Behind the smiling DP and forwarded good morning messages… lies a silent longing.

I recently spent a day in Mumbai with an elderly couple I’ve known for over two decades – both now in their 70s.

We go back a long way – to the time when aunty chose to sit behind me (when no one else agreed) on the Activa when I had just learned how to ride – she didn’t worry that I might stumble; she did it just to build my confidence.

When I arrived this time, aunty was nursing a leg issue, but her friends were there to cheer her up – playing housie, chatting, and sharing stories.

I joined in, and quietly watched their world unfold.

They spoke often about their children – some in India, some abroad.
They shared their grandkids’ photos like little treasures.
They remembered every tiny detail – who likes what in food, what words grandchild speaks.
They blessed the q-commerce delivery boys who show up when their own bodies feel too tired to move.
They scroll through YouTube, watch reels, and eagerly wait for family updates on whatsApp.

Yes, technology has made life easier…
But not fuller.

Because even with all the apps and delivery services, what they truly long for is presence.

To hear their child’s voice in the next room.
To hug their grandchild without a screen in between.
To be needed, not just notified.

Before leaving, One of Aunty’s friends asked me who I was.
I smiled and said, “Her tenant’s daughter.”
There was a pause – and then, a flood of emotion.
She held my hand, and blessed me…

And even after I left, Uncle kept checking –
“Have you reached?”
“Got the cab?”
“Text when you land.”

In a world that rarely slows down, their gentle care felt like raindrops on the face – soft, steady, full of love.

If you have someone in your life who’s in their 70s – call them. Visit them. Sit with them.
Because WhatsApp may keep them connected. But only you can make them feel seen.