Sitting under these old trees at the Ambassador (Heritage Hotel, New Delhi),I can’t help but feel that they’ve seen everything — the changing skies, the restless footsteps, the city’s noise blending with its memories.

There’s something about this place…

The air smells of time.

I hear the distant traffic, the soft chirping of birds, the city stretching after its Karwa Chauth night.

And in between all that — stillness.

The kind that seeps under your skin.

These trees — they’ve stood here through years that rushed by like trains.

They’ve seen generations fall in love, fall apart, rebuild, begin again.

And yet, they don’t rush.

They just are.

Rooted. Patient. Wise.

Maybe that’s what aging really is — not slowing down, but learning where to stand still.

To understand that calm isn’t dullness — it’s strength dressed in silence.

That not every truth comes from a search bar — some come from scars, from seasons, from staying.

Wisdom, I think, is like soil — it gathers over time.

And knowledge?

That’s the wind — fast, loud, fleeting.

The wings will always chase the sky,

but the roots… they remember.

They remember where it all began,

and what really matters when the flight is over.

Maybe that’s what I’m learning too —

to stay grounded even when I soar,

to listen more than I speak,

and to trust that the roots always know what the wings forget.

⸻Suvi’s Scribbles