1. Job Hunt
   “Applied for a job. They wanted ‘miracle workers.’
   Thought I had a decent shot.
   Turns out, they hired someone who just knew how to dodge work.”
2. Marriage Wisdom
   “Thirty years of marriage. Learned three survival rules.
   Separate TVs. Separate remotes. A well-timed ‘Hmm, you’re right.’
   Still married, still sane!”

   3.Diet Chronicles
     “Tried eating only salads for a week.
       Lost a few pounds. Lost my temper.       

       I lost my will to live.
       On day eight, a burger saved my soul.”

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

Guwahati , Assam , India

04/02/2025

      

        

PROUD TO BE RANK -2 AND AMONGST THE TOP WRITERS OF 2024 .

The captain’s voice crackled through the speaker, announcing our descent into Guwahati. I instinctively leaned toward the window, eager for my first glimpse of home after twenty long days of travel. The sky was painted in shades of deep blue, fading into a warm amber glow near the horizon. Below, the Brahmaputra snaked through the city like a ribbon of liquid silver, reflecting the last remnants of daylight.

As we sank lower, the city lights began to twinkle—tiny specks of gold and white, scattered across the landscape.  The heart of the old city, glowed softly by the river. The Saraighat Bridge, standing tall over the river, was a familiar sight—a silent guardian watching over the city’s past and present. Even in the dimming light, I could make out the silhouette of the Kamakhya Temple, perched atop the Nilachal Hills, its presence a comforting reminder that I was home.

A Journey Across Places, A Heart That Longed for Home

As the wheels touched down with a gentle thud, a strange mix of exhaustion and relief washed over me. Twenty days had passed—twenty days of exploring, learning, and losing myself in places so different yet equally fascinating.

The sheer speed and efficiency of the Delhi Metro, the lifeline of a bustling metropolis, had amazed me. In stark contrast, Bali had been a serene escape—waves lapping against the shores, the fragrance of frangipani in the air, and the soft chanting from temples creating an almost dreamlike ambiance.

At Birla Institute of Technology and Science, I had felt the weight of academia, standing in awe of a place where great minds were shaped. The energy at Ajmer Sharif Dargah had been unforgettable—the qawwals’ soulful voices, the sea of devotees, the scent of rose petals and incense mixing into a spiritual experience unlike any other.

Jaipur had been a quick but charming interlude—Patrika Gate, Jawahar Circle, and the vibrant streets offering a glimpse into a city that balances history and modernity with effortless grace.

And now, here I was, back in Guwahati, my heart beating faster as I stepped out of the airport and inhaled the familiar, humid air.

The Road Home

I hailed a cab, the driver giving me a polite nod as he placed our luggage in the trunk. The ride home was quiet, the city whizzing past in streaks of light and shadow. Azara, Maligaon, Panbazar—each neighborhood brought back memories, each turn in the road making me feel closer to my own world. Both my wife and We keep almost silent throughout the road may be due to exhaustion or may be losing the charm and beauty we enjoyed for the last twenty days and now back again to the routine.

I glanced outside at the Bharalu River, the traffic on AT Road moving sluggishly, yet there was something comforting about this chaos. The tea stalls were still alive with  customers, a few rickshaw pullers huddled together, chatting over cups of steaming chai.

As the cab neared my house, I felt a deep contentment settle over me. No matter how beautiful the places I had visited, no matter how exhilarating the experiences, nothing quite compared to coming home.

I unlocked the door,and we stepped inside, and let out a long sigh. The familiarity of my space—my books on the shelf, the chair by the window, the soft glow of the night lamp—felt like an embrace. Dropping my bags, I stretched out on my bed, letting the comfort of home wrap around me like a warm blanket.Tomorrow, I would sort through my photographs, relive the journey through stories, and cherish the moments I had collected along the way. But tonight, I would simply close my eyes and breathe in the peace of home.

With it , we completed our  journey for now and plan for some other beautiful place as soon as possible .

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

GUWAHATI , ASSAM , INDIA

03/02/2025 .

