At the End, Life is About Letting Go

December 8, 2025

Irrfan Khan once said, “At the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go.” Over the past few weeks, I have realized how true this is. Moving from Surat to Pune has not just been a change in address—it has been a journey of learning to part with places, people, and even versions of myself.

It began with something as simple as packing. At first, I thought I was just folding clothes and arranging books, but soon I realized I was folding memories. That one t-shirt carried the laughter of my school days, the corners of my room held years of conversations and secrets. Packing became symbolic: it wasn’t just about putting things away, but about preparing to detach from a life that had shaped me.

That sense of detachment deepened when I said goodbye to friends and seniors. Our last meetups were filled with laughter, nostalgia, and countless photos. One group of friends surprised me with a Souled Store t-shirt ( my favorite brand )along with my favourite cake and a bouquet. Another group insisted we roam till 1 a.m., even though I had a 4 a.m. train the same night. That’s how it felt everyone squeezing joy into those last hours,vibing onto that one chapri song and laughing out all the blunders we did in past years. But when a friend asked, “Tu wapas kab aayegi?” It struck me how moments are never truly repeatable. We may meet again, but not as the same people we were in those exact moments. That realization made the farewell bittersweet—it showed me how fleeting and precious time really is. 

Yet, nothing compared to the silence of leaving my parents behind. My mother’s smile, hiding her tears, and my father’s wordless gaze stayed with me long after I left Surat. In that instant, I wasn’t just leaving a house; I was stepping away from the comfort and security that had always anchored me. 

Before Pune, however, there was a pause in Mumbai with my relatives. Those days with my one-year-old nephew felt like sunshine. He has identified me and my touch since the day he was born. He kisses me, bites me, slaps me all within one minute and I let him, because he is the only boy I’d ever allow to do all that. At night, I’d sit on the bed beside him, and the way he rolled over in his sleep to cuddle me felt like love in its purest form. Whenever I picked him up, he would say “Baar” his way of demanding I take him out. Sometimes, I wished I could just keep him with me forever. But of course, goodbyes followed me here too. Watching him cry as I left reminded me that some farewells hurt not because you won’t meet again, but because you’ll miss the small, everyday changes in someone’s life. 

In the middle of this, there was another goodbye that stung quietly. My elder cousin brother (my nephew’s father) was away on rig duty while I was leaving. He had once promised me he would drop me to Pune himself, and I found myself waiting and wishing he could. When he couldn’t make it, I felt his absence deeply as I got into the car. But just then, his heartfelt message arrived a paragraph full of love and belief in In that moment, I realized that distance doesn’t always mean absence.

Sometimes, love finds its way even when the person isn’t physically there. Still, I wasn’t alone. My other brother drove me down to Pune by road, and those hours were filled with conversations, laughter, and the comfort of being with someone who made the transition easier. 

By the time I arrived in Pune, the contrast was overwhelming. The city’s crowded streets, long travels, and the challenge of starting a new routine made me question whether I was ready for this. But then I remembered my years in table tennis, the discipline, the setbacks, and the quiet resilience I had built through sport. It felt as though life had been preparing me all along for this moment of starting over. 

Still, the hardest adjustment was not outside but inside the silence of my new room. Back home, there was always background noise: my mother in the kitchen, my father with the news, familiar sounds drifting in from outside. Here, silence was absolute. At first, it felt unbearable, but slowly I learned it carried its own lessons. 

Through all of this, I realized that letting go is not only about losing it is also about making space for what comes next. Every goodbye, every moment of emptiness, and even the quiet stretches of loneliness create room for growth. Letting go may hurt, but it shapes us into who we are meant to become. 

So yes, at the end of it all, life truly is an act of letting go. We let go of places, of people, and of past versions of ourselves. And while each farewell carries pain, it also carries hope that every ending is quietly the beginning of something new.

Arnee Parmar

Delivering results and the occasional dry jokes

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