When love turns away
They came quietly — a middle-aged man, his wife, and an old woman walking with measured steps. At the gate of an old-age home, a reporter stopped them.
The mother spoke first:
“They are forcing me to live here,” she said, voice trembling between pain and dignity. “I have my own home. I want to stay there with my son and daughter-in-law. I want to hold my grandchild in my lap before I die.”
The daughter-in-law cut in, calm and firm: “My husband must choose — either his mother stays here, or I leave for my parents’ home.”
The son concluded, “I will pay for all her expenses here. That way both sides can live peacefully.”
The old woman folded her hands. “Please let me go home. I will not trouble them.”
A Kashmiri proverb came to mind:
“Yous mei ruchum, tuss neish rachtsam Khudā yo.”
O God, protect me from the one whom I protected all my life.
The natural flow of love
Sheikh Nūr-ud-Dīn Noorani (RA) once said:
“Yeas bae zāas, taes bae toouth; yous mei zāw, suie mei toouth.”
I am beloved of my parents; my children are beloved to me.
Love flows downward by nature — from parent to child — but its return demands moral courage. When that current stops, civilization itself begins to chill.
The sacred duty of care
Every great faith teaches that respect for parents is not charity — it is duty.
The Qur’an commands:
“Worship none but God, and show kindness to your parents... speak to them with gentle words.” (17:23–24)
The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said:
“Paradise lies beneath the feet of mothers,” and “He is not of us who shows no mercy to our young and no respect to our elders.”
The Hindu Upanishads advise: “Mātṛ-devo bhava, Pitṛ-devo bhava” — Let your mother and father be as gods to you.
The Guru Granth Sahib proclaims: “Serve your mother and father — such service is the highest service.”
The Bible teaches: “Honor your father and your mother.” (Exodus 20:12)
The Buddhist Sigālovāda Sutta lists care for parents among the noblest obligations: feeding them, protecting them, and preserving their good name.
Different scriptures, one voice — a voice that now seems to fade under the hum of our new gadgets and gated lives.
From home to hostel: a moral crisis
Our society, once built on interdependence, now outsources affection. The old are turned into “cases” for homes, institutions, or NGOs. We decorate these spaces with words like “care” and “facility,” but behind those words lies abandonment with polish.
A nation where parents fear their children’s next decision is a nation hollowing from within. The progress we boast of — our roads, our degrees, our digital revolutions — will mean little if our homes lose warmth.
The law and the heart
The law already provides some protection: Section 144 of the Bhartiya Nagarik Suraksha Sanita, (BNSS) 2023 allows parents to claim maintenance, and the Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Act, 2007 recognizes their rights.
But law without love is like a verdict without justice. These statutes cannot refill an empty kitchen, nor erase the echo of a parent whispering, “Please take me home.”
Still, the law must do its part — and it can do more.
A new way forward
India needs a stronger framework where neglect, abuse, or forced eviction of elders from their homes is treated with the same gravity as domestic violence. The logic is simple: cruelty is cruelty, whether inflicted on a spouse, a child, or a parent.
A harmonized legal model — blending Section 144 BNSS with the procedural strength of the Domestic Violence Act (2005) — could allow parents to seek immediate protection orders, residence rights, and maintenance through fast-track tribunals.
Such reform would make compassion enforceable — a rare but necessary bridge between morality and law.
Beyond law — rebuilding conscience
Yet the deepest solution is not legal but human. No Act of Parliament can legislate love. The child who abandons his mother does not violate only a statute; he wounds the invisible moral contract that keeps families — and nations — alive.
Schools, religious institutions, and the media must reawaken this ethic. Teach the young that success without gratitude is failure in disguise. Let every mosque, mandir, gurudwara, and church remind us that serving parents is worship in its purest form.
A final plea
The old mother at the gate did not ask for money or comfort — only belonging. Her words should echo in every conscience: “I will not be a trouble; just let me go home.”
May we not wait until our own hair turns grey to understand her prayer.
Let us remember the proverb that haunts our times:
“Khudā yo, protect me from the one I protected.”
And may our generation earn, through small acts of care, the only legacy that truly matters — the blessing of our parents.
Farooq Ahmad Khan is an advocate at the Jammu and Kashmir High Court and writes on social ethics, faith, and public life.
