It was the late 1980’s. I was on my daily journey to Trivandrum, where I was employed. As usual, after halting at a few stations on the way, the train started to get crowded. Most of the travelers were workers who made the daily trip. They were familiar faces.
When she got on the train it was crowded and she could not get a seat. She stood there crying. One of the passengers offered her his seat and asked her why she was crying. She said she was going to the Medical College Hospital to visit her son who had just come out of a coma, but still could not recognize anybody. He did not even know his own identity.
Her son was working in the Middle East and had recently got married. On his way back to India for his vacation, he was met at the airport by his brother who arrived in a car. His wife and her relatives also arrived at the airport in another car. He chose to travel home in his brother’s car. The other car followed them. On the highway, his car met with an accident. His wife and her relatives who were following saw the accident and thought they would not survive. They took the bag he brought from the Middle East, expecting it to contain some valuables, and placed it in their car. They then left the scene and never cared to help him. They have never enquired about him since then.
The old lady was on her way to visit her son. She was still hoping that he will recover completely one day.
