A Little Old Lady
There is a little old lady that lives on my lane. I don’t know her name. She has a tiny garden. It has a rose bush. And the roses that grew on it had the most divine scent I have ever come across.
I once lived right next door to her. I was seven when we moved there.
She didn’t seem so little to me then, and she frightened me. I don’t know if it’s true, but I got have the impression she didn’t like me much. That she didn’t like any small child much. I think it was because I would stop and literally smell the roses that grew on her bush on my way up the stairs to the terrace. As I said, they were fragrant; I have yet to find a perfume that matches up to my memories. She once caught me doing that and would not believe me when I said I had no intention of plucking any, I only wanted to smell them. She would ever look at me askance after that, especially if I was on the stairs.
There were two other people who lived with her then. Now I know they were her children, her son and her daughter. They were much older than me, college students I think. She would yell at them. I cannot tell you if it was often, although I remember it as such. I remember hearing the raised voices while playing in my living room.
I liked her children. They put up with me. Her daughter once came over to help me study before a Kannada test. I thought the world of her after that, as the very thought of the test had reduced me to tears. Her son once chaperoned while I played with fireworks during Deepavalli. He also answered some of my inane questions.
I moved away to another house when I was about twelve years old. After that I had very little contact with the family, even though I moved back into the lane and would cross the house nearly every day.
I am now twenty years old. A few months ago I was passing by the house and was hailed by the little old lady. She was much older than she was in my memories. Frailer, and with a noticeable limp. She asked me to buy her a couple of eggs and I did, taking pity on her.
When I returned with the eggs, she started to talk to me. There was a language barrier, as I am fluent in English and her only in Tamil. I do understand the tongue, but cannot speak it well. We managed. I still do not know how.
I learned a lot about her situation that day. Her daughter had gotten married and moved to England. Her son was married as well and had children, but would rarely visit (Mother told me she had quarreled with her daughter-in-law). She had a maid, but the maid had robbed her of her jewelry and left. So now she lived alone, on a stipend provided by her son.
Now, I take the time to buy her a pair of roses on my way home from college whenever I can. She uses them for her pujas. I also take the time out to talk to her now and then as she is very lonely.
I still remember what I thought that day I bought her eggs for her. As I left the house, I looked up at her rose bush and these words ran through my mind…
There is a little old lady who lives down my lane. She had a rose bush that had the most beautiful and fragrant roses. She had a family she ordered about.
Now her family is gone and she lives alone. And on her rose bush no roses grow anymore. Just thorns.
I once lived right next door to her. I was seven when we moved there.
She didn’t seem so little to me then, and she frightened me. I don’t know if it’s true, but I got have the impression she didn’t like me much. That she didn’t like any small child much. I think it was because I would stop and literally smell the roses that grew on her bush on my way up the stairs to the terrace. As I said, they were fragrant; I have yet to find a perfume that matches up to my memories. She once caught me doing that and would not believe me when I said I had no intention of plucking any, I only wanted to smell them. She would ever look at me askance after that, especially if I was on the stairs.
There were two other people who lived with her then. Now I know they were her children, her son and her daughter. They were much older than me, college students I think. She would yell at them. I cannot tell you if it was often, although I remember it as such. I remember hearing the raised voices while playing in my living room.
I liked her children. They put up with me. Her daughter once came over to help me study before a Kannada test. I thought the world of her after that, as the very thought of the test had reduced me to tears. Her son once chaperoned while I played with fireworks during Deepavalli. He also answered some of my inane questions.
I moved away to another house when I was about twelve years old. After that I had very little contact with the family, even though I moved back into the lane and would cross the house nearly every day.
I am now twenty years old. A few months ago I was passing by the house and was hailed by the little old lady. She was much older than she was in my memories. Frailer, and with a noticeable limp. She asked me to buy her a couple of eggs and I did, taking pity on her.
When I returned with the eggs, she started to talk to me. There was a language barrier, as I am fluent in English and her only in Tamil. I do understand the tongue, but cannot speak it well. We managed. I still do not know how.
I learned a lot about her situation that day. Her daughter had gotten married and moved to England. Her son was married as well and had children, but would rarely visit (Mother told me she had quarreled with her daughter-in-law). She had a maid, but the maid had robbed her of her jewelry and left. So now she lived alone, on a stipend provided by her son.
Now, I take the time to buy her a pair of roses on my way home from college whenever I can. She uses them for her pujas. I also take the time out to talk to her now and then as she is very lonely.
I still remember what I thought that day I bought her eggs for her. As I left the house, I looked up at her rose bush and these words ran through my mind…
There is a little old lady who lives down my lane. She had a rose bush that had the most beautiful and fragrant roses. She had a family she ordered about.
Now her family is gone and she lives alone. And on her rose bush no roses grow anymore. Just thorns.