Community service day - V
On the fifth day at Jubilee Mandiram, I was the only one present, so I did not have to accompany others in their work. Instead, I spent my time talking with the residents, listening to their stories, and sharing meaningful conversations. The first person I spoke with was Suja Aunty, whose mother was also a resident at Mandiram. She shared her life story with me—how she lost her father before she was even born and the struggles she faced growing up. She took me to her room and was upset that she couldn’t offer me any snacks. She also spoke about the difficulties in her marriage and the bond she shares with her sister, who frequently visits them. Before I left, she prayed for me, which was a deeply touching moment.
I also met Ponnamma Ammachi, who had no family members to take care of her. Due to her worsening eye problems, she could not see much, and living alone had become a challenge. Another couple had come to Mandiram due to old age and the need for care. When I asked if they had any children, they told me, "Our child is in heaven." Even though they never had a child together, they still held equal importance in each other's lives, showing a deep and enduring bond of love and companionship. Sarrammachi also inquired about my team members, showing her warmth and concern.
At the mini-hospice, I met many residents, each with their own unique stories. One elderly woman talked endlessly, though she could not hear anything as her ear was hurt, and she seemed to have some mental health issues. She even suggested that I apply for a receptionist job at Mandiram based on my qualifications. Though I smiled at her words, deep inside, my own future felt uncertain, like a question mark yet to be answered. Among the residents, I also met Sathiamma, whose warm and constant smile made our conversation light and cheerful. She spoke consciously and thoughtfully, and I learned that she was from Anchal. Another resident, Gloryamma, also spoke smoothly and seemed to be at peace with her surroundings. While some residents were able to engage in conversation, others were bedridden, silently enduring the weight of their ailments.
Another resident I met was Umma, whom I fondly called Pathumma, even though I did not know her real name. She had come to Mandiram after enduring ill-treatment from her daughter-in-law. Despite having three sons and one daughter—who had sadly passed away—she faced severe violence, including physical abuse from her daughter-in-law. Eventually, her third son admitted her to Mandiram without informing his two elder brothers, ensuring that they would not come to see her later. Despite this painful past, she told me she was happy at Mandiram, enjoying the company of her kind roommates. She used crutches to walk but was always afraid that their sound might disturb her roommates at night when she needed to go to the bathroom.
At noon, I helped in serving lunch to the residents. The afternoon was spent leisurely with them, watching television and engaging in conversations. Their stories and companionship made the time pass quickly, and I cherished every moment of my final day there. After tea and the usual evening procedures, it was time to say goodbye to Mandiram. As I bid farewell, I hoped that I would have the chance to see them again in the future. The experience had left a deep impact on me, filling me with both gratitude and a newfound appreciation for the resilience and warmth of the residents.
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