From the out­side, 71-year-old Rishi 's hum­ble home looks di­lap­i­dat­ed but fair­ly hab­it­able. On the in­side, it tells a sad and grim pic­ture of the hard­ships Padil­la faces dai­ly as a se­nior cit­i­zen and bach­e­lor.

Padil­la’s two-bed­room wood­en struc­ture sit­u­at­ed on the bustling Moru­ga Road has nev­er had pipe-borne wa­ter nor elec­tric­i­ty, while the con­di­tions un­der which he lives have been un­san­i­tary.

In­stead of en­joy­ing his twi­light years re­lax­ing, Padil­la has been fight­ing the odds at his home, which is falling apart due to old age and ter­mite in­fes­ta­tion.

It was dif­fi­cult to ig­nore gap­ing holes in the floor­ing of his kitchen which Padil­la tip­toes over to do his dai­ly cook­ing. A ter­mite in­fes­ta­tion has al­so left huge spaces in the weath­er-beat­en walls of his home.

Perched on a slop­ing piece of land be­hind the pen­sion­er’s crum­bling prop­er­ty is a crude­ly built out­house.

Af­fec­tion­ate­ly called "Tony" in the rur­al com­mu­ni­ty where he lives, Padil­la could not re­mem­ber when his home was con­struct­ed but re­called the year in which his wife left him—1999.

"This house prob­a­bly old as I am. It has some good age," Padil­la said.

Padil­la re­lies sole­ly on a small kerosene lamp to il­lu­mi­nate his home at nights.

In three drums out­side, Padil­la col­lects rain­wa­ter to bathe, cook and wash his clothes.

In a cor­ner of his con­gest­ed bed­room was a huge pile of dirty clothes.

The sec­ond bed­room is oc­cu­pied by one of Padil­la’ sons who is un­em­ployed.

In his kitchen, sev­er­al un­washed pots, pans and plates were stacked on a ta­ble.

"I didn't wash the dirty wares be­cause my wa­ter lev­el re­al­ly low. I just have half a bar­rel out­side and I have to use that to bathe. As soon as the rain comes and I col­lect some more wa­ter I would tidy up," Padil­la said.

On his two-burn­er gas stove, Padil­la had just whipped up his favourite meal of rice and corned beef which he de­scribed as "horner man food."

Rest­ing on his sheet less mat­tress was a copy of the Holy Bible which he reads night­ly.

"My Bible is my on­ly hope and so­lace...it gives me courage," said Padil­la.

Padil­la did not seem per­turbed by the un­healthy con­di­tions of his home un­til it was drawn to his at­ten­tion.

"The house is in a mess. I get used to it. It re­al­ly does not both­er me but I know I should not be liv­ing like this," he ad­mit­ted.

Padil­la, a fa­ther of four, said his life has been no bed of ros­es.

"I know what is hard work. Every day I would go to the plan­ta­tion to work as a labour­er. It's a job I still take se­ri­ous­ly. I feel if I give up the work I would die. I have been do­ing this for years, it’s in my blood," Padil­la said.

The lit­tle salary and pen­sion Padil­la col­lects pay his bills and put food on the ta­ble.

His chil­dren, he said, have their own fam­i­lies to take care of.

"No mat­ter how hard I try I can't save to re­pair my house which is in ru­ins. If I get lum­ber to patch up the house, I would take it. Any help would be ap­pre­ci­at­ed. Peo­ple in the com­mu­ni­ty can't help be­cause they too need help. So, we are all in the same boat," Padil­la laughed.

As vil­lagers drove and walked past Padil­la's home, they called out to him un­aware of his plight.

With a broad smile, Padil­la waved back, as he con­tin­ued to suf­fer in si­lence.