A few more days passed. Festivals, prayers, temple visits, and various religious events kept me occupied.
Though I often thought of my friend, I could not make my way to the old-age home. A visit there always demanded at least a couple of hours of my time. Simply dropping in and leaving quickly was never in my nature. That day, I finally felt I should go.
If I missed it, Deepavali, Tulasi Deepa, festivals, Laksha Deepotsava, and one celebration after another would leave me with no free time. So, I set out. My husband decided to come along as well.
Perhaps he had someone he wanted to meet there, or perhaps he simply had the time. Whatever the reason, I was happy because it suited my plans. Once we arrived, he went to the men’s section while I headed to the women’s wing.
When I entered my friend’s room, I found her looking well. Happiness, peace, and contentment were clearly visible on her face. She was delighted to see me. Seating me beside her, she said,
“It has been such a long time since you came! Navaratri was wonderful. There were so many good programs here as well. Time simply flew by.”
Then she looked at my empty hands and asked,
“Didn’t my daughter-in-law send anything for me?”
I stared at her in surprise.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she laughed. “I know all those snacks you brought earlier were prepared by my daughter-in-law. After all, I was the one who taught her everything. When she first came to our house after marriage, she couldn’t even make tea or coffee properly, let alone boil milk. Naturally, her cooking still carries the taste of my hands.”
I smiled awkwardly and replied,
“Well, even if you’re not living with your daughter-in-law, at least you can still recognize the flavor of your teaching.”
She continued,
“Not only that. That day, I overheard you telling someone that once I recovered completely, you would somehow arrange for me to return home. You also said that my son and daughter-in-law were waiting eagerly for me to come back. I came to know about all that.”
At that moment, I wished the earth would open and swallow me. I didn’t know what to say and lowered my head.
She continued gently,
“Do you think a nature I have cultivated over so many years, and the leadership qualities I have developed, will simply disappear? You may call it pride or stubbornness. I call it self-respect and individuality. It will leave only when I leave this world. How can I simply give it up?”
She laughed.
I could not.
I thought to myself, My stars must be badly aligned today. Whose face did I see first thing in the morning? God, only You can save me now.
Seeing my discomfort, she said,
“Don’t feel bad because I said all this. If I cannot tell you what is on my mind, whom can I tell? I felt like sharing everything. Instead of carrying it in my heart, I wanted to let it out.”
“No, I’m not upset,” I replied. “You only spoke your mind. There is nothing personal in it for me to feel hurt about. Anyway, tell me something. Have you thought about returning home? How do you see it? Not that I have any right to advise you. You’re seven or eight years older than me and possess far more experience and wisdom about life and family than I do. Even if you choose not to answer, I won’t be offended. You and your children know what is best. My loose tongue simply asked the question. You know how it is—words once spoken, pearls once scattered, an arrow once released, curd once spilled, milk once split—none of these can ever be restored to their original state.”
Listening to my own words made me feel strangely uneasy.
As though responding directly to them, she said,
“I have decided to stay here. Once I have left, going back would feel like a blow to my self-respect. Besides, when I look at the problems faced by so many people here, mine hardly seems like a problem at all. Many of them never even got the chance to spend time with their children and grandchildren before being pushed out of their homes for selfish reasons. When I see them, my heart aches.
Some are so weighed down by the pain of losing their homes that they have no interest even in food. My situation is nothing like that. In fact, I feel I have done something good by coming here.
I once read that in earlier times people would enter the stage of Vanaprastha and spend their later years in the ashrams of their gurus. In a way, this place feels similar. Here I can practise yoga, exercise, prayer, bhajans, and listen to spiritual discourses—things I never managed to do regularly before.
There is ample time for reflection. I can read as much as I want. I can keep myself engaged in meaningful work. There are plenty of people of my own age to talk to. Besides, when I visit the goshala or the orphanage nearby, I completely lose track of time.
I have told my son and daughter-in-law that if circumstances truly require it, I will return home. They visit me often as well. Tell me honestly—haven’t I made the right decision?”
I simply replied,
“It’s your choice. Do what feels right to you.”
Just then my husband called me, and it was time to leave.
On our way back, he spoke about some of the people he had met in the men’s section. Most of their stories were similar. They had spent their entire lives lovingly working, sacrificing, and educating their children, helping them rise to respectable positions in life—only to be rejected by those very children later.
Yet, as my friend had pointed out, those who had sufficient savings, substantial deposits, and financial security could perhaps live here comfortably, almost as though they had voluntarily entered the stage of Vanaprastha.
But what about those who had worked as daily labourers, struggled to raise their children, and helped them stand on their own feet? What about those who had no pension, no savings, and no strength left to work?
What becomes of them?
Veena Shanbhogue
Translation and Preservation by Sumanth Shanbhogue for Shanbhogue Publications
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