The distance no one talks about
People move all the time.
We change cities, change jobs, chase dreams. And somehow, through it all, you learn to adapt, to start over, to find your footing, to move forward.
But nothing quite prepares you for what it feels like when close family, your sisters, close cousins or sister-in-law, nephews and nieces, your constants, move not just cities, but countries.
When your world, once a short drive, a quick knock on the door, or a short flight (not needing a visa) away, shifts onto a different time zone altogether.
When family leaves, they don’t just pack suitcases.
They pack up Sunday afternoons, festival chaos, impromptu meeting plans, and leave you clutching at video calls and forwarded memes.
It’s not just about distance. it’s about a new, invisible space between lives that technology can’t quite bridge.
Smiling through screens
When my sister moved, I proudly announced I was fine. “It’s just a flight away,” I said. “we have technology now and one more place to visit!”
WhatsApp was my magic word, until it wasn’t.
I attended her gender reveal party, perched awkwardly on a chair in front of my laptop in a small army abode somewhere in the hills of Ladakh. I “celebrated” her baby shower and her baby’s first big event via a choppy video call, cheering with a smile or sadness that no one could really see.
When Diwali rolled around, we swapped carefully photos of our decorations. When Karwa Chauth came, we sent each other selfies, posing with our special attire and matching smiles, pretending it was the same as doing it side by side.
It was sweet. It was heartwarming.
It was absolutely not the same.
You imagine missing birthdays and weddings when people move away.
No one warns you about missing ordinary things.
The last-minute plans. The silly arguments over crooked rangolis. The shared laughter over family and friend fiascos.
The thousand tiny everyday connections that no video call can replicate.
The emotional drain
Everyone talks about how families move abroad for better opportunities, and rightly so. I’m proud of them. I celebrate their milestones. I smile widely at their photos framed against shiny city skylines and perfect parks.
But no one really talks about the quieter cost:
The emotional drain.
The relationship drain.
Because while everyone creates a furore about “brain drain” and “wealth drain,” here on this side something far more personal quietly seeps away, the easy closeness of family, the shared festivals, the spontaneous moments that stitched us together.
It’s not just missing seeing a face frequently.
It’s missing the unplanned hugs.
It’s missing the noisy kitchen debates.
It’s missing the feeling that you could always show up, without scheduling an online call or applying for visa months in advance!
Left behind without a choice
And every time someone hears about them moving, the sympathies pour out:
“It must be so hard for them to be away from family!”
“Managing everything on their own in a new country must be tough!”
Of course it is.
But let’s be honest, it was still their choice. They made the decision, weighed the options, took the leap. For those left behind, there was no choice.
There was just absence.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t requested.
It was simply handed over, with a cheerful, “We’ll keep meeting!” and a hollow echo left behind.
And there’s no hotline for the ones who stay back.
No manuals titled “How to deal when your inner circle moves continents without you.”
No ready sympathy that says, “It must be hard being the one left behind.”
But it is.
Finding new rhythms
Of course, we adapt. That’s what families do.
We find new ways to be close, through grainy video calls, endless forwarded reels, surprise deliveries, and virtual cake cuttings.
We become masters of long-distance birthdays, digitally shared first steps, and cousins who know each other better by picture than by touch.
And slowly, we build a new rhythm.
Not better, not worse, just different.
Just ours.
I’m grateful for technology. I’m grateful for voice notes and texts.
I’m grateful that my niece recognises my face even if she can’t tug at my dupatta every now and then.
Let’s not brush it away under the glitter of better jobs and quality of life.
Let’s say it plainly:
When families move away, they leave behind a little hole, a quiet gap that even the strongest Wi-Fi can’t completely fill.
And that deserves to be seen.
The silent strength
Because somewhere, across cities and seas, a sister, an aunt, a parent is smiling bravely though a slightly lonelier festival, missing the noise, missing the chaos, but refusing to let the sparkle fade.
And maybe, just maybe, that strength deserves a little standing ovation too.
Melange of Musings 
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