This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
I knew life wasn't fair the day I lost my husband. I knew life can be harsh when I saw my son breathe his last right before my eyes. I knew my existence shall be pathetic when I was ridiculed and taken for granted by my elder sons and their wives.
The young couple that lives next door smile at me each morn, but I can sense that it ain't a genuine smile; I sense pity in their eyes. The people in my building are extremely sweet to me and why wouldn't they be!? I'm afterall a seventy seven year old widow who lives all by herself in a three BHK flat at a city as noisy and busy as this. I get no visitors, and I visit none.
Sometimes, I long for some human company or perhaps a hearty chat over a cup of tea. When alone, I don't even feel like entering the kitchen and making something. I've never cooked for myself before, but now that they've all abandoned me, my longings to have people around remain unheard and unsaid.
I am however fond of writing and I'm an active member of our building's Writer's Committee. The members of the committee question me occassionaly, with eyes of mercy and a heavy heart that why dont I fight with my sons to treat me right. They say I am too sweet to belong to this world but I wonder what will it be like to be harsh to my own progenies?! How do I ask them to stay within limits when I didn't set any while I still had time!?
It's easy for my neighbors and acquaintances to come up with solutions and express their opinions of what is right but for someone like me who has lost enough in life to remain under the constant fear of losing what remains, it's difficult to practically apply their solutions. It's easy for the world to comment on my plight but I wonder what they'd do if given to walk a mile in my shoes!?
I knew life wasn't fair the day I lost my husband. I knew life can be harsh when I saw my son breathe his last right before my eyes. I knew my existence shall be pathetic when I was ridiculed and taken for granted by my elder sons and their wives.
The young couple that lives next door smile at me each morn, but I can sense that it ain't a genuine smile; I sense pity in their eyes. The people in my building are extremely sweet to me and why wouldn't they be!? I'm afterall a seventy seven year old widow who lives all by herself in a three BHK flat at a city as noisy and busy as this. I get no visitors, and I visit none.
Sometimes, I long for some human company or perhaps a hearty chat over a cup of tea. When alone, I don't even feel like entering the kitchen and making something. I've never cooked for myself before, but now that they've all abandoned me, my longings to have people around remain unheard and unsaid.
I am however fond of writing and I'm an active member of our building's Writer's Committee. The members of the committee question me occassionaly, with eyes of mercy and a heavy heart that why dont I fight with my sons to treat me right. They say I am too sweet to belong to this world but I wonder what will it be like to be harsh to my own progenies?! How do I ask them to stay within limits when I didn't set any while I still had time!?
It's easy for my neighbors and acquaintances to come up with solutions and express their opinions of what is right but for someone like me who has lost enough in life to remain under the constant fear of losing what remains, it's difficult to practically apply their solutions. It's easy for the world to comment on my plight but I wonder what they'd do if given to walk a mile in my shoes!?
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