---------- Forwarded message --------- From: N Sekar <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Apr 3, 2026 at 10:00 AM Subject: Re: Fwd - Loneliness is the saddest To: Rangarajan T.N.C. <[email protected]>, APS Mani <[email protected]> Cc: Chittanandam V R <[email protected]>, Suryanarayana Ambadipudi < [email protected]>, Narayanaswamy Sekar <[email protected]>, Mathangi K. Kumar <[email protected]>
"On the other hand women used to pray for leaving as sumangali as life dependant on others maybe unbearable. But nowadays upper middle class ladies are financially independent and live a purposeful and happy life in widowhood enjoying what could not be done earlier!". by Sri T N C R. Thanks, True to a limited extent. I doubt whether they live "purposeful and happy life" . Purposeful may be, spending time on Satsang, with grand kids etc. BUT Happy? I doubt. Our society still treats them as " Amangalis" and they are not allowed, (if at all, tolerated, where their money and influence are needed) to participate in certain functions even in weddings. A rich widow may command genuine and put up affection and respect but others may not. I don't mean to sound cynical but this is my opinion and others have their right to differ. There was this famous song in a film - Decades Back which says " Panam Irundal Podumada Olikile Aiyya, Pasam Enna Nesam Enna Manadhile" So a rich widow will be sought after for her money, position in society, and influence. N Sekar On Friday, April 3, 2026 at 04:08:35 AM GMT+4, APS Mani <[email protected]> wrote: A great observation, Justice Sir Mani On Thu, Apr 2, 2026 at 7:05 PM Rangarajan T.N.C. <[email protected]> wrote: On the other hand women used to pray for leaving as sumangali as life dependant on others maybe unbearable. But nowadays upper middle class ladies are financially independent and live a purposeful and happy life in widowhood enjoying what could not be done earlier! On Wednesday, 1 April 2026 at 04:33:52 pm IST, Chittanandam V R < [email protected]> wrote: A friend of mine lost his wife. Two years later I happened to meet him. I asked him how his life was after the demise of his wife. His reply was very much telling. He said, "The most agonising punishment a woman can inflict upon her husband is to predecease him'. Chittanandam On Wed, Apr 1, 2026 at 11:00 AM N Sekar <[email protected]> wrote: " Puts me to think how important a life partner is! Thanks a ton, sad but felt deeply about life", Mani. Very well said Mani Sir. Reflects my thinking also. I have seen in many Sr Citizens Homes (affluent ones like Nana Nani in Coimbatore) how the people there can be broadly categorized into: 1. Couples 2. Widows 3. Widowers While the couples seem to be the happiest, the single ladies somehow keep themselves occupied (doing sevas at the temples inside these gated communities, group singing, teaching Bhajans and music to those interested, generally moving freely with fellow single ladies etc.). But the most pitiable lot seems to be the widowers, by and large. They find it difficult (with a few exceptions) to mingle freely and some of them have gone into depression when they lose their life long partner. It is generally more difficult for them to live their lives, than the single ladies. Like you said, we realize how invaluable our partner is only when we see these people, loneliness literally kills them, in some cases. I have seen some of them reacting very angrily at the slightest (perceived) provocation, although they may not mean what they say - their inner sadness gives rise to various forms of expressions. Those of us who are fortunate to have our partners with us in our sunset years, must count ourselves very fortunate. Avvai patti has said this when she wrote "Kodithu Kodithu Elamayil Varumai (cruel to be poor when young) Kodithu Kodithu Mudumayil Thanimai (cruel is being lonely when old)" Who can put it better? N Sekar On Wednesday, April 1, 2026 at 03:42:59 AM GMT+4, APS Mani <[email protected]> wrote: Sekar Sir, touched by the reproduction. Wish no one of my age undergoes such loneliness. Puts me to think how important a life partner is! Thanks a ton, sad but felt deeply about life, Mani On Tue, Mar 31, 2026 at 8:18 PM Suryanarayana Ambadipudi < [email protected]> wrote: 🙏👏👏 *A.SURYANARAYANA* *The less you speak,the more you are listened to* On Tue, 31 Mar 2026 at 6:59 PM, N Sekar <[email protected]> wrote: Here is a senty story... Lovely post - I just couldn’t control my emotions🥲 How does a widower spend his time. He Ordered the Cheapest Coffee Every Day and Sat for Three Hours — (When He Stopped Coming, His Daughter came.) I run a small café on the corner of Maple and Third. It’s not fancy. Just a few wooden tables, warm lighting, and the kind of place where regulars feel