A Retired Postman's Journey Back Home

This touching narrative follows a retired postman, Manohar, who moves to Mumbai to live with his son after his wife's passing. However, he soon feels out of place in his son's modern home, leading him to make a life-changing decision. As he grapples with feelings of being sidelined, he ultimately chooses to return to his village, reaffirming his independence and connection to his roots. This story highlights the complexities of family relationships and the quest for personal dignity in old age.

By Narendra Chaudhary Apr 26, 2026, 02:22 IST

A New Chapter Begins

After the funeral of his wife and the thirteenth-day ceremony, retired postman Manohar moved from his village to the large house of his son Sunil in Mumbai. Sunil had invited him several times before, but his mother always insisted, “Why should I interfere in my son and daughter-in-law's life? I have spent my entire life here, and I intend to spend the rest of it here too.”

This time, however, there was no one to stop him, and the memories of his late wife were overshadowed by his son's affection.

Upon entering the house, Manohar hesitated. He was unsure about stepping onto the soft, plush mat. He remarked, “Son, will my dirty feet ruin this mat?”

Sunil smiled and reassured him, “Don’t worry about that, come and sit down.”

As soon as Manohar sat on the cushioned sofa, he panicked, exclaiming, “Oh no! I’m sinking!” The soft cushion had enveloped him.

Sunil then took him on a tour of the house, showing him the lobby for guests, the dining hall, the kitchen, the children's room, their bedroom, and even a guest room for visitors. There was even a room designated for pets.

He then led Manohar upstairs to show him the storage room, saying, “Dad, this is the junk room. Broken items are kept here.”

Inside, there was a folding cot with a bed made up, and Manohar noticed his bag placed nearby. He realized that his son had assigned him a space in the junk room.

Sitting on the cot, Manohar thought, “What kind of house is this, where there’s a room for a future pet but none for elderly parents? No… I am not junk yet. Sunil’s mother was right; I shouldn’t have come here.”

The next morning, when Sunil brought tea upstairs, he found the room empty. His father's bag was also missing.

He rushed downstairs to find the main gate wide open. Manohar had already boarded the early morning bus back to the village.

He pulled out the old house key from his kurta pocket, held it tightly in his fist, and smiled. The wind from the moving bus strengthened his resolve: “I will be my own support in old age, not my children.”