weekly shopping on Saturday afternoon at the supermarket, are stuck in the trunk trying to give different baskets of shopping a semblance of order, when ... ... ....
"Oh, Mad, look there" whispers my Lady Mother.
Extension of the big head from the trunk and follow the direction of his gaze.
There is an old lady on the corner of the damp bins placed outside the supermarket, busy with pinpoint accuracy to the miraculous catch of tomatoes, potatoes, parsley, celery, fennel and so has even a semblance of edibility.
has a beautiful head of white hair, is dressed decently, I do not think a poor woman.
Thread the vegetables carefully recovered in a plastic bag and slowly, slowly, silently, almost surreptitiously leaves.
I was close for a moment that something inside has become difficult even breathe.
I mean, in India, India is normal, no? Mica here, not here.
But yes, right here, in a country widely regarded as rich, sometimes it happens that you do not succeed.
What you have too many years behind him, maybe you're a widow and that little board that he leave you if they eat more and more expensive rent, bills and medicines. And the children are away or do or do not care or perhaps they just stayed thee any more and you are ashamed to seek help. Even though the homes now cost as much as the resorts.
And then get to the end of the month becomes a drama.
t'ingoi So much so that pride and shame as probably a thief, rummaging in the garbage of others.
I think of my grandmother.
I watch my mother.
And I realize that my hands tremble a moment.
How the hell did we fail this way?
