I just watched her, my gaze never leaving the woman. She lit the ghee lamps and went about her routine. She prayed in silence, her eyes watered and cast downwards.
She is thinking of her children, like all other Indian parents do. Indian parents place the kids above the self. She is missing them but unable to voice it out lovingly, all she could muster often is “why are you not coming home?”
This irritates them. She lost grip on her kids a long time ago, they had forgotten the hands that used to hold them close, bathe and feed them. Now they are so far away, living a life she could only dream of, and they have forgotten to come home. They have forgotten that the hands are frail, the body weak and a heart aching. They have forgotten that this body now needs love and care. She rubs her eyes before even God notices them, afraid her sadness affects her children’s joy. So she suddenly smiles, pretending to God that she is fine.
She did not want to offend the Gods in case they think ill of her children. She prays harder for their well being.