He cautiously asks me how old the people he loves are. I can see by his knitted brow that this first acquaintance with death has also made him aware of all the other potential losses that are scattered across his life ahead. He understands it slowly through the accumulating losses of presence through the day. In the evening, my nephew will quiz me on death.

We have buried him in our backyard amongst the sounds and smells he loved, wrapped in my stole with the demented hope that I may continue to somehow comfort him through his passage across. My forehead will remember the tiny curve on his – where our heads met and I whispered, pleading him to stay. For days to come I will get up with a start responding to the scratching in my heart. In the days he could still walk, he had made a habit of scratching on my door and then trotting back with me in tow to his bed where I would pat him to sleep. My muscles are still familiar with the weight of his body as I carried him up and down the stairs of our house when he was no longer able to move. I have spent most of my waking moments looking after him through the past two months of a painful illness that finally got the better of him. Bruno, my spaniel companion of thirteen years, has died and the ache in our collective hearts is fresh and heavy. He looks satisfied with this action and then he turns up to me, smiles gently to say he’s ready. He looks up to me and asks, “Why are we only plucking flowers for Bruno? Why does nobody get him flowers?” It is a rhetorical question as he moves decisively back and puts a magenta geranium on its heat shrivelled body. While doing so he spots a little earthworm who must have died a hot day past. My seven year old nephew is looking for a flower in my garden thoughtfully, wisely, so he may not hurt too many of them. Arpita Joshi is an ardent nature-lover and works in the development sector as a researcher-activist.

Define sentience