SLIDE -19
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I started writing a series on Leadership which is purely depended on my own experience of 36 years doing different projects under different conditions and circumstances . Some of my comments may not be correct 100 percent and as per management text books.Managing a Project and giving leadership to a team are two different matters and a tough subject .Under different conditions the leader has to lead the team in different ways and cannot be generalized .
Welcome any suggestion from my friend over the globe and professionals to correct me , where my thoughts and comments can be improved upon .
© All rights reserved by the author
Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
Her innocent question hung in the air, and for a moment, the adults exchanged glances, unsure how to respond. It was Ravi who spoke next, his voice thick with emotion.
“I miss her too, Rhea,” he said, his eyes fixed on the chair. “But Nani wouldn’t want us to be sad. She’d want us to be happy, to laugh, and to remember all the good times we shared with her.”
His words seemed to lift the weight that had settled over the table. Slowly, the conversation began to flow again, stories and memories bubbling to the surface as each family member shared their favourite moments with Nani.
Meena spoke of the nights they had spent talking late into the evening, her mother’s wisdom guiding her through the challenges of raising her own children. Ravi recounted the summers he had spent at Nani’s house as a boy, exploring the garden while she watched over him, her laughter filling the air. Even the younger grandchildren, who had only known Nani in her later years, had stories to tell—of the sweets she would sneak them when their parents weren’t looking, of the way she would hum old songs as she knitted in her favorite chair.
“She used to sing that old song, remember?” Ravi asked, a smile tugging at his lips. “That one about the moon and the stars? She said it was a lullaby her mother sang to her when she was little.”
Everyone nodded, the melody faintly playing in their memories. Even those who hadn’t heard the song firsthand could feel its presence, like a thread woven through generations, connecting them all.
As the evening wore on, the sadness that had initially filled the room began to ebb, replaced by a warmth that seemed to radiate from the stories they shared. The empty chair, once a stark reminder of loss, now felt less like a void and more like a tribute, a symbol of the love that had connected them all.
Towards the end of the evening, after the last dish had been cleared and the laughter had quieted to a soft murmur, Meena found herself standing by the empty chair once more. She ran her fingers along its edges, feeling the grooves in the wood, worn smooth by years of use. Her heart ached, but it also felt full—full of the love that Nani had left behind, the love that would continue to bind their family together, even in her absence.
As she gazed at the chair, Meena remembered one of the last things her mother had said to her: “Don’t be sad when I’m gone, beta. Just remember that love doesn’t disappear. It changes, like the seasons, but it’s always there.”
By the end of the night, as the family cleared the table and said their goodbyes, Meena stood in the dining room, the soft light casting long shadows. She glanced at the chair one last time, her heart swelling with a mixture of grief and gratitude. Nani’s presence was still there, not in the physical sense, but in the laughter, the stories, the love that had filled the room.
Meena turned off the light in the dining room and walked away, leaving the chair where it had always been, waiting, as if Nani herself might return to sit in it once more.
But in a way, she thought, she already had.
Rajat chandra Sarmah
Guwahati , Assam , India
25/10/2024
(c) All right reserved by author
For the last few weeks , I am writing on the Subject of successful Leadership and trying to convey one of the character of a successful leader in my slide every time .
I am getting a lot of mail and comments asking different questions by my esteem readers . As the nature of questions are the same, I clarify the following for information of my readers.
I started writing a series on Leadership which is purely depended on my own experience and learning by various success and failures in my 36 years career doing different projects under different conditions and circumstances and learning every time.These comments and observations are purely of my own and Some of my comments may not be true as per management text books.Managing a Project and giving leadership to a team are two different subjects altogether may be sometime with a thin line of difference and an interesting subject .Under different conditions the leader has to lead the team in different ways and cannot be generalized .
I welcome any suggestions from my friends over the globe and professionals to correct me , whereby my thoughts and comments can be improved upon .
I am still in the learning process.
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam , India
25/10/2024
SLIDE -17
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© All rights reserved by the author
Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
Contd From Part I
He hadn’t realised at the time that it would be their last talk. Now, standing here in her absence, her words felt heavier, their meaning more profound. He walked over to the chair, resting his hand lightly on its back, the wood smooth and cool under his palm. For a moment, he let himself imagine she was still there, her soft voice calling him “beta,” her eyes full of understanding that needed no words. But reality tugged him back. She was gone, and the chair was only a reminder of what was missing.
