Women in Old Delhi pass the time on a rope bed, called a charpoi. When elderly, they may spend most of the day outside, and even die there on the street.
Excerpt from In The Land Of Shiva:
I never knew her name. She was simply “the old lady at the corner,” and she appeared so timeless I thought she could never die.
Every day on my way back from Hindi class or shopping, I would see her under the shade trees where the road in the neighborhood made a sharp bend. She spent her time beneath those trees on her charpoi, a rope cot. Her furrowed face and cloudy eyes always turned toward me as I passed, gazing at me more directly than would have been appropriate for a younger Indian woman.
I can’t recall ever seeing her stand or walk. Perhaps she couldn’t by then. But she always had her hookah nearby and smoked frequently.
As I passed her she would greet me with a light touch to her forehead and a throaty “salaam,” which I returned. A fleeting smile would cross her face, then fade. I didn’t try to speak more with her. There seemed to be too much distance. Yet, she looked steadily at me, and I sensed that she was comfortable with me—and also, curious.