On my way to work today, in the midst of all the chaotic
energy of the early morning rush, near the Ministry of Labour & Human
Resources, I saw an elderly woman walking slowly along the footpath.
Wizened with age, she appeared to be little bigger than a
young 10 year girl. Her back was hunched so low that her vision would be
parallel to the road on the ground and her head had to be tilted upwards for
her to see the path ahead. Her short hair was ash silver and her face full of
creases and wrinkles -ravines of an age long past.
Looking at her I could not help but wonder:
·
How many summers and how many winters have come
and gone – she could, for sure, not count them on her fingers.
·
How many bags of grains would she have carried
on the once straight and strong back of hers? Now how who helps her stand and
move around?
·
How many sleep filled teary eyes she may have
comforted over the years. And how many hungry mouths she may have fed. Now, who
wipes her glazed eyes and puts food into her toothless mouth?
·
How hard her hands must have once worked as it
tilled the soil and worked the field; as it cooked the food and washed the
clothes. Now who is there to hold her hand - rough with years of work and
wrinkled with age?
·
How many friends and family have passed on
before her – leaving behind little other than memories of days long gone?
·
She is of a generation past. How many of her
tales and stories have she passed on to the younger generation?
Her Realities are now Our Past; Our Present
was once Her Vision.
As she walks along the crowded street, I wonder what it is she
sees. Does she see the chaotic rush of cars bustling by or the rice fields of yesterday?
When she climbs into her bed at night, what does she think
about and of whom? And when she puts her head on the pillow does she wonder if tomorrow she will even wake to hear the birds chirp and see the sun shine over the mountain tops?
I wonder.
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