In New Delhi
THE plight of the aged often strikes you on the face when you open the newspapers - old parents thrown out of their homes, ill-treated or deserted at bus terminals or railway stations.
But a story broke here last week made the burning problem of the aged all the more poignant.
Latika Sarkar, 87, a former head of Delhi University’s Law Faculty and a noted social worker, was a mute spectator to a raging dispute between her maid and a “family friend”. This was over who has the right to her property in the Tony Hauz Khas Enclave of the capital that is estimated to be worth Rs.100 million (S$3 million).
The name Sarkar rang a bell and I realized that she is the widow of noted journalist Chanchal Sarkar, a former chairman of the Press Institute of India.
Way back in the ‘70s, I had done a feature writing course conducted by the institute in collaboration with the Thompson Foundation of London. We had occasion to interact with Mr Sarkar many times during that two-week course and found him a thorough gentleman who always had time for a chat with you.
The newspapers had carried the picture of a forlorn-looking Mrs Sarkar as she watched a posse of policemen descending on her house as the maid and the family friend quarreled out front.
Mrs Sarkar was the first Indian woman to go to Cambridge. She was also the first woman to earn a doctorate in law from the University. As head of Delhi’s University’s law faculty, she would have taught many of India’s legal luminaries. Yet she was all alone when two greedy people, who were not her blood relations, fought over her property.
Some time ago, the maid, Rangita Bharati, had been thrown out of the house, bag and baggage, by the family friend Nirmal Dhaundiyal, a senior police office in the eastern state of Bihar. But the maid had barged into the house last week, armed with a court order, and occupied a room upstairs by force. Apparently, Mr Dhaundiyal, who now occupies the ground floor of the office, used his police clout to get her evicted.
Then, she changed her story. She claimed to be a tenant of the Sarkars and not the maid. "I have been living here since 1973 and pay 50 rupiahs for the room. I have never worked as their servant. I run a garment unit to make a living," she said.
The police couldn’t do anything because a tenant cannot be evicted without a court order. Those who know the Sarkars are skeptical of her tenancy.
But Mr Dhaundiyal maintains she is only a servant. He said: "I am like a son to Latika Sarkar. She has no one to look after her. My son has been living here for six years, and after me elder brother's death, my wife also shifted here to take care of Aunty."
Meanwhile, Bharati also claims that she was “very close” to Mrs Sarkar. She said: “She used to have fish and curry from our house and would sit with me for hours. Chanchalda had even promised to help me buy a house at the cost of Rs 18 lakh (1.8 million)."
It's clear that neither the maid nor the so-called family friend are concerned about Mrs Sarkar. They seem like vultures waiting for her to die so that they could feed on her property.
What is surprising is that even though the Sarkars had a large circle of friends and relatives in the city, nobody has bothered to visit the widow regularly or to inquire about her welfare. Neighbours said since her husband’s death three years ago, she had rarely been seen or heard.
Some of her relatives now say they stopped visiting her as they were "not made to feel very welcome'' by the Dhaundiyals. “Maybe his idea was to leave her with no option but to leave the property to them.”
Neighbours do not recall seeing the Mr Dhaundiyal when Mr Sarkar was alive.
"When we went to condole his death, we had this distinct feeling that he was muscling his way in and the house was being taken over," said one.
The episode reminded me of visit to a home for the aged some time ago. The inmates were all well-to-do and the home was comfortable and well-equipped.
But as I left, I could not help feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness that they must feel, spending day after day re-living the memories accumulated in treasured photo albums.
Now, they pine for Sundays so they can hear the voices of their children and grandchildren calling from some distant land, muttering: “Hi, dad, mom, love you…”
I suppose, in that sense, Mrs Sarkar is lucky because the Sarkars had no children and she doesn’t have to wait for that weekly call.