Saturday morning, the little doggy had an accident. N was in a bit of a grumpy mood. As he grumbled along with the breakfast, and stomped back and forth from the bedroom, he tugged at his tiny magnetic shape-shifter doggy on a whim. It slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. One of the small metallic cylinders that made up the doggy's body broke into pieces. Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared at the wreckage, and soon enough, emergency services were on the way.
I slumped beside him, pulling him into a tight hug. I could feel the weight of the moment. That night, I would be leaving for a ten-day work trip, and I knew deep down that this was the real cause of his distress—the sudden absence, the shift in routine. It was a reminder that in moments like these, my being away would create ripples.
As N began to calm down, I gently pried the broken doggy from his clenched fist, soothing him as best I could. In his palm, I found three distinct pieces: the parent piece and two smaller ones—one large and one slender. I carefully held the slender piece at the angle where it seemed to belong, and, with a click, it snapped perfectly into place. N’s eyes lit up a little, a flicker of hope returning. But the larger piece was another story. It refused to budge, as if it had developed its own will, its own identity since breaking free.
I remembered something from childhood—how magnets, when broken, create new poles. A simple lesson, but suddenly it felt so much bigger. In that moment, I could almost feel the magnetic field of this tiny piece forming its own distinct character, resisting reattachment to its parent. It was as though it had become something else entirely, something with its own purpose, its own path. N’s face fell, but with one less piece, I managed to fix his doggy—close enough. I held him, telling him that everything would be okay, that sometimes things don’t go as planned, but we adjust and move forward.
As the day wore on, my mind kept whirring, as if something had shifted. Later that afternoon, driving down the Old Airport Road, as the sun filtered in through the trees, I found myself lost in the hum of Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon. In that quiet space, a thought occurred to me - this breaking apart, this redefinition of self, had been happening since the beginning of time. When the Big Bang occurred, everything broke off a singularity. And pieces of stardust eventually came together and formed stars, planets, galaxies, spinning off into their own orbits, changing in ways we may never fully understand. Though we all separated, we didn’t lose the connection. We maintained a respectful distance, a cosmic understanding.
We always say, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”. But what if that’s not true? Maybe we break away, drawn to new, mysterious forces, eager to forge our own paths, to make our own rules. And in doing so, we create our own magnetic fields - our own identities, just like the ones that created us.
A wave of bittersweet emotion swept over me. I felt both joy and sadness, a soft sadness that had been there since the morning, but now it felt a little lighter.
Later, at an author session with Timothée de Fombelle, he told a story from his youth. As a young playwright, he had worked hard to break away from tradition, to be modern, and had written a play so complex it was almost intentionally difficult. He invited his father, who was sick, to see it. After the show, Timothée asked, “How did you like it, Pa?” His father simply replied, “I didn’t understand anything, but continue on your path.” These words found a deeper resonance with what had been lingering in my heart all day. It was all part of a larger pattern - of growth, of breaking free, of creating something new, even when others didn’t understand. And it was okay. I could let go of the broken doggy piece, just as I could let go of the past, knowing that we were all part of something much bigger.
That night, as my taxicab drove around the society towards the main gate, N ran alongside the window, his hand outstretched, trying to touch mine, one last time. When he finally slowed, knowing he couldn’t keep up, my heart clenched. My eyes filled with tears. The driver, who had been quietly watching, spoke softly, “Madam, my son does the same thing when I leave my hometown to come to Bangalore.”
And just like that, I understood. I had peace. I could let the little broken piece of the doggy go. It was okay. After all, we all came from the same stardust.
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