The Last Point In A Bucket List
It was dusk on a Sunday, and I was sitting at my favourite spot on my terrace. The monsoon clouds were sliding in from the west bringing with them some cool breeze — the only respite in this summer heat.
On an opposite terrace, I noticed an old man: I’d guess he was about 70 or 75. He came up and spread out a mattress on his terrace floor. Soon his wife (also the same age, more or less) joined him. They sat together, watching and waiting for the stars to come out. It was a scene of peace, enveloped as they were in an easy companionship that had grown over many years. They did not speak much; nor do I think they needed to.
If I ever make a bucket list, that moment the old man had in his possession would be the last point on my list.