I've always seen her on that road, right under that particular oak tree. Huddled against the huge trunk, wearing the same light blue sari. Helpless - yet, patient. The old woman, who was perhaps in her seventies, sought for refuge around that place. It was her home, her world.
I never spoke to her. I never knew her name. Whenever I passed the street though, I never failed to look out for her. The four eyes met often, but the two lips remained sealed. Nor did she utter a word, and neither did I. What was I to say to her anyway?
A small silver bowl always lay before her dry bare feet. If not a lucky day, the bowl often remained empty. It was strange. She never looked like a beggar. She seemed too proud to be one. Still, a few people dropped a change or two as they passed by. She always remained quiet. Thankless. Patient.
It was a normal summer morning that day. A trip to the market required me to cross that street again. My hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket, I strolled down the lanes. The next few moments were going to be unexpected.
The lady was still seated there. Today, with her eyes closed. I stopped on my heals as I observed her closely. Her wrinkled hands were curled up into tiny helpless fists. Her slimmer form, seemed more weak then ever. Oh, how could have her children left her this way? Did she even have a family? I had thought of these things often, but today, I was just too curious. I pitied her.
I pulled out a few coins from my pocket and bent down low, wanting to drop them in the bowl as silently as possible. I didn't want to wake her up. But just as I leaned forward, she opened her eyes and hissed under her breath. I widened my eyes and froze. She smiled towards me and shook her head, pushing my hand away. "It's yours." she whispered, as she ushered me to continue on my path. Her eyes did recognize me. Perhaps she had noticed me before as well.
I remained silent, gave her a small nod, and hopped back onto the road. With a faster pace, I hurried down towards the market. The lady was so strange. She seemed too strong - too strong if compared to any other woman of the same age. The moment we shared was indeed weird. I suddenly didn't pity her anymore. She seemed like she needed none. I took a longer route back home as I returned from the market that day.
The next time I crossed the street again, I remembered to smile at her. She looked towards me with her usual blank gaze. Embarrassed, I looked away. The presence of an odd sort of compassion we held for each other was unmistakable, but I decided to stop thinking about it. Perhaps, that is what she really wanted. Silence, respect, and just a bit of compassion.
I never spoke to her. I never knew her name. Whenever I passed the street though, I never failed to look out for her. The four eyes met often, but the two lips remained sealed. Nor did she utter a word, and neither did I. What was I to say to her anyway?
A small silver bowl always lay before her dry bare feet. If not a lucky day, the bowl often remained empty. It was strange. She never looked like a beggar. She seemed too proud to be one. Still, a few people dropped a change or two as they passed by. She always remained quiet. Thankless. Patient.
It was a normal summer morning that day. A trip to the market required me to cross that street again. My hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket, I strolled down the lanes. The next few moments were going to be unexpected.
The lady was still seated there. Today, with her eyes closed. I stopped on my heals as I observed her closely. Her wrinkled hands were curled up into tiny helpless fists. Her slimmer form, seemed more weak then ever. Oh, how could have her children left her this way? Did she even have a family? I had thought of these things often, but today, I was just too curious. I pitied her.
I pulled out a few coins from my pocket and bent down low, wanting to drop them in the bowl as silently as possible. I didn't want to wake her up. But just as I leaned forward, she opened her eyes and hissed under her breath. I widened my eyes and froze. She smiled towards me and shook her head, pushing my hand away. "It's yours." she whispered, as she ushered me to continue on my path. Her eyes did recognize me. Perhaps she had noticed me before as well.
I remained silent, gave her a small nod, and hopped back onto the road. With a faster pace, I hurried down towards the market. The lady was so strange. She seemed too strong - too strong if compared to any other woman of the same age. The moment we shared was indeed weird. I suddenly didn't pity her anymore. She seemed like she needed none. I took a longer route back home as I returned from the market that day.
The next time I crossed the street again, I remembered to smile at her. She looked towards me with her usual blank gaze. Embarrassed, I looked away. The presence of an odd sort of compassion we held for each other was unmistakable, but I decided to stop thinking about it. Perhaps, that is what she really wanted. Silence, respect, and just a bit of compassion.
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