Shriveled up in a black woollen shawl, she sat there sunken into her wooden rocking chair. Her drooping, sleep deprived eyes restlessly struggling to find a familiar face in the crowd; her silver hair carelessly tied in a small bun with tresses falling upon her wrinkled face; the spark in her eyes had died and the skin across her cheekbones had become a little slack; her hands joined in prayer- a silent prayer; beads of rosary wrapped around her thin shrunken wrist. She barely managed to place her naked feet upon the cold marble floor and took a slow turn towards her room, the gray dull walls within which she had woven a new life for herself for the past fourteen years now, when out of nowhere, she felt a firm grip upon her bony shoulder. Recognizing the touch, she quickly turned around, rather too swift for an 87-year old woman with arthritis.
She stood there motionless, gazing at the tall gentleman in navy blue suit with a rather rough appearance. Tears rolled down her loose skin as her crushed beige hued cotton sari blotted it away.
"Ma..", he spoke in a choked voice, breaking the prolonged silence what seemed like an eternity. She took yet another look at the 39-year old sturdy figure, who she had nurtured on her bosom. Her lips began to tremble, her eyes reflected the wounds her heart bore, as she muttered something in an inaudible tone. Then, relentlessly turning her hunchback to the stoic faced man, headed towards her new family at the old-age home, that had been her pillar of strength ever since she was abandoned by her kith and kin.