They sat ahead of us at the local interstate bus stop.
He must have been at least ninety, she mustve been as much.
He was dressed in a white dhoti and kurta, she in a lime green sari.
They were the cynosure of all eyes as they walked in, he almost carried in, she walking slowly behind.
They sat together awaiting their bus, talking occasionally.Now and then she would lean forwards to adjust his clothing, or his legs on the seat. It almost was as if they were alone in the crowded station. Oblivious to all except themselves.
Looking at them my thoughts went to my old uncle and aunt.
She was almost a hundred years old, He had passed the century mark. Had they ever been separated from each other? No one had seen the one without the other.
He was stone deaf, we had to shout ourselves hoarse or write what we wanted to tell him.But when she leaned close and spoke in her soft melodious voice, he understood every word. Seventy five years of togetherness in the age of the seven year itch! She had nursed him thru two major operations at the age of ninety plus. She would sit by his bedside, her hand unobtrusively in his, answering all the relatives who streamed in to ask after him.
I met him next on the day she died. In her sleep without waking or disturbing him.
Until the time her body was taken away, he sat by her side, his hand tenderly stroking the face beneath the sheet, covering her face.
A sharp noise startled me from my reverie. All eyes were once again turned to the old couple sitting at the stop.
To everyones disgust, the old man had just slapped his wife hard across her face. The old lady, staggerd up from her chair, and shuffled across to a corner, where she wiped a tear, which had escaped from her old eyes down her gnarled, weather beaten face..
Made for each other ? For him she was only a maid, always had been , always would be.
He must have been at least ninety, she mustve been as much.
He was dressed in a white dhoti and kurta, she in a lime green sari.
They were the cynosure of all eyes as they walked in, he almost carried in, she walking slowly behind.
They sat together awaiting their bus, talking occasionally.Now and then she would lean forwards to adjust his clothing, or his legs on the seat. It almost was as if they were alone in the crowded station. Oblivious to all except themselves.
Looking at them my thoughts went to my old uncle and aunt.
She was almost a hundred years old, He had passed the century mark. Had they ever been separated from each other? No one had seen the one without the other.
He was stone deaf, we had to shout ourselves hoarse or write what we wanted to tell him.But when she leaned close and spoke in her soft melodious voice, he understood every word. Seventy five years of togetherness in the age of the seven year itch! She had nursed him thru two major operations at the age of ninety plus. She would sit by his bedside, her hand unobtrusively in his, answering all the relatives who streamed in to ask after him.
I met him next on the day she died. In her sleep without waking or disturbing him.
Until the time her body was taken away, he sat by her side, his hand tenderly stroking the face beneath the sheet, covering her face.
A sharp noise startled me from my reverie. All eyes were once again turned to the old couple sitting at the stop.
To everyones disgust, the old man had just slapped his wife hard across her face. The old lady, staggerd up from her chair, and shuffled across to a corner, where she wiped a tear, which had escaped from her old eyes down her gnarled, weather beaten face..
Made for each other ? For him she was only a maid, always had been , always would be.
D Observer indeed..
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