The 6:00 AM scene at the neighborhood park in Mayur Vihar had been the same for a decade. A circle of plastic chairs, a flask of tea, and a group of elderly parents sharing the specific, aching grief of the discarded. Their conversations usually followed a script of resignation: “My son is in the US. He calls once a month. He says he is busy.” “My daughter hired a nurse for me. She says she cannot deal with my coughing.” “They treat the house like a hotel. They come, they eat, they sleep, they leave. We are just the staff.” They were the Left-Behind Generation. They had spent their lives pouring water into their children, only to watch those children grow into trees that offered shade to everyone except the parents who planted them. But today, the script was broken.