Parenting and the Quiet Art of Letting Go

Thirukkural with the Times explores real-world lessons from the classic Tamil text ‘Thirukkural’. Written by Tamil poet and philosopher Thiruvalluvar, the Kural consists of 1,330 short couplets of seven words each. This text is divided into three books with teachings on virtue, wealth, and love and is considered one of the great works ever on ethics and morality. The Kural has influenced scholars and leaders across social, political, and philosophical spheres.

Motivational speaker, author and diversity champion Bharathi Bhaskar explores the masterpiece.

A casual visit to a friend’s home can sometimes offer more than hospitality. On a recent work trip, an evening spent with an old colleague and his family brought unexpected joy. Laughter echoed through their home, the dining table buzzed with conversation, and the energy of their two young daughters brought the household alive with their constant chorus of “Amma, where’s my clip?” or “Can we please order dessert? I’ve stopped coughing!” Their world revolved around each other and was filled with warmth and unfiltered affection.

After I returned to my hotel, I felt a whisper of sorrow in my heart—not for what was missing, but for what had quietly faded. At one point in my life, my home too was filled with endless demands from my daughters. And then things slowly quietened. I can’t remember when I stopped plaiting their hair or when it changed from: “Can I please go?” to “I will be late today”.

Many parents will identify with this feeling. The realization doesn’t come as a blow, but as a slow unveiling; one day they reach for your hand, and the next, they gently let go. Not out of rejection, but out of readiness.

This shift is not failure. It is fulfilment. But it still aches.

We often speak of parenting as a journey of nurturing, protecting, and teaching. Rarely do we prepare ourselves for its most spiritual act: stepping back. The early years are intense. And then, slowly, the distance grows. The bond remains, but its texture changes. Less visible, more inward.

There is deep emotional fatigue in parenting—not just from the effort of raising child ren, but from accepting that the most beautiful chapters are often fleeting. The days of packing lunch boxes, helping with homework, and being the axis on which your child’s world revolves, pass quietly.

In such times, it helps to look for wisdom beyond our own. Kahlil Gibran writes:

“You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.”

But long before Gibran, Thiruvalluvar offered clarity on this in Kural 68:

Thammin Tham Makkal Arivudaimai Maanilaththu

Mannuyir Kellaam Inidhu.

It is a matter of joy for the entire humanity to find oneself outdone in

Intelligence by one’s children.

This is not just a compliment to a child’s intelligence—it is a directive to the parent to release the old model of authority and pride, and cultivate humility and joy in witnessing growth that surpasses our own. It invites us to evolve from participants to spectators, from teachers to admirers. When a child becomes wiser, more capable, more independent—that is not an ending, but an apex.

The mountain raises the river in its lap, lets it gather force, and watches it surge ahead, cutting valleys and nourishing lands it will never see. The mountain does not mourn. It stands tall, steady in its knowing: I was part of that journey. That is how humanity moves forward. What remains with us is not the noise of their childhood, but its echo. A soft, lingering hum that stays long after the room has fallen silent.

The Kural reminds us that parenting is not possession—it is a privilege. One that asks us not just to shape lives, but to celebrate when those lives begin shaping themselves.