She was a widow.
Her daughter was a widow.
Her grand-daughters, were 8 and 13 respectively.
And the elder one, was a widow.
She had come to the city to a hospital.
She had met this man and his wife, who took pity on her; old lady in rags, and had brought her to their home.
She has lived there ever since.
It has been twenty years. Or maybe more.
She was illiterate, she didn't exactly know how to count.
She didn't even want to learn.
Today, she was being thrown out of the house.
Dadababu's son said she is too hard to live with.
He said she was stubborn.
He said that he can't live with someone who can't even read the time on the clock.
He said that she didn't know how to cook.
She was being thrown out.
She looked at Dadababu.
He looked back.
Father: She has been here, even before you were born.
Son: I know, I have tried my best to adjust.
Father: This is my house. I need her. You can go out.
S. Mashi: I can't adjust. I hate the city. I am leaving.