Give and Take:

The Quiet Law I Learned from Soil and Small Hands

A few months ago, I bought a box of cherry tomatoes to brighten a simple green salad. They added just the right oomph, turning a plain bowl of leaves into something inviting. I saved a few seeds and planted it in one of my planter on my terrace garden.

These are the tomato plant from the seeds I saved

One morning, a tiny seedling appeared, just a couple of shy leaves. I took care of it by mixing in compost from kitchen scraps — banana peels, onion skins, eggshells. I gave it water every evening, whispering encouragements as if it could hear me. A few weeks later I saw buds appear and then star like yellow flowers and soon green tender tomatoes. I kept on tending by adding other essential nutrients and in no time the tiny green tomatoes turned delicious red. In every bite, there is an explosion of taste in my mouth like no other tomatoes that I buy from the store.

From a few saved seeds and a bit of daily care and being fed by the sun and earth the plant had given back more than I expected — enough tomatoes to enhance my bowl of green salad.

Actual tomatoes from my tomato plant.

I saw it with my own children too. There were days I gave everything — time to untangle their endless questions, patience when tantrums spill like monsoon water, stories spun from thin air to soothe bedtime fears. And there were days they gave back without knowing it: a sticky hug that smells of mango, a picture especially drawn just for me, the wonder in their eyes as they explore the tiny garden, the excitement in seeing the ants and making house for them to live in. I used to think parenting was about pouring out endlessly, but it’s an exchange. They take my love and attention; the twinkle of their eyes, the morning cuddles, sweet gestures of love and adoration fills my cup. We both come out fuller.

Even my writing follows this rhythm. Substack pages fill with words I give freely — my experiences from different seasons of my life, on parenting - my successes and struggles. Readers take them in, and sometimes they give back: a comment of appreciation and an encouragement. Sometimes when I read posts and notes my mind and soul are edified, in return I show appreciations with a comment and a red heart. There are times a question that sparks my next essay.

A drawing given to me..

Without realising there is a silent give and take is in operation. It works through stories like these — soil enriched by decay, children shaped by our hands and ours by theirs, words that travel and return transformed. I’ve learned to lean into it: give the tomato plant space to root, let my child’s laughter refill my cup, offer these reflections and welcome whatever comes back. Because in the end, give and take isn’t a rule to obey. It’s the pulse we’re all living by, one shared breath at a time.

Thank you for reading.

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What’s one small give-and-take from your week that surprised you? Share in the comments — let’s keep the exchange going.