Forty-Five: The Season Between

 I am forty-five.

That sentence sits differently on my tongue these days.

Forty-five and on the brink of multiple beginnings disguised as endings.

For the first time since marriage, we will live in a home that is truly ours. Not rented. Not borrowed. Not temporary. Our walls. Our windows. Our light.

At the same time, I am preparing to loosen my grip on something I once held against my chest — my daughter, packing her life into suitcases and stepping into college corridors that do not echo with my voice.

And somewhere in the background, my body is changing too. Quiet hormonal shifts. Unannounced waves. A reminder that even within my skin, nothing is fixed.

A household of four becoming three — not abruptly, but rhythmically. Most days it will be three. Some days four. And eventually, perhaps two.

It is strange how the mathematics of family can feel so emotional.

There is a word people use — “empty nest.”
I don’t know if nests are ever empty. They hold feathers long after the birds leave.

But there is a spaciousness coming. A physical spaciousness. A quiet chair at the dining table. One less pair of shoes by the door. Fewer late-night kitchen sounds.

My teenage daughter thinks I do not connect with her. She thinks I will be happy when she leaves. Truth be told she does not know how I feel as I keep it to myself.

Sometimes I wonder if she sees my silence as indifference.

Sometimes I wonder if my silence is protection.

Because if I fully allow myself to feel what is coming, it feels… heavy. Not tragic. Not dramatic. Just heavy. Like carrying water in cupped hands, knowing it will slip through eventually.

When people ask me, “How do you feel about her moving out?”
I hear myself respond lightly. Practically. Almost cheerfully.

“She’ll be fine.”
“It’s time.”
“I’m excited for her.”

And in that moment, I realize I am gently deceiving myself.

Or perhaps I am postponing grief.

I tell myself I am living in the moment. That there is wisdom in not anticipating loss before it arrives.

But is it presence… or avoidance?

I don’t know.

I find myself thinking more about my mother these days.

When she was this age, she had already married me off. She stood at a threshold too. Did she sit in quiet rooms and feel the walls shift around her? Did she rehearse conversations she would no longer have daily? Did she swallow tears and call it strength?

How did she carry it with such grace?

And my father — what did this transition mean to him? Men rarely narrate these chapters aloud.

Perhaps every generation thinks they are the first to experience this particular ache.

As a writer, I am tempted to romanticize it. To call it a sacred transition. To speak of cycles and seasons and the poetry of impermanence.

And it is all of that.

But it is also laundry loads that grow smaller.
Groceries that last longer.
Silences that stretch.

Lately, I notice myself retreating more into quiet. Protecting my space. Engaging less in unnecessary conversation. Having long dialogues within myself — and strangely, with my mother.

There are days when silence feels like a room I willingly enter.
There are days when it feels like a room I am hiding in.

Is this common?
Is this what midlife does — invite you inward?

Maybe this is not emptiness.
Maybe it is expansion.

Maybe this is the season when the mother begins to meet the woman again.

I am not certain how to do this well.
I am not certain there is a “right” way to transition.

But I know this: something is shifting.

And instead of rushing to define it, I am choosing — at least for now — to sit with it.

To let the house grow quiet.
To let my daughter grow wings.
To let my body change its rhythms.
To let memory and anticipation coexist.

Forty-five feels less like a number and more like a doorway.

And I am standing in it — not fully stepping forward, not turning back — just standing, feeling the weight and the wonder of it all.

The Quiet Run Within

There comes a moment in life when the world’s noise finally quiets — not because it stops speaking, but because you stop listening.

And in that silence, something else begins to whisper — a voice you had long forgotten was yours.

From childhood, I carried a label — “You cannot run.”
It wasn’t cruel, just casual.
But those are the words that burrow deepest.
And so, through school and beyond, I stayed in my safe lanes — team events, relays, and track disciplines that never demanded a sprint. I excelled there, enough to earn medals and titles. But still, inside me, a quiet sentence sat untouched: You cannot run.

When I moved to the U.S., I began to meet myself again — not the version shaped by others’ expectations, but the one waiting beneath all those layers.
Every new experience peeled away something:
fear, hesitation, habit, and sometimes, even identity.
Like peeling an onion, the deeper I went, the more truth I found — tears included.

And somewhere in that journey, I began to run.
At forty-three, I started. Slowly, awkwardly, breathlessly.
At forty-four, I began to walk-run 5Ks.
And today, I ran a 12K — not as a runner in competition, but as a woman in conversation with her younger self.

