There is no rush, no fear. Experience has taught them that something always comes maybe sooner, maybe later.

Under Bengaluru skies, engines rest, signals change, and the road stays open.
That feels enough.