At the other end of the room, Meena, Nani’s youngest daughter, was busy in the kitchen, her hands moving with practised ease as she prepared the dishes her mother had once made with love. Every ingredient, every spice she added brought with it a memory—Nani’s hands guiding hers as a young girl, teaching her the secret to the perfect biryani, the way to fold the dough for samosas just right. She had always been Nani’s shadow in the kitchen, learning not just recipes but the unspoken language of family that food could convey.
As Meena stirred the pot of curry, her thoughts drifted back to the last meal she had cooked with her mother. It had been a quiet afternoon, just the two of them in the kitchen, the soft clinking of utensils the only sound. Nani had been frail then, her movements slow, but her mind sharp as ever. She had insisted on supervising, even though her hands could no longer chop or stir with the same energy.
“Food is love, beta,” Nani had said, her voice soft but sure. “When you cook for your family, you are giving them a piece of your heart.”
Meena wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, brushing away the tears before anyone could see. She didn’t want to cry today. Today was about remembering, celebrating, and honouring the legacy her mother had left behind.
As she finished preparing the dishes, Meena caught her reflection in the kitchen window and saw her mother’s features on her own. She remembered how Nani used to stand there, watching the world outside, her thoughts distant but always returning to her family. The reflection, now hers, made her pause for a moment—was she living up to the love, patience, and wisdom Nani had shown?
The sound of laughter pulled her back to the present as the family gathered around the table. One by one, they took their seats, a mix of old and new generations, each with their own stories, memories, and hopes. Yet, despite the bustle of conversation, there was an unspoken acknowledgement of the empty chair, standing quietly at the head of the table. It wasn’t just a chair anymore; it had become a symbol, a reminder of the glue that held them together, even in her absence.
For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence, as if no one knew how to begin without Nani’s familiar presence to guide them. Then, softly, it was little Rhea, the youngest of the grandchildren, who broke the silence.
“Why is Nani’s chair empty?” she asked, her wide eyes looking up at her mother, Priya.
Priya smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Rhea’s face. “Nani isn’t with us anymore, beta, but we keep her chair here because she’s still with us in our hearts.”
Rhea frowned, her small brow furrowed in confusion. “But I miss her. Can’t she come back, just for tonight?”( TO BE CONTINUED)
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati , Assam , India
23/10/2024
© All rights reserved by the author
Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
The air inside the house buzzed with excitement as the family reunion drew near. Laughter echoed through the hallways, children ran up and down the stairs, and the aroma of spices and freshly cooked food wafted from the kitchen. The dining table, adorned with a crisp white cloth, was set for a celebration, plates gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier. But one chair remained empty, tucked neatly in its usual place at the head of the table. The chair that once belonged to the family’s late grandmother, Nani.
It had been nearly a year since she passed, but her absence still felt sharp, like the edges of a forgotten memory that came rushing back when least expected. Every family member who passed by the chair paused, just for a moment, as if expecting to see her sitting there, smiling her gentle smile, presiding over the chaos of the gathering like the unspoken matriarch she had always been.
For this family, the annual gathering had been a tradition that Nani had nurtured for decades. It started as a modest get-together, but over the years, it became a day that everyone looked forward to, a day marked in bold on their calendars. No one dared to miss it, for fear of facing Nani’s disappointment. And even though she was no longer here, her presence felt undeniable, like the lingering scent of jasmine from her favourite shawl, draped over the armrest of her chair.
Ravi, the eldest of Nani’s grandchildren, stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. He had been dreading this day, unsure of how the family would handle her absence, unsure of how he would handle it. Nani had always been the one who grounded him. As a child, he would sit by her side, listening to her stories about their ancestral village, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she spoke of simpler times. She had a way of making the past feel alive, as though it were just waiting for them to return.
But now, without her, the room felt different. It wasn’t just the empty chair—it was the emptiness that seemed to settle in the corners of the room, a silent witness to the spaces she had once filled.
His thoughts drifted back to the last conversation he had with her, one of those quiet moments when they had both sat together on the veranda, the cool evening breeze rustling the trees. “Ravi, beta,” she had said, “Family is like a tree. Its roots are the elders who give us strength, its branches are the younger ones who reach out to the future. But all of us, no matter how far we grow, are part of the same tree.”
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati , Assam , India
21/10/24
SLIDE -16
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