This wasn’t a victory of distance.
It was a quiet rebellion against every label I had once accepted without question.
It was me telling myself: They cannot tell you who you are. You can.

When you stop listening to the outside voices,
you begin to hear your heartbeat sync with something truer.
You begin to understand that competition was never meant to be with the world — it was always meant to be with the self that said, I can’t.

I owe this awakening to three souls who hold me steady:

To my mother — whose absence created a void I now fill with purpose. Every mile I run feels like a conversation with her spirit. I run to honor her strength, to transform my solitude into gratitude.

To my husband — my constant, my quiet pillar. He walks and runs beside me, wordless yet unwavering, knowing when I need pace and when I need pause.

To my daughter — who has made me strong in ways she may never fully see. In loving her, I learned to love myself more fiercely, to model resilience not by perfection but by persistence.

Today, my father asked, half-worried and half-wondering,
“Why did you do this when you were unwell all week?”
I heard a concern laced with pride. Perhaps even he realized that this run was never about fitness; it was about listening.

When I crossed the finish line, I didn’t see the clock.
I saw my past self standing there — the one who had once believed she couldn’t — smiling quietly, stepping aside to let me through.

As Rumi said,

“The quieter you become, the more you are able to hear.”

I am learning to listen —
to the quiet voice that says, You can.
To the breath that reminds me, You are alive.
And to the rhythm of my feet that whispers,
You are becoming.

Microchimerism, in a poetic style

I was recently intrigued by reading about microchimerism. I started reading more out of curiosity about understanding fetal brain development during pregnancy, and landed on a much more intense concept of microchimerism. It is a two-way process, and the cells from the child have been found in the brain cells of the mother decades later, especially in the prefrontal cortex. Research says these cells positively impact reducing Alzheimer's and Dementia. 

About Microchimerism
Microchimerism is a phenomenon in which a small number of cells from one individual live within the body of another, most commonly observed between a mother and her child during pregnancy. These shared cells can remain for decades, silently residing in various organs, even the heart and brain. While science explores this as a biological curiosity, many see something more profound: a tangible connection that continues long after birth and beyond death. The following piece reflects on that connection—a poetic meditation on love, memory, and the quiet science of never truly being apart.

On one side, I wanted to continue to read more about this, but on the other side, this also woke up the poet in me to pen/type my emotions:

Cells of Her Love

They say that when I was inside her,
a piece of me took root in her —
tiny cells drifting like silent messengers,
nestling into the folds of her heart,
perhaps even finding their way to her mind.
Science calls it microchimerism.
But I call it something else —
a beginning of forever.

And now,
In this aching quiet after her passing,
I wonder if the reverse is true.
If her cells still live in me,
Not just in the way I look or speak,
But quietly, I turn outward,
thinking of others before myself —
a gesture that was always hers.

When I cook now, I feel her hands in mine.
The rhythm of stirring,
The grace of seasoning with love,
The silence in the steam —
She’s there.
Every recipe is a prayer,
Every aroma is a reunion.

She was my guide —
not just through life’s choices,
But through the murkier places:
Sorrow, grace, forgiveness.
And in losing her, I realized
I hadn’t just lost a mother.
I’d lost a companion of the soul,
a friend woven into my spirit.

But if her cells once carried my beginnings,
Perhaps mine now carries her continuation.
Perhaps, somewhere in my body,
She still whispers, still watches,
still stirs kindness into my actions,
and strength into my spine.

Microchimerism, they say.
But I believe in something deeper:
A biological poetry —
The science of never being truly alone.

She lives on —
not only in memory,
But in marrow, in mind,
In the small everyday gestures
where love makes itself known again.

Thanks to her, for getting me to write again.

Love Beyond Loss: A Mother's Presence in Every Moment

When someone we love leaves this world, the emptiness they leave behind is vast—a silence that stretches endlessly, a hollow space no time can fill. The world feels different as if the air itself has shifted, yet life moves forward, pulling us along even when we wish it would pause, just for a moment, to honor the weight of our grief.

I miss my mother in ways words can never hold. The absence of her voice, the warmth of her presence, and the simple comfort of knowing she was there are voids that nothing can replace. I search for her in the whisper of the wind, in the golden light of the morning sun, in the widespread white sheets of snow, and in the quiet moments when my heart aches for the softness of her love. But she is not lost to me. She lingers in the lessons she taught, in the love she poured into every corner of my soul.

Grief does not fade; it transforms. It becomes a quiet companion, a shadow that walks beside me, not to haunt me but to remind me of the depth of my love. I carry her with me in every laugh that echoes hers, in every phrase she once spoke, in how she called my name, and in the strength she instilled in me. She is there in the love I give, in the care I show, and in the life I continue to build.

