Time Slips, Memories Stay

My parents developed white hair many decades ago. Their age has long been visible to me, not just in appearance but in the depth of their experience. I chose to stay with them, even when it meant some financial compromises and many quiet sacrifices. It meant adjusting my food habits to theirs, though at times I still rebel. It meant accepting their religious ways even when my thoughts wandered differently. It meant patience with money matters and with the slower pace of their days.

Yet through these compromises I discovered something greater. Parents hold a vast reservoir of experience. They have faced storms that I cannot imagine. Their guidance comes not as commands but as gentle reminders shaped by long endurance. When they speak, I hear the weight of lessons learned through hardship. Their way of seeing the world gives me strength. Their resilience becomes a mirror that steadies me when I falter.

And while they age, I also watch my children grow. They grow too fast. The years of small hands, innocent questions, and sleepy hugs feel as if they will soon belong to another life. Time is flying. I often feel as if I am trying to hold on to dry sand in my hand. It slips away no matter how tightly I close my fingers.

Parents and children move in opposite directions. One drifts toward dusk. The other toward dawn. Both slip away from my grasp in their own way. I stand in the middle, pulled by memory and by hope, holding what cannot be held.

When families come to spend time at our homestay and I sit with them, I often sense the same feelings stirring in their hearts. Parents speak of how quickly their children are growing, of how precious years seem to slip by unnoticed until they are gone. The young too share their own quiet worries about parents who are ageing, and the fear of not having enough time together.

Just last week a small child asked me a question that stayed with me. She wanted to know how long I expected to be with my own children. Her mother was not doing very well health-wise, and the weight of that worry showed in her innocent eyes. It was a painful question for one so young, and I found myself pondering it for many days after. My wish is simple. I want to be there for my children for as long as they need me, until they become strong and self-sufficient. And even after that, I want to be present so that I can savour whatever time remains, not as a duty but as a joy. To ensure this, I have further understood that I have to focus on my health too, something that I had long neglected. Neglected, while earning my livelihood and spending some of my free time with friends.

Sometimes, when I am away from my family, what comforts me most is not even their physical presence. It is the quiet knowledge that they are there, living their lives, existing in the same world as me. That awareness alone is enough to steady the heart.

What fills me with joy is the simple truth that I am here, sharing life with my parents and my children. Each meal together, each story told, each laugh that echoes in the room is a reminder that time is not only slipping away, it is also giving itself to us in the present. There is beauty in knowing that love stretches across generations, that guidance flows down and innocence flows up, and I am standing in the middle, receiving both. Even with its fleeting nature, this dance of time is a gift, and I feel grateful to be part of it.

Simple things like having meals together, discussing ideas and what’s happening around with parents, buying groceries together, fun-filled fighting with kids for the prime space to lie down, or even at times just lounging around when everyone is home is quality time. These moments will not be there forever.

It is in this way of life that I learn the meaning of presence. Compromise then becomes more than sacrifice. It becomes a wisdom. It teaches that control is an illusion. We cannot freeze time. We cannot shape others to our image. We can only walk beside them. We can only give ourselves fully to the moment before it passes. This is not loss. This is life. To be alive is to hold sand, knowing it will slip away, yet still to hold it gently. To sit with parents as they age. To listen to children as they grow. To remember that the value of time lies not in its length but in our presence within it.

Perhaps this is the true gift. I see it everywhere, from Buddhist Mandalas to Hindus’ Ganesh Visarjan. Not permanence but the trace left behind. The warmth of a hand once held. The echo of laughter shared. The calm strength of parents who endured. The fleeting innocence of children who ran ahead. To live well is to live in the moment, and be thankful for the family and friends we have around us. To let love flow across generations. And to trust that even as time slips away, what remains is the imprint of how deeply we chose to be here.

Living a slow life, while contemplating on these lines, makes me feel thankful for what I have. Even though time cannot be stopped, it can be savoured. And when I choose to see joy in the fleeting, I find myself lighter. The smiles of loved ones stay with me. The kindness shared lingers. The bonds of family endure far longer than the minutes on a clock.

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