E20: Loss – The Uninvited Guest

Hi, I’m Alvat Garewal, and welcome back to the podcast.

This week, we pause for something deeply human—something that touches every single one of us at some point in life. Loss. Whether sudden or expected, it leaves behind a silence that echoes through our hearts and homes. In light of recent events—the Air India crash, and the ongoing conflicts taking lives around the world—I wanted to speak not just about grief, but about what loss truly means, how it shows up in our lives, and how we begin to live around it.

Let’s take a moment to reflect, to feel, and maybe find a little comfort in knowing we’re not alone in carrying the weight of loss.

Transcript

Podcast Title: “Loss – The Uninvited Guest” 

Hi, I’m Alvat Garewal. 

This week, my heart has been heavy. 

News of the Air India crash shook me—and I'm sure many of you. Alongside that, the continued loss of life in conflicts around the world... It reminds us that loss is never far away. Sometimes it's sudden, like a crack of lightning. Other times, it's slow and expected, a quiet countdown. But no matter how it comes—loss always leaves a mark. 

We often think that if we can prepare for loss, it won’t hurt as much. But whether it comes without warning or walks with us for months, grief is still grief. 

I’ve seen people try to process loss purely in their minds—logically, sensibly. They try to make peace with it through reasoning. But the truth is, you can’t think your way through loss. You have to feel your way through it. 

Grief isn’t something we can file away neatly. It doesn’t follow rules or timelines. Some of us avoid it, push it down, keep busy. Others turn to faith, prayer, and tradition. And some walk away from all of that, asking “Why would this happen?” 

I know this from personal experience. When my mother passed away, it was one of the hardest moments of my life. 

Deep down, I always knew that one day she would no longer be here. She had suffered mini strokes before, and each time, somehow, she pulled through. Even with a weakened heart, she kept going—quietly strong, always soldiering on. She was ill again, and I still believed she'd get through it like she always had. Then she was hospitalised. And still, in my heart, I thought—She'll beat this too. 

But then came the news. And in that moment, my emotions took over completely. Logic vanished. I wasn’t just dealing with a physical absence—I was feeling the weight of a monumental loss. 

And then came guilt.
 Could I have done more? Should I have spent more time with her? Been more present? 

These questions, they don’t leave you. They circle around in quiet moments.
 But with time, they soften. They become less about guilt, and more about love. I realised I 

was asking those questions because I cared so deeply. And that love—it's still with me. Loss, in its rawest form, shows us what mattered. And that’s painful—but also powerful. 

There’s no single path to healing.
 But there is one thing that seems true across all stories: eventually, loss becomes real. 

Whether it’s a week from now or ten years down the line, it catches up with us—not to hurt us again, but because it needs to be honoured. 

When someone or something leaves our life—especially someone we love—that absence creates a space. And we must choose what to do with that space. Will we fill it with memories? With pain? With silence? With new purpose? 

Sometimes, we carry our grief like a heavy bag. Other times, like a quiet whisper we tuck into our pockets. There’s no right way. 

Like in recent moments —with the tragic Air India crash, and the heartbreaking loss of life in conflict—we’re reminded of how fragile life really is. Behind every headline or news bulletin, there are families whose lives have just changed forever. A seat that will now remain empty at the dinner table. A phone that won’t ring anymore. Birthdays, anniversaries, quiet everyday moments—suddenly marked by absence. 

It’s easy for us, as outsiders, to see the numbers and statistics. But for the families... it’s personal. It’s not a number. It’s their person. A mother, father, son, daughter, sibling, friend. 

And for them, this loss didn’t come gradually or with time to prepare—it came crashing into their lives without warning. There was no chance to say goodbye. No moment to hold on for one last hug. That sort of grief can feel unreal at first—like your brain hasn’t caught up with what your heart already knows. 

To those families, we may not know you personally, but please know—you are in our thoughts. Your pain is not invisible. And while words may never be enough, empathy matters. Compassion matters. Sometimes all we can do is hold space for someone else’s grief, even from afar. 

In times of such sorrow, many of us feel helpless. We don’t know what to say or do. But sometimes, support doesn’t need to come in grand gestures. It can be a quiet message, a shared memory, a hand on someone’s shoulder. Even just sitting beside someone in silence can be enough. Grief doesn’t need fixing—it needs witnessing. 

And if you’re someone who’s watching these losses unfold from a distance, maybe feeling overwhelmed or unsure of how to process it—know that it’s okay to feel that way. You don’t need to carry the whole weight of the world, but you can still honour it. You can pause. Reflect. Offer kindness to those around you. Let the tragedy remind you of what you still have, and the people you love. 

Because if loss teaches us anything, it’s that time and connection are precious. Don’t put off saying the words, making the call, or sharing the moment. 

In a world full of uncertainty, your care—however small—matters deeply. 

I once heard that grief is just love with nowhere to go. And maybe that’s why it hurts so much—because it’s a reflection of how deeply we’ve cared. 

So, if you’re grieving something or someone right now, let yourself grieve. Not just in your thoughts, but in your heart. Talk about it. Cry if you need to. Be still if you need to. Light a candle, say a prayer, write a letter, sit with a friend. Do what your soul needs. 

And if someone you know is grieving, remember—it’s not always about having the right words. Sometimes just being there, listening, or simply sitting beside them in silence is enough. 

Loss doesn’t disappear. But over time, it can become part of us in a softer way. It may never make sense, but it may bring us a deeper compassion—for ourselves and for others. 

thank you for listening. 

Keep your thoughts with your family and friends 

And remember 

You are in my thoughts.