I have no guilt about leaving my young kids behind when I travel. My mother didn’t either
The first time my husband and I went to Tokyo was 11 years ago when we had just started dating. We were young, carefree and eager to tick off as many experiences as possible. Our trip was a whirlwind of activity—we zipped around Tokyo, marvelled at Kyoto’s Golden Temple, navigated the bamboo groves of Arashiyama and attended a friend’s wedding. We were constantly on the go, driven by a desire to see and do as much as possible. It was exhilarating but exhausting—a reflection of our pre-parenthood energy and enthusiasm.
When Rishabh and I returned to Tokyo this year, leaving our three-and-a-half-year-old and one-and-a-half-year-old with his parents, our only agenda was to eat and sleep. As second-time parents with family-oriented schedules, full-time jobs and a home to run, the purpose of this trip was not to conquer a list of must-see sights but to slow down and reconnect.
Our days were unplanned and spontaneous. We woke up whenever we wanted, slept whenever we were tired and walked about 20,000 steps a day without ever feeling rushed—an anomaly in one of the world’s busiest cities. Tokyo, with its excellent culinary scene and unique streets, became a backdrop for a slower, more intentional experience. We came back after a week to overjoyed and pampered kids.
Don’t get me wrong—I love my routine with our children, Jahan and Sitara. Our lives revolve around them: when we wake up, what we eat, how we spend our evenings and weekends. I could write a book about how sacred our pre-bedtime routines are but as parents and partners, we also need time to rejuvenate every so often. Which is why we are committed to taking time off from the kids every few months, even if it’s only for the weekend. We do plan holidays with them but kiddie holidays are very different. When we took them to the Maldives last year to what we thought would be a resort they’d love—it had a horse ranch, a waterpark, a kids’ club and multiple restaurants—we were stumped by how little the kids cared for it. Instead, Rishabh spent the majority of his time riding the hotel’s golf cart, circling the island to sate Jahan’s fixation on modes of transport.
This made me realise that travelling without our kids to Tokyo was more than just a vacation; it was a journey back to my core identity. As a mother, it’s easy to become consumed by the roles and responsibilities that come with raising children. My days are planned around their schedules, needs and activities. This trip offered a rare and precious break from my constant routine, allowing me to rediscover a part of myself that was not solely defined by motherhood.
In some ways, this notion of self-discovery for mothers seems new to India. The idea that there is a life beyond your kids and an identity beyond motherhood has only started to take root recently. As moms—especially working moms—we battle guilt daily as we strive for work-life balance. It becomes so crucial to surround yourself with supportive women who help you navigate this time and reassure you that you’re doing a great job.
For me, it was my mother who paved the way for travelling without my kids. She would ship my sister and me off to my nani’s place so that my dad and her could travel alone and reconnect. My sister and I have fond memories of free flight upgrades and endless rounds of soda on those trips as unaccompanied minors. While our parents were able to pour into their marriage, we were able to develop a sense of independence that would not have been possible if we had been coddled at home. My mother’s ability to navigate dual roles while maintaining a sense of self has always been an inspiration. She understood that her most long-standing relationship would be with my father and that dedicating time and effort to nurturing that relationship was key to her own happiness, and, in turn, the long-term health and happiness of our family. Today, they are both happy empty-nesters, galavanting across the world together and enjoying each other’s company.
I also grew up watching my mother balance her career and family life with remarkable grace and strength. She taught my sister and me how to walk ourselves home after school just once and gave us the confidence to do so every day after that. We would come home, turn on the rice cooker and make sandwiches for ourselves while she was at the office. As mothers, we often put our needs on the back burner, prioritising our children’s well-being above our own. Watching my mother step away from the demands of family life gave me the encouragement I needed to take breaks in order to recharge and return to my family with renewed energy.
Similarly, it is my mother-in-law who is the wind beneath my wings, pushing me to mould my identity outside of being Rishabh’s wife and Jahan and Sitara’s mum. She has made it possible for us to plan our travels while she looks after our children, inspiring my husband and me to balance our different worlds.
My friends also came through with crucial advice. “You’re winning no brownie points by doing this all by yourself,” one of them said. It resonated deeply. In a society where self-sufficiency is often celebrated, recognising the value of collectivism can be transformative. My mother relied on her mother in similar ways—my grandmother cared for my sister in Delhi for six months while my mother worked in Jaipur. I have been asked if I ever feel judged for making these decisions and I can proudly say I don’t because I am so protected by and rooted for by both mine and Rishabh’s mums—something that I realise not all women of previous generations might have had the privilege to experience. My hope is that each generation of mothers enables the next to live their truth.
In the end, our trip to Tokyo was not just about the city or the sights, it was about reconnecting with ourselves and each other. It was a reminder that while motherhood is a significant part of who I am, it is not the entirety of my identity. And I’m a better mother for it.
– As told to and written by Muskan Mumtaz
