Good morning dear friends and readers.
ALL RIGHT RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR
06/04/2025
Determined to test Eleanor’s wisdom, Samuel did something he had never done before—he put away his notebook and stopped analyzing. He booked a cabin in a remote village in Norway, where he spent weeks with no agenda, no questions, just living. He helped fishermen mend their nets, shared meals with strangers, and learned to appreciate the simple joy of an early morning mist over the fjords.
For the first time in decades, he felt something real—peace. He realized happiness wasn’t found in numbers, nor in an exotic location or financial success. It was in the moments—laughing with a stranger, watching the sun dip below the horizon, feeling the cold wind against his skin.
When Samuel finally returned to his old life, he wasn’t the same man. He still spoke about happiness, but now, he lived it. He reconnected with his children, made time for friendships, and embraced imperfection. His final book, The Unmeasured Life, became his most impactful work, not because of its research but because of its honesty.
Perhaps happiness had never needed measuring after all.
Rajat Chandra Sarmah,
Guwahati, Assam, India
You may follow me on:
Instagram: rajatchandrasarmah5
Website: http://www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
Email: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
YouTube: @conversewithasmile
Good evening friends and my readers
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR
04 April 25
At 52, Samuel found himself at a crossroads. His research had gained recognition, his books were bestsellers, and yet he felt a void gnawing at him. He had wealth, status, and influence, but no real connections. His marriage had ended years ago, his children barely called, and his old friends had drifted away. He had spent so much time analyzing happiness that he had forgotten to live it.
One winter evening, in a quiet Irish pub, he met an old woman named Eleanor. She had lived through wars, outlived her family, and yet, she smiled as if she carried the sun in her heart. “Happiness isn’t something you measure, dear,” she said, sipping her whiskey. “It’s something you feel when you stop trying to count it.”
Samuel laughed, but her words lingered. That night, he looked at his own life—filled with accolades but devoid of warmth. Had he been chasing the wrong thing all along?
Rajat Chandra Sarmah, Guwahati, Assam, India
You may follow me on:
Instagram: rajatchandrasarmah5
Website: http://www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
Email: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
YouTube: @conversewithasmile
Good morning dear friends and readers .
my YouTube channel @conversewithasmile is now opened . Will be grateful if you see once and advice me ,how to improve it .
ALL RIGHT RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR
Date 03/04/2025
The world knew him as an economist, but he preferred to call himself an observer of life. For decades, Samuel Whitmore had traveled across continents, notebooks filled with numbers and equations, trying to decode the elusive formula for happiness. Was it wealth? Relationships? Freedom? He believed that if happiness could be measured, it could also be optimized.
His journey took him from the skyscrapers of New York to the tranquil countryside of Sweden, from the bustling markets of Marrakech to the snow-clad silence of the Alps. Everywhere, he met people, questioned them, noted their smiles and sighs, and tried to quantify what made life meaningful. The results were never linear. The richest man in London confessed to feeling empty; a fisherman in the Philippines, earning barely enough to eat, radiated contentment.( To be continued)
Rajat Chandra Sarmah,
Guwahati, Assam, India
You may follow me on:
Instagram: rajatchandrasarmah5
Website: http://www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
Email: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
YouTube: @conversewithasmile
April means arrival of spring . The Assamese peoples most important festival Rongali Bihu is celebrated on 14-15 of April . The photo shows the Assamese girl in Muga Silk (GI) dress only produced in Assam got ready for Bihu dance .
Good morning my friends and readers
@ All rights reserved by the author
Date: 2/04/2025
Aisha inherited her grandmother’s old home in a remote Turkish village. Despite warnings from the elders, she stayed, dismissing their stories of a Djinn haunting the house.
The first night, whispers echoed from dark corners. The second night, her mirror reflection smiled when she did not.
By the third night, the whispers became a voice: “Say my name, and I am yours.”
Terrified, she asked the village imam for help. He paled and told her to leave immediately. “If you speak its name, you become its vessel.”
Aisha ran back to pack, but the whispers turned into screams. The air thickened, shadows twisted, and her reflection stepped out of the mirror, laughing.
By morning, the house was abandoned once more. Only a single word was scratched into the mirror: Mine.
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
You may follow me on:
Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
Website: http://www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
Page: A Sanguine Tale youtube: @conversewithasmile
Radhanagar beach
Good morning friends and my readers
musingofrajat.wordpress.com 