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Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Rohan finally said, his voice low and rough, breaking the long silence. His words weren’t angry, just tired.

“I wasn’t sure I would,” Aditi admitted, her eyes drifting to the old armchair in the corner where their father used to sit and read. “But I needed to.”

Rohan turned to face her then, his eyes dark and unreadable. There was a tension in the air, the kind that came from years of hurt and unresolved pain. Neither of them knew where to begin, and yet both of them knew that this moment was inevitable.

Aditi took a deep breath. “Rohan, I—” She stopped, the words catching in her throat. She had thought about this conversation for years, rehearsed what she might say if they ever spoke again. But now that she was here, standing in front of him, it all felt too raw, too complicated.

Rohan watched her struggle, his jaw tightening. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice flat.

But Aditi shook her head. “No, I do.” She looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time in years, she saw her brother—not the person she had fought with, not the stranger he had become, but her brother, the boy who had once been her best friend. “I’m sorry, Rohan.”

He flinched at the words, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place. “Sorry for what?” he asked, his tone harsher than he intended.

“For everything,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “For not being here when Mom was sick. For leaving you to deal with it all on your own. I know I should have been there, and I wasn’t. And I know I can’t change that, but… I’m sorry.”

Rohan stared at her, his