Thirty Days Later…

… love doesn’t end

 

Today marks a little over a month since Ella decided it was time to go and we helped her on her way. I thought I had made my peace with it. I thought I was done with the tears. But grief is sneaky. It waits for the quiet moments, for the unexpected reminders.

This morning, I was in Indiranagar, sitting in my car with a coffee, watching the world go by. Across the road, on top of a short flight of stairs, there was an old white dog. The sun was streaming through the trees, catching her just right, wrapping her in gold. She was trying to get down the stairs, hesitating, her body unwilling in the way old dogs’ bodies sometimes are.

And it hit me. That hesitation, that particular mix of determination and vulnerability, was exactly how Ella had been in her last days. When the stairs became too much. When getting onto the bed or the sofa wasn’t easy anymore. That quiet struggle, the one that makes you want to wrap them up and hold on forever, even when you know you can’t.

I was about to get out and help when a man from the restaurant next door walked over with a bowl of food. He crouched down, speaking to her gently, trying to coax her down. She wagged her tail just a little but still couldn’t do it. He tried again and again, and when it was clear that she wasn’t going to make it on her own, he picked her up, carried her down the stairs, and set the food in front of her. She sat and ate, and I just broke down.

I went over to him and told him how much that meant. He shrugged, smiling. “Bas hamara farz hai.” We just do our duty.

And maybe that’s what I needed today. A reminder that Ella is still around, still showing me what it means to care and to trust. That even in a world that feels impossibly hard and cruel some days, there are still people who choose kindness. Who instinctively reach out to lift others—human or animal—when they can’t take the steps on their own.

When I shared this with Shobitha, she reminded me of something I had said a few weeks ago. That I don’t want to get over it. And she understood that feeling. Because sometimes grief connects us to love more sharply than anything else. And oh, how we all miss her.

But maybe that is the point. Maybe love doesn’t end. Maybe it just changes form, showing up in unexpected places. In an old white dog bathed in sunlight. In the hands of a stranger lifting her down the stairs. In the quiet ache that reminds us of everything we never want to forget.

---

Originally published on Substack on 9 March 2025. Read on Substack →