August -2025
The decision to relocate to the UK for professional reasons was far from an easy one. It came with a profound emotional cost—being separated from close family, missing treasured festivals like Durga Puja and Diwali, absent during weddings, reunions, and countless moments that define the texture of life back home.
What has weighed most heavily on me, however, is the deep, often inescapable guilt of not being physically present for my mother ,masi and mother in law during their moments of crisis. Every choice we make carries consequences—some borne by us, others by those we leave behind.
And yet, amid this emotional turbulence, I’ve watched, with quiet gratitude, as cousins, neighbors, and even household help stepped forward—bridging gaps, easing burdens, and making our absence less painful for those we love. My deepest thanks go to KalyanDa, whose silent contributions bring comfort and stability to those around him and the entire family. I am fortunate to be surrounded by first cousins whose encouragement and quiet strength illuminate my path...
In moments of introspection, I pondered the alternatives:
What if I had remained in India? What if I had relinquished my passion for integrating business with technology at the client interface, and instead confined myself to backend roles?
Yes, perhaps I would have been physically present with my mother, masi, and mother-in-law during their difficult times. But with the operational pressures of supporting global clients across time zones, I doubt I would have achieved any semblance of work-life balance. The demands of professional obligations, compounded by domestic responsibilities, would have inevitably taken their toll.
So I made a deliberate and conscious choice—to prioritise quality over quantity.
I still recall 2018, when my father was with us. So many travel plans were deferred, citing urgent dependencies and shifting dynamics. Now, with the awareness that my visits to India are time-bound, I make a sincere effort to be intentional with my time:
Completely disconnecting from work during a 4+ week leave.
Resolving long-pending formalities for the elders, including banking and health check-ups.
Indulging freely in food and laughter with loved ones.
Embarking on a four-day getaway with my cousins—my constant pillars of strength.
Cherishing time with the next generation—watching Momo (our precious send generation) grow, knowing these brief intervals of connection will help my son Tintin nurture bonds and find strength in relationships, much like I did in my childhood.
These efforts to cultivate relationships are deliberate. What Tintin and his cousins will choose to do with them is beyond my control—but I know we (our generations) have made a concious effort.
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Another memorable moment was a three-day trip with my mother and masi, during which they reunited with their childhood friends. Seeing them relive their school days was deeply moving. The affection and pampering from Gayatri masi and Shubhra masi reminded me of my late BaroMa. I was struck by the resilience and depth of friendships from my parents' generation—many of which have endured five or six decades.
I also had the privilege of meeting my mother’s former teachers—Purnima Di and Shila Di. In today's fast-paced world, it’s rare to witness such enduring bonds between educators and their for
mer students. The sense of mutual respect and affection was truly humbling.
And then came a moment I will never forget.
During a visit to the Bar Council building in Sreerampore—where my maternal grandfather once served as a magistrate—we stopped to take a photo. What I did not expect was to find his photograph proudly displayed there. With special permission, I entered the bar hall, where a few junior members graciously spoke of his legacy. They even mentioned efforts underway to restore his published works.
In the corporate world, where most of us are forgotten within weeks or months after leaving a role, it gave me goosebumps to realise that my Dadu’s contributions are still remembered and respected—more than five decades after his passing. I felt a surge of pride in being his granddaughter. Simultaneously, I felt regret—for having lived in India for so long without ever making a conscious effort to explore this part of my heritage.
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Now, with limited time and opportunity to spend in India, I feel determined to rediscover these roots. And for the first time in four years, I am not consumed by guilt or sorrow. Instead, I feel a quiet satisfaction.
Because yes—quality does matter more than quantity. And perhaps even more than either, what truly matters are intentionality, presence, and the effort we put into our relationships.
I’m certain many of my fellow friends who stays abraod for work carry similar emotional burdens—the ache of absence, the guilt of missed milestones, the internal tug-of-war between ambition and belonging.
This reflection is written from my lens, and I understand others may see it differently. But if you’ve made it this far—thank you for bearing witness to this journey.
“In the end, it isn’t distance that defines us, but the intention we bring to the bonds we keep alive.”
