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?