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 k.m.s. on eighty year old knees.
He who had always spoken now listened. His unspoken words would echo in the hall ,side by side with inane small talk between us. The words were stuck in his puffed up cheeks. And the eyes were 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.