At Punjab National Bank, the air conditioning hummed loudly, offering a stark contrast to the heat outside. Lakshmi sat across from the clerk, her posture straight, her expression calm. She withdrew every rupee from her old account and transferred the full amount into a new one under her sole control. The clerk glanced at the figures twice, eyebrows lifting slightly, but said nothing.
Next, she traveled to Hauz Khas. Shanti Niketan Old Age Home stood behind tall gates, shaded by trees that whispered softly in the breeze. The building was clean, quiet, dignified. Lakshmi walked through the corridors, listened to the administrator explain the terms, asked careful questions. She signed the papers with a steady hand and paid in advance for ten full years. A premium room. A private caregiver.
Finally, as the day stretched toward evening, she visited a reputable notary office. The room smelled faintly of ink and old paper. Two witnesses sat quietly as Lakshmi dictated her wishes. The document was prepared in both Hindi and English, each word deliberate, precise.
After my passing, all remaining assets shall be donated to Helping Hands Society, an organization that supports abandoned elderly women. No portion of my property shall be given to any child who rejected me, mistreated me, or abandoned me during my lifetime.
When she signed her name at the bottom, Lakshmi felt a weight lift from her chest.
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