She is not gone. She is woven into me, every breath, step, and moment I live. And though the ache of missing her never truly eases, I hold on to the love she left behind—a love so vast, so deep, that even death cannot take it away.

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until, at last, she hangs
like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, "There, she is gone!"

Gone where?
Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side,
and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
"There, she is gone!"
there are other eyes watching her coming
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout,
"Here she comes!"

— Henry Van Dyke

Her love has not disappeared. It has simply set sail, reaching a place beyond my sight but never beyond my heart.

Happy Mother's Day and a Big Hug to you, Amma!

 

This tells how much I miss you, the absence of a friend who will be by your side on difficult days. 

On this Mother's Day, as I reflect on the incredible journey of your life, my heart swells with gratitude and admiration for the sacrifices you've made. In the tumultuous landscape of life, you were a beacon of strength, courage, and unwavering love.

You bore the world's weight on your shoulders, and when I say this, it is not exaggerated but the truth as in your absence; all of us are scrambling to find an ear, let alone a shoulder. You sacrificed your dreams and desires to ensure the well-being of everyone in our family.

Through the sleepless nights and endless worries, you never faltered but brought the most unfortunate to visit you soon, thus tearing us apart.

Your determination was unwavering right from the word go, as you nurtured me as a premature baby in the 1980s when the medical facility was a far fetch, with a tenderness that knew no bounds. Your tireless work, both within and outside our home, was a testament to your boundless love and unwavering dedication.

Today, as I celebrate you, I am reminded of the countless moments you put our needs above your own, selflessly giving all you had without expecting anything in return. You are the epitome of maternal strength, and your legacy of love and many living lessons will forever be etched in the depths of my soul. I will put my best foot forward to make you proud and fulfill the responsibilities that you asked me to. Thank you is a small word and sometimes does not reflect the complete intent; I am eternally grateful to the Creator and the Universe for being born as your daughter and for being able to take the values that you stood for forward and beyond. Amma, for everything you have been and done and continue to guide me - Happy Mother's Day.

Your light, so warm, so bright, Guiding us through both day and night. Your love, a river unending, Though you've left, its flow is never bending.

In the garden of memories, you'll continuously bloom, A cherished presence, dispelling gloom. Your smile echoes in our hearts, A melody that never departs.

Your touch, gentle as a breeze, Leaves an imprint that never ceases. In every dawn and every dusk's embrace, Your spirit lingers, a comforting grace.

Though tears may fall like gentle rain, Your love within us forever reigns. In every smile, in every tear, we cry, Your memory lives on, soaring high.

Though you're gone from our earthly sight, Your love shines on a guiding light. In the tapestry of our lives, you're a cherished thread, Forever woven in the paths we tread.

Here's to you, our beacon in the dark, Though you've journeyed beyond, your mark Remains indelible, your love never wanes, In our hearts forever, your presence remains.

ART & SCIENCE - TWO SIDES OF THE COIN OF PARENTING!!!!

It’s been quite a while that I blogged. More than a year I guess. After I started my school and with a simultaneous shift in residence I should admit that I did not manage my time well enough to also pursue this passion of mine.

Post the ISB phase, I have started to spend time for myself with myself and am enjoying it. In this journey I have also rejuvenated my reading habit – thanks to the travel time in MTC. There are two wonderful books that I read recently – The SECRET by Rhonda Byrne and The ART OF RAISING CHILDREN by Sri.Sri. RaviShankar and both these books have brought in a sea change in me and my approach.

You will find below the points that I found interesting and relevant as an Almamater and as a Parent -

KNOW YOUR CHILD

Parenting is an art some times and a Science some times. There is no fixed solution to any situation that you face with your child. This may sound profound, but this is the truth. People will try to give you solutions / advise; but remember you are the architect and you know the nature of soil well than anybody else. Now, let us close our eyes and think for a moment - The newborn child is perfect at birth. He is born with the potential of self creation. The natural laws within the child guide this process. If this is true, why are we complaining and facing so called difficult situations every day with our child.

