I forgot how long I have been living here because my memory is not all that sharp now. I am old you know, past my 80s! But I do remember that many decades ago I lived in my own small house, not in this tiny hut, and had a very caring husband. When he died, I was still quite young and not being educated. I knew nothing about the world and its ways. Today, things are quite different and life’s best teacher, experience, has taught me many things. But in those early days, I was naïve and maybe that is why I was cheated and my house and all I owned was taken away from me by my own kith and kin. But I was to learn that the world also had a lot of good and kind folk.
Many years went by as I eked out a living working as domestic help in a number of house holds. One kind lady even let me sleep at night on her verandah and it was then that I learnt to survive with little or no personal belongings. But as the years went by I grew weaker and my health started failing and I could now work in just one house hold. For the first time in my life I was afraid but something kept me going. The thought of begging never crossed my mind as my earnings from one house gave me the means to live my frugal life. And then there was this faith in my lord who I knew would take care of me. It was around this troubled time in my life that my faith turned into conviction.
The hut you see me in today, securely held between the uprights of a small Rajnikanth hoarding, was built for me by a kind hearted citizen of Sengadu. Well, it was a much smaller hut then and I had to crawl in and out as there was no space inside to turn or even sit up. But since I have already lived with virtually nothing, I had few problems. Life became far easier now and thanks to my well wishers I was helped in receiving a monthly old age pension the state Government granted. The fact that I lost part of it for having to travel to the office each month by auto to claim it and some for “chai pani” did not bother me. My many friends more than made up for any short fall. Prominent amongst these were the doctor and staff at “Raksha: the GKNM Hospital-run hospice along whose boundary wall is my hut. Besides these kind hearted people there are some regulars who come to Raksha and invariably find time to visit me and help in whatever way they can. Some people offered to put me in an old age home but I refused. At Sengadu I have my house, my “auto-man” friend, my hotel from where I buy my one meal for the day, my temple, my doctor at Raksha and the many neighbouring shopkeepers who care for me. An old age home may be far more comfortable but would have little less to offer. Besides, a slightly larger hut has now been built for me, still supported by Rajnikant’s hoarding, in which I can sit up. I still live my life on my own terms and when I look back on the last 80 odd years, I have reason to be proud. Fate may have tried but it could only bend, not break me.
(Suppathal is the wife of late Krishnamoorthy. She lives alone, on her pension and with help from well-wishers)
