THIRUVANANTHAPURAM: Perhaps there is no better way of saying it than in the proverb, ‘a parent’s love is whole, no matter how many times divided’. ‘Divided’ is a simpler proposition by many scores, considering that the love is betrayed again and again by the sons and daughters. And yet, the parents and grandparents who are left to spent the sunset of their lives in loneliness are fiercely defensive regarding their offsprings, holding fast to the negation that helps them survive the truth that they are no longer wanted.Jagadamma, graceful in the grey that has coloured her long hair, insists that her three sons are ‘gems’ gifted to her by the Almighty. She paints a colourful picture of a household where there are three sons, well placed and married to three employed girls, who are also blessed with two children each. And who would have the heart to ask this 76-year-old mother about how she ended up in the Geriatric Centre run by the Rotary International in Poojappura? This mother and grandmother who labours to ensure that her children are blameless would instead put it this way, “They are all busy with their office and are sorry that I am alone at home most of the time. But I have their phone number with me here (she pulls out a tattered paper), I can call them if I need anything at all”.Her neighbour Thankam, 75, has a hearing problem. She just remains as a silent spectator. A native of Peyad, on the outskirts of Thiruvananthapuram, she later tells us that she has two children, a son and a daughter. She said they live with their families in the city, but shrugs her shoulders like a shy schoolgirl when asked why she is not living with them. There is not a trace of malice in her words when she says with a smile - “They have their lives to live”.It would seem the women were taking it more sportingly than the elder gentlemen who were seen idling away in the messy dormitories or walking around the corridors and verandah in search of some elusive purpose. Gopalakrishnan Nair, an ex-serviceman told us that his only son is unmarried and is away in Saudi Arabia. It was more a slip of the tongue that made it known that his wife, who retired from the Health Department, is living in the home they built long ago in Pathanamthitta. He was curt in his explanations about the partial paralysis he was affected with after a stroke two years ago. “Why should I cause inconvenience to anyone?,” Nair said, staring down at his swollen feet.Albert, 78, was busy swapping the channels on the television in his dorm. After retiring from the Navy and yet another stint as a casual labourer in the Mumbai Naval Base, the chronic bachelor had come in search of his sister, whose house he vaguely remembered to be located in a place called Nanthencode in Thiruvananthapuram. “I could not locate the house and lived in a lodge for some months. Luckily or so I thought at that time, I chanced upon her daughter, during one of my strolls in the city. I was taken to their house and was given a room. Only God knows how I spent the three months that followed in that house. One day, unfamiliar as I am with this city, I asked them to find an old age home for me. It’s been three years now. I am happy living here, contended spending my last days according to my own rules,” he winds up.Omanakkutty Amma, from Thamalam in Thiruvananthapuram, Vijayamama from Ernakulam, Raveendranathan Nair from Kozhencherry, and each of the 32 inmates has a story to tell. But they offer you a smile instead, as if it does not matter any more. They tell you that they are visited by their children once in a while, ‘which is of course magnanimous on their part’. And yet, one cannot help feeling the prick of conscience while bidding goodbye to the smiling, yet lost faces.
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