I left my children a year ago. Or you can say they left me. That day, my children were fighting with each other as they had to give me space in their houses by rotation. My youngest son’s complaint was I talk too much; also all of my grandchildren were disturbed as they said I was troubling in their study. I still remember how I spent months of sleepless nights when my youngest son was born premature. I kept him in cotton, never let him stay in wet cloth for a second. That time he usually stopped crying when I talked to him, or I sing songs, or I read rhymes to him. He was never disturbed because of my too much talking. I did not want them to disturb anymore, so I wanted to come back to my village, wanted to live in my empty house. They were very happy, no one asked me how I can live alone; what if in case I die in this broken hut and no one get to know it. When I was returning back by launch, I was crying like a child. I wanted them to stop me; even no one provide me food or a bottle of water to take in twelve hours journey. When you are old and already spent all your savings on your children, you become helpless. Now a days I cannot walk, my ninety years old skin has no moisture. No one touch my feet and ask me what I need. I am cracked from inside and out.
- Nasima Begum (92)