The Science Part of Parenting – Identifying the Problem and Analysis

As Dr. Montessori aptly puts, the early phase is the absorption phase and the child absorbs everything in the environment like a sponge. So, if you are at crossroad with your child sit back and think – where has the child absorbed this from ie. Which environment? Is it the Home Environment? If so, where should the correction happen?  Once we have identified the problem, the corrective measure should be very subtle. Children are smart to find out the difference between one’s natural self and artificially made up changes. The environment is completely responsible for a child’s normal development and growth. Deviation happens when the energy of the child is not utilised in the right direction. The environment and mostly adults, consciously or unconsciously are the cause for the child’s deviation. The child is working towards self construction between the age 0 - 3. If we do not provide an environment which offers the care and the protection he needs, in which he can find opportunities for interaction it becomes an obstacle to development. If the environment does not enable the child to become independent, if we do not understand that child is guided from within, we begin to be and place obstacles in the path of child’s natural development. Our lack of understanding of the child becomes a huge obstacle for the child’s physical and inner psychical growth. So, instead of pointing fingers at the child and getting exasperated it is imperative for us to look at our self and the environment.

The Art of Parenting – Psychology

The parents of today are well educated, well informed and want to give the best to their children. In the process and pursuit of giving the best to children parents somehow fail to remember that they were also kids at one time and that their kids will also be going through the same phase in any form and manner. They had emerged as responsible human beings only because of their parents’ understanding, love and support. Our first step is to start observing the tendencies and interests of the child.  Let us remember that parenting is a two way journey and we should at all stages be prepared to learn from the child. What do we want to learn from the child and what do you want the child to learn from you? But in this process, please do not force your image, vision and dreams on the child. Let the child’s natural energy flow seamlessly like a river sprawling over creativity, arts, science, etc.. Let us understand that every child is born with certain tendencies and basics which cannot be changed and let us not fight a futile battle trying to change it. The lesser we try to change, the better for the development of the child. Art is also about experience and the art of parenting is about giving more of opportunities and rich experiences to the child. Let the child feel abundance with different kind of experiences and exposure in the healthy side – it could be travelling by a train / bus, walking down the road holding the father’s hand and talking to him, shopping for vegetables with the mother, etc.

In all our anguish and anxiety let us ensure that our child is a Poor(may be monetarily) Rich Child(experience and knowledge) and vice versa which is neither good for the child nor for the society that we wish to leave for our child.

Architects of Future Monuments

I have been thinking about this for quite some time and I came across a wonderful article recently which only ascertained my thoughts.

"Institutions build professionals, but Parents are the Primary Architects in the development of character in Children".

Many a times, I tell myself that there is a pair of tiny eyes watching you always (not my conscience; but my daughter) and I need to be very careful as to what I am doing. This realisation did not hit me hard till a year ago. While I was driving her to the Music class, as always there was a most (in)disciplined motorist who drove past us and in all my frustration I yelled at him. Now this was completely absorbed by my daughter and later she yelled at another motorist in the similar fashion. Now, the reality that hit me really hard was - "Am I a role model for her worth emulating?" From then on I do everything possible to refine myself so that she carries forward good character and habits.

Now, coming to the topic - We (Parents) are the primary architects in the development of character in children. The only scripture that most children read is the life of their parents because they get to watch it from the closest proximity. The life of parents is the only Holy Book they will imbibe and the only Dharma they will follow. Sitting back and thinking, any new custom / practice that we come across our mind immediately races to the past and thinks how this custom or practice was done by our mother / grand mother. (This is because the camera in our mind has captured the complete episode in the past for future use)

It is indeed a huge responsibility, but then what you sow today you will reap tomorrow. It is a fine line as we need to refine ourself and not portray a pseudo model of one's self . A pseudo personality can be easily broken down and seen apart and these young minds are experts in it. The extraordinary citizens / people were developed in the cocoon of homes by responsible parents. We do hear many a times great people quote their parents' or grand parents' as their character seed. One good example is Mahatma Gandhi and his character. The primary architect of Gandhiji's character was his mother.Should we look at any other example to add to the topic?

I believe that a child need not be a topper for the child to be successful in life. Today we are witnessing the most biggest entrepreneurial revolution with opportunities in the most unexpected field- when people are faced with life's choices splitting into two roads - one, the easy and crowded and the other the tougher and less crowded, people take the less crowded and that makes all the difference.In every field people who lead are the people who have horizontal exposure with vertical expertise.People who usually make it to the top are those who develop themselves in Multiple Intelligence. Parental responsibility is to create more avenues of horizontal exposure to children which will help them to find their vertical expertise.

What I have inferred - Parenting is very much an art and we have to customise it according to the child's need. Children basically God's creation, have been entrusted in responsible hands (Parents)in the only trust that we will play our role diligently. This role / position of an architect is worth everything when we realise that we have an opportunity to parent a world - class citizen.