After her husband’s death, Lakshmi left her modest home in Alwar, Rajasthan, and moved to Delhi to live with her only daughter, Riya Mehra. She carried one simple belief in her heart: a daughter will care for her mother, and a mother will help raise her grandchild. Each morning she walked little Aarav to kindergarten. Each afternoon she cooked, cleaned, and kept the household running. Quietly, she kept another truth to herself—the 20 million rupees from selling her house were still untouched in her bank account, the passbook carefully wrapped inside her old cloth bundle.
One brutally hot afternoon, dry winds swept through their house in Greater Kailash. Lakshmi, parched from the heat, took a small sip from Aarav’s unfinished glass of sweet lime juice. Riya saw her. “Have you lost all shame?” she shouted, pointing toward the door. “This house doesn’t feed useless old people who contribute nothing. Get out.” Lakshmi did not argue. She did not cry. She simply picked up her cloth bag and stepped outside without turning back.
That very day, Lakshmi completed three important tasks. First, she went to her bank, withdrew every rupee from her savings, and transferred it into a new private account. Second, she visited a respected old age home in South Delhi, reviewed the terms carefully, signed the paperwork, and prepaid for ten full years in a comfortable room with personal care. Third, she met with a notary and drafted her will in both Hindi and English, clearly stating that after her passing, all remaining assets would be donated to a charitable organization supporting abandoned elderly women. No portion would go to any child who had rejected or mistreated her.
A week later, Riya found her mother sitting peacefully beneath a neem tree at the residence. She fell to her knees, begging forgiveness. Lakshmi gently placed a copy of the will into her daughter’s trembling hands. “Your mistake wasn’t throwing me out,” she said quietly. “Your mistake was believing your mother had nothing left to lose.” Then she turned away, walking toward her new life—quiet, dignified, and finally her own. Outside, under the harsh Delhi sun, Riya stood alone, learning too late that love must be given while hands can still reach each other—before the door closes forever.
