At the end of the room was my uncle who seemed as if in a trance. He had made it to this place for a land sale, after doing a train journey of 500 kms. on eighty year old knees.
He who always spoke now listens.His unspoken words echo in the hall ,side by side with inane small talk between us. The words are stuck in his puffed up cheeks. And the eyes are unable to say them, bogged down in the pathos of a realization that all this did not matter.
He has surrendered his right to lead conversation. He has surrendered.