She moved slowly through the fields. Her bare feet sure and steady on the earth. The long wooden branch that she used as a walking stick supporting her noiselessly, she walked on. The paddy field greeted her with a gentle brush of their long spiked leaves. She smiled, the furrows in her already wrinkled face deepening to form cavities.
This was the only place that felt like home. She is a hundred years old, though she is not exactly sure of her date of birth. It seems a very long time ago. The world around her has been changing too fast for her to keep pace and they sometimes blind and suffocate her.
She pressed her gnarled feet deeper into the soil and sighed with bliss. The polished marbonite in her apartments was slippery, the lights too harsh and the constant noise jarred her nerves.
She walked further and sat under her favorite tree. It was the only thing that had stayed with her from her childhood. With childlike enthusiasm she patted the trunk, then sat down and leaned on it. She closed her eyes with a smile.
A familiar voice woke her up. A few sparrows perched on a fallen log nearby. She smiled at them and opened her bag. From inside she took out an old silver plate. She loved this plate. Her mother had given it to her when she got married at fourteen years. Now sitting under her favorite tree she ate her meal, sharing them with the sparrows.
Was it just her or did the wind and the tree smile their pleasure too?
- Growing up with sparrows (thehindu.com)