like family. That’s why I noticed him the first day he walked in. He was older — maybe late seventies. His coat was worn at the sleeves, his shoes scuffed. He walked slowly but with dignity. He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu: a small black coffee. Then he sat at the table near the window. For three hours. He didn’t scroll on a phone. Didn’t read a book. He just sat there, occasionally watching people pass by outside. The second day, he came again. Same coffee. Same table. Same three hours. By the end of the week, some customers began whispering. “He’s taking up space.” “If he’s only buying coffee, he shouldn’t sit that long.” “Is he homeless?” But something about him didn’t feel intrusive. He always said thank you. Always cleaned his table before leaving. Always left a few coins as a tip — even when I could tell that coffee was probably stretching his budget. So I let him stay. One afternoon, when I brought his coffee, I added an extra slice of bread. He looked up at me. “I didn’t order this,” he said gently. “It’s on the house,” I replied. He hesitated — then nodded. “Thank you.” The next week, I added a small bowl of soup. Then sometimes dessert. He never asked for anything more than that coffee. He never complained. He just sat quietly, like the café was the only place he felt safe. Over time, I learned his name was Walter. His wife had passed two years earlier. “I don’t like the house when it’s quiet,” he once told me. “Here, there’s life.” That sentence stayed with me. He wasn’t coming for food. He was coming for noise. For warmth. For the feeling of not being alone. Then one day, he didn’t show up. I told myself maybe he was sick. The next day, still nothing. A week passed. Then two. I caught myself glancing at the door every afternoon at exactly 2:15 p.m. — the time he always walked in. A month later, a woman about my age entered the café. She looked around like she was searching for something. “Are you the owner?” she asked. I nodded. “My father used to come here. Walter.” My stomach dropped. “He hasn’t been in for a while,” I said quietly. She smiled sadly. “He passed away last month.” The words hit harder than I expected. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “He talked about this place constantly,” she continued. “He called it his ‘second living room.’” She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. “He left this for you.” My hands trembled slightly as I opened it. Inside was a handwritten letter. It read: To the kind café owner, You may not realize this, but you gave me more than coffee. After my wife died, the days became very long. I didn’t want to burden my daughter. I didn’t want her to see how lonely I was. Your café gave me something to wake up for. The extra bread, the soup — I knew it wasn’t random. You saw me. At my age, that matters more than anything. Thank you for letting an old man take up space. — Walter There was also a small check. Not a huge amount, but more than he had ever spent in my café. “For the kindness fund,” his daughter said softly. “He wanted you to use it to help someone else who might need a place to sit.” I had to turn away for a moment to steady myself. After she left, I walked to the window table — his table. The chair was empty. But it didn’t feel empty. The next week, I put up a small sign near that window: “If you need a warm place to sit, you’re welcome here.” No minimum purchase required. Since then, a few people have taken that seat. A college student studying between jobs. A widow who brings knitting. A man who just needed quiet. And every time I bring them coffee — sometimes with a little extra bread — I think of Walter. He came in every day and ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. Some people thought he was taking up space. But he taught me something simple and powerful: Sometimes the most valuable thing you can give someone isn’t food. It’s permission to not feel alone. And sometimes, the quietest customers leave the loudest impact. *********** Yahoo Mail: Search, Organize, Conquer <https://mail.onelink.me/107872968?pid=nativeplacement&c=US_Acquisition_YMktg_315_SearchOrgConquer_EmailSignature&af_sub1=Acquisition&af_sub2=US_YMktg&af_sub3=&af_sub4=100002039&af_sub5=C01_Email_Static_&af_ios_store_cpp=0c38e4b0-a27e-40f9-a211-f4e2de32ab91&af_android_url=https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.yahoo.mobile.client.android.mail&listing=search_organize_conquer> -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Thatha_Patty" group. To unsubscribe from this group and stop receiving emails from it, send an email to [email protected]. To view this discussion visit https://groups.google.com/d/msgid/thatha_patty/CABC81ZdKF5y13UnDm4KQpaxvMUwCKhqb4oo7j4maKoJuzz%3D%3DYA%40mail.gmail.com.
