There's this little old lady

Who wonders the streets beside and beyond my apartment.

"Heh Didi!" she shouts as soon as she sees me.

The little old lady is dressed in a fraying purple Sari, her hair dreadlocked from years of neglect, is pinned loosely against the back of her head. The vermilion she intends to put on her brow, secretly creeps down onto her forehead and in her absence of mind, she wipes the red powder so her forehead is streaked with brilliant red blotches. She stares intently at you her big brown eyes boring into the very heart of you. In both her hands are plastic bags, her treasures that she carries with her. She showed me once what she had found that day scavenging in the rubbish, a broken lipstick, a dilapidated eyeshadow set and a nearly empty perfume bottle. Everyday i see the little old lady and have come to think of her as a Friend. She always asks me 'where have you been today, Didi?', or 'Where are you friends, Didi?'.

As Durga Puja approaches i have noticed how the city has blossomed into even more colour than normal, how people rush through the streets with their newly bought saris and salwars, awaiting the beginning of the festival (Bengali Xmas).
I don't think the little old lady has any family to speak of, she wonders alone, though is an important part of the community i live in. She asked me only two days ago whether i would take her to London so she could see the city and whether i would buy her a pair of red Capri trousers. Much deliberation was taken over what colour trousers she wanted, she sat for almost five minutes with myself and my next door neighbour and finally said, 'Lal, didi, lal!'

Though i could not take the little old lady with me, i could dress her in a new sari for the festivities. I bought her a red sari with a collection of red bindies. The little old lady, cried with delight, her eyes streamed tears of joy, she held my face in her hands, and blessed me. It cost me five pounds to bring the smallest of gifts and to bestow it upon one of the many of the forgotten generation living in the city. No one takes care of the elderly, and they are as much at risk of starvation, illness and exploitation as the young.

I saw the little old lady yesterday on my way to the office, showing her friends her new sari and when she caught sight of me, rushed over to me, she held my gaze with her toothless grin and said, 'where you going, didi?', i said 'to work didi, you want to come?' She said 'no I'm going looking for more treasures' and off she went with her two plastic bags and her vermilion streaked half way down her brow.