🕯️ The Story of Amma’s Clock

In a small town near Coimbatore, lived 92-year-old Lakshmi Amma. Widowed for decades, she lived alone in a modest ancestral home. Her only son, Rajiv, had moved to Mumbai for work. He called often, sent money, and promised to visit “soon.”

Amma had one peculiar habit—every day at 5 PM, she would wind an old pendulum clock in her living room. It was her way of marking time, waiting for someone to walk through the door.

Neighbors noticed her growing frailty. One day, the clock stopped ticking. Amma had fallen and couldn’t reach the phone. It was the milkman who found her the next morning.

Rajiv rushed home, devastated. He stayed for weeks, fixing the house, talking to neighbors, and most importantly—listening to the silence his absence had left behind.

He later wrote in a local paper:

“I thought my calls were enough. But love needs footsteps, not just voices.”

From then on, Rajiv made monthly visits. He started a local initiative called “Clock Care”—encouraging young people to visit elders in their neighborhoods, even if just for tea and talk.

🌼 Moral for the Younger Generation

• Don’t measure love in minutes on a phone—measure it in moments shared.
• Elders don’t need grand gestures. They need presence.
• A visit can be the difference between loneliness and life.

🕰️ The Clock That Waits: A Story from My Balcony

In the quiet rhythm of our home—just the two of us now—I often find myself listening to the sounds that don’t make noise. The creak of the gate that doesn’t open. The silence of the doorbell that doesn’t ring. And the soft tick of the wall clock, faithfully marking time, even when no one’s watching.

My daughter-in-law teaches at a school nearby. Her mother lives in the same society as us. She visits her often, and I’m glad for that. But sometimes, I wonder—if she could walk just a few steps further, and visit us too.

I understand her exhaustion. The day is long, the work is demanding. But love, I’ve learned, isn’t about grand gestures. It’s about showing up. Even a ten-minute visit, a shared cup of tea, a smile exchanged across generations—that’s what keeps the clock ticking in more ways than one.

I don’t say this with complaint. I say it with longing. Not for attention, but for connection. For the small warmth that reminds us we’re still part of each other’s lives.

One day, perhaps, she’ll pause. She’ll see our balcony light still glowing. She’ll remember that elders don’t need much—just presence.