By Praveen Chandhok
There is a moment—fragile and fleeting—when we realise that something we’ve always taken for granted is slipping through our fingers. It could be a person, a place, a phase of life, or a love so constant that we never questioned its presence. And then, in the blink of an eye, it’s gone, leaving behind an emptiness we never prepared for.
We live as though the people we love, the life we know, and the warmth we cherish will always be there. We move through our days believing we have more time—more days to call our parents, more moments to spend with a dear friend, more opportunities to tell someone how much they mean to us. We assume we can always turn around and find them waiting, unchanged. But time is not that kind. It is a quiet thief, gently stealing away what we do not hold close enough.
Imagine walking out of a house you’ve lived in for years, closing the door behind you, not realising it will be the last time. Imagine holding someone’s hand absentmindedly, unaware that you will never hold it again. Imagine hanging up on a phone call, assuming you can always dial back, only to find that voice lost forever.
It is in these moments—when the realisation of loss dawns—that the weight of unspoken words becomes unbearable. The ‘I love you’ left unsaid. The apologies never made. The gratitude we assumed was understood but never truly expressed. The simplest gestures that could have meant everything, if only we had known they were the last.
Loss does not always arrive as a storm; sometimes, it comes as a slow sunset, fading so gently that we don’t notice until darkness has set in. We fail to see the significance of what is before us because we are too caught up in the endless race of ‘later’—until later is no longer an option.
It is the love of a parent that we only truly appreciate when their absence turns a house into an echo. The friend we always thought we’d have time for, until silence stretches between us, vast and unbridgeable. The moments of laughter, of comfort, of quiet companionship that seemed so ordinary until we long for them with an ache so deep it feels like drowning.
If only we could learn to see with the eyes of loss before it arrives—to cherish now as if it were slipping away. To look at the people in our lives as if it were the last time. To hold hands a little longer, to say what needs to be said, to savour even the smallest, most mundane joys with the reverence they deserve.
Love should not be something we realise too late. It should not be an afterthought, a regret, a longing we cannot undo. It should be spoken, shown, lived—while it is still ours to hold.
Because sometimes, we don’t know how to appreciate what’s in front of us until we are about to lose it. But sometimes, if we are lucky, if we are wise, we learn in time. And we hold on just a little tighter.
(Praveen Chandhok is former President (2021-2023, 2015-2017) SJA Alumni Association, Dehradun)
