When I say dependent, of course, I mean on us. Ravi is 72 now and I am 60. The circle of life has not passed us by either. We are old parents to be caring for a helpless young one. Moy Moy, though not heavy by any normal standard, still weighs 100 pounds. Though the physiotherapists gasp in horror and scold us urgently, real life is seldom convenient. Her diaper needs to be changed and no one else is around.
We never expected, Ravi and I, the kind of retirement many of our friends enjoy.
We did expect to be able to relax at the end of the day. To read a book, watch a film or simply sit together and chat. And while we do manage to do those things, there is always a sense that we are neglecting Moy Moy; that she is bored, not stimulated enough, missing out on life.
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