Tucked between the yellowed pages of my old novel, I found a dry Peepal leaf—fragile, intricate, miraculously intact, yet beautifully veined with memories. As I held it between my fingers, a strange nostalgia washed over me. Where had this leaf come from? When had I placed it there? I realized how closely its journey mirrored our own. Just like this leaf, we begin as a part of something greater—a family, a community, a country, a belief system. We flourish in the shelter of our roots, absorbing wisdom, growing through experiences, and swaying with the winds of life.
But then, as time passes, we are called to detach. Not because we are abandoned, but because life demands movement. The leaf did not resist its fall; it surrendered to the breeze, knowing that its purpose extended beyond the tree. Similarly, we, too, must embrace transitions—shedding old versions of ourselves, stepping into the unknown, and trusting the process.
And as a parent, this speaks even louder. Our children are like these leaves—rooted in us, growing under our care, but ultimately meant to let go, find their path, and write their own story. Our role is not to hold on tightly, but to nurture with love, offer shade when needed, and trust them to unfold in their own time.
Perhaps the leaf found itself pressed within my novel as a reminder. A reminder that no phase of life is wasted. Even in stillness, in moments where we feel forgotten or insignificant, we are still part of a larger story. The leaf was not merely dried and discarded; it became preserved, waiting to be rediscovered—just as the impact we have on our children, often subtle and silent, continues to shape them long after the moment has passed.
The leaf’s purpose was not just to cling to the tree but to witness, to shelter, to nourish, and eventually to transform. And isn’t that the purpose of parenthood too? To guide, to love, to create safe spaces, and then to gently release—so they can become who they were always meant to be.
As I gently placed the leaf back into the novel, I whispered a promise—to live and parent with the same grace, to embrace change, and to trust that even in the quiet chapters of life, my presence carries meaning. Because, like the leaf, we are all part of a greater story—waiting to be rediscovered in the hearts we’ve nurtured.
And maybe, just maybe, the beauty of life is not in how long we hold on—but in how gracefully we let go, and how deeply we leave our imprint, even when no one is looking!! 💖
