He was busy counting money and wouldn't even look up. I was losing my patience and started tapping my feet. The girl in front of me stood motionless, it didn't matter to her how long the process was taking. Probably she didn't care for her time, I think.

My gaze went back to the man and his grey hair. There were a few strands of black, as if in competition with the all-black crop on my head with a few strands of grey. I think he coughed a bit. His hands were all wrinkly and they had turned a bit dark. Is it with all old people or only the ones I know and meet? All old people have dark skin - too much sun bathing i think.

He reminded me of my grandmother, he clearly looked as old as her. My grandmother is 79 and has 16 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren and a Lhasa Apso named Brownie.

How many kids does he have? Does he have any grandchildren? And why he is working? Shouldn't he be home, enjoying the comforts that he must have worked all his life to collect/gather/work towards?

He was wearing what looked like a scruffy grey sweater, grey/brown pants (I couldn't see his shoes behind the counter) and an old white shirt underneath. Often when we look at old people and especially those whom we see working, we feel sad for them. I don't know why but we do. But of course we never stop to chat with them, ask them things, just keep them company.

So I felt sad for this old man, working away even at such an age. But it never struck me that may be, just may be, he wants to work. He wants to be there at work, following his daily ritual of getting up at 7 every morning, brushing and getting ready, just so that he feels relevant, feels like he isn't redundant now, feels like he still has it in him to do things, to make sense of things or just to know that he's living. It never struck me.

My mother once called me and said, "Your grandmother screamed at me today saying 'you don't let me work." We both laughed over it and forgot the episode.

My grandmother (my father's mother) has worked hard all her life. She bore seven children, her husband died very young, so she had to take care of all her kids by herself. The god of money also didn't cosy up to her very much, it was a difficult life. But that under 5-foot woman is so strong that till recently, she was around 76/77-years-old, she lived on her own. Only a couple of years ago she decided to throw in the towel and stay with one of her sons (my dad).

Having my grandmother living with us is great. We get to hear stories we never knew, about how I made my father give up smoking when i was little, telling him he was a bad person because he smoked (My eyes filled with tears somehow when she told me this), how I used to declare i will write till "one thousand" (i don't know what) but give up after one line. But I see her feeling desperate sometimes and it isn't a good feeling.

I think it was one of those frustrating days when she screamed at my mother, telling her to shut up and let her cook. So now my grandmother cooks regularly, she even sends me my favourite karela whenever my folks come to meet me.

I think this is my grandmother's way of staying relevant, staying in control, just like the old man in the bank.