( C ) All rights reserved by the author

Instagram :@rajatchandrasarmah5

The journey from Ajmer to Jaipur airport was supposed to be a straightforward one—an early morning drive, a quick check-in, and a relaxed wait for our flight. But as fate would have it, Air India Express decided to play a trick on us. The delay notification came so late that by the time we realized our flight was three hours behind schedule, we were already halfway to Jaipur.

Still, there was little to complain about. The road from Ajmer to Jaipur is smooth, lined with the rocky Aravalli hills on one side and vast stretches of Rajasthan’s semi-arid landscape on the other. The journey itself is steeped in history—Ajmer, with its Sufi legacy and the revered dargah of Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti, slowly fades behind, giving way to the grandeur of Jaipur, the Pink City, where Rajputana history breathes through its walls.

A Chance to Roam Around Jaipur

Reaching Jaipur well ahead of schedule, we found ourselves with unexpected time to spare. Instead of sulking at the airport lounge, we decided to explore a bit of the city, sticking to places not too far from the airpor

Our first stop was Jawahar Circle, just a few minutes away. The grand Patrika Gate, an Instagram favorite, stood in its full glory. Every archway told a story of Rajasthan’s royal past, painted in vibrant hues of pink, blue, and gold. The cool morning breeze and the relatively empty surroundings made it an excellent spot for a short stroll.

From there, we headed to World Trade Park (WTP), Jaipur’s modern shopping hub. While traditional Jaipur is all about palaces and heritage, WTP represents the city’s modern face. A quick cup of coffee at a café inside the mall felt refreshing, though the bustling crowd of shoppers reminded us that Jaipur is as contemporary as it is historic.

With some time still left, we made a brief visit to the Birla Mandir, a serene white-marble temple dedicated to Lord Vishnu and Goddess Lakshmi. Nestled near Moti Dungri Hill, the temple stood in stark contrast to Jaipur’s earthy pink tones, its tranquility providing a perfect moment of reflection before heading to the airport.

Back to Jaipur Airport

Finally, we made our way to Jaipur International Airport, the flight delay still looming over our heads. The airport, though not overly crowded, had its fair share of restless travelers, some pacing around, others glued to their phones. We grabbed a quick bite at one of the airport cafés, flipping through news updates and emails to kill time.

The three-hour wait dragged on, but soon enough, the boarding call for Jaipur to Guwahati on Air India Express echoed through the terminal. As we finally settled into our seats, Jaipur’s golden sunset painted the sky outside, a fitting farewell to a day that, despite its disruptions, had given us an unexpected glimpse into the city’s charm.

With the engines roaring and the aircraft taxiing, I leaned back, thinking about how unplanned detours sometimes make the best memories.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

Guwahati , Assam , India

02/02/2025

A Journey to Ajmer: The Call of Faith and History

As we left behind the sprawling campus of BITS Pilani, its corridors echoing with the aspirations of young minds, a different kind of pull took over—a pull that wasn’t of intellect but of faith. The road to Ajmer felt like a passage through time, winding past the rugged Aravalli hills, leading us towards a sanctum where history and devotion entwine like an eternal melody.

The Dargah of Hazrat Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti isn’t just a place. It’s a feeling. A whisper of peace amidst the chaos of life. As we entered Ajmer, the city seemed to hum with a quiet reverence, its narrow lanes weaving a story of centuries past. Here, merchants, seekers, and wanderers all converge, their faces reflecting hope, gratitude, and sometimes, silent grief.

Stepping into the dargah, the first thing that enveloped us was the fragrance—a mix of rose petals, incense, and the scent of devotion carried by thousands who have walked this path before. The moment our feet touched the cool marble floor, history came alive. This was the place where Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti, the revered Sufi saint from Persia, chose to spread the message of love, unity, and compassion in the 12th century.

Sufism isn’t about religion—it’s about the soul. And the Khwaja, lovingly called Garib Nawaz, or the ‘Benefactor of the Poor,’ embraced all who came to him, regardless of their faith. Mughal emperors, humble villagers, traders, and lost souls—all found solace here. Emperor Akbar himself walked barefoot to this very shrine, seeking blessings for an heir, and his prayers were answered. Even today, offerings of chadars, flowers, and heartfelt wishes continue to pour in, each one carrying an untold story.

Inside the sanctum, time slows. The qawwals sing in praise, their voices rising and falling like waves of longing, touching something deep within. The energy is palpable—not just in the grand tomb covered with shimmering cloth but in the eyes of the devotees who believe, against all odds, that their prayers will be heard.

Standing there, amidst a sea of faith, I realized something profound. This isn’t just a shrine. It’s a reminder that beyond our worldly struggles, there is a force greater than us, an unseen hand that guides us through despair and joy alike. No one leaves this place empty-handed—not in material offerings, but in the quiet reassurance that they are not alone.

As we stepped out, the sun cast golden hues over the courtyard, and a sense of peace settled within. The journey ahead was uncertain, as all journeys are, but for now, our hearts carried a piece of Ajmer—an unshaken belief that love, kindness, and faith will always find a way.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

30/01/25

The Wheels That Move BITS Pilani

In BITS Pilani, bicycles are more than just a mode of transport—they are a part of the culture, almost as iconic as the Clock Tower that stands tall at the heart of the campus. From the moment you step into this prestigious institution, known for its brilliance and innovation, you can’t help but notice the constant movement of students on bicycles. The rhythmic sound of pedals turning, the carefree chatter of friends riding side by side, and the occasional squeak of a rusted chain create a symphony that becomes the pulse of campus life.

With a campus that spans hundreds of acres, bicycles are a necessity. The academic buildings, hostels, cafeterias, and recreation spaces are all connected by a maze of winding paths, shaded by trees and bordered by neatly trimmed lawns. Walking across this expanse might be fine on cooler days, but when the Rajasthan sun is blazing, the bicycle is your savior. It’s not uncommon to see students racing against time to make it to an early morning lecture or gliding leisurely back to their hostel after a long day of labs and classes.

But here, bicycles are more than a practical solution—they represent freedom. There’s something exhilarating about riding down the gently sloping paths of Pilani, the breeze cutting through the stillness of the desert heat. Whether it’s the carefree thrill of a late-night cycle ride under the stars or the urgency of pedaling hard to make it in time for an exam, the bike becomes an extension of the student.

And these aren’t just bicycles—they are companions, sometimes even confidants. Every bike has a story to tell. The shiny new ones with sleek designs and multiple gears belong to freshers, proud of their first big purchase in college. The older, weathered ones, with peeling paint and rusty chains, often belong to seniors who’ve been through countless adventures on two wheels. Stickers from past cultural and technical fests, quirky decorations, or handwritten names scrawled across the frame give each bicycle its own personality.

The cycle stands outside every building tell a story of their own. They’re not organized neatly like you’d expect in some polished campus brochure. Instead, they’re a chaotic mix, leaning against each other, lined up against walls, or parked haphazardly under trees. It’s as if the bicycles themselves are alive, mirroring the energy and chaos of the students who ride them.

Late at night, when the rest of the world sleeps, the cycles still move. A lone rider might be returning from the library, deep in thought, or a group of friends might be heading to the canteen for a midnight snack. The quiet hum of wheels on empty paths becomes a part of the campus’s heartbeat, a reminder that even in stillness, life at BITS Pilani never truly stops.

It’s not all smooth rides, though. Pilani’s extremes—scorching summers and biting winters—can make cycling a challenge. The desert winds are relentless, and the uneven terrain tests even the most experienced riders. But these obstacles become part of the experience, part of the memories that every BITSian takes with them.

Bicycles at BITS Pilani are a metaphor for the journey itself. They carry students through the highs and lows of academic life, through celebrations and struggles, through moments of solitude and camaraderie. They are witnesses to the frantic dashes to class, the slow, reflective rides after a tough day, and the joyous races during festivals.

Years after leaving Pilani, alumni often look back on their bicycles with a strange fondness. Those simple machines, with their chipped paint and worn-out tires, represent a time when life was simpler yet fuller—when every pedal pushed them closer to dreams, friendships, and memories that would last a lifetime.

In a place where innovation and intellect take center stage, it’s the humble bicycle that reminds everyone to keep moving, no matter how bumpy the road ahead might be. At BITS Pilani, the wheels of learning and the wheels of bicycles turn together, creating a legacy of movement, growth, and endless possibilities.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Camp Pilani , Rajasthan , India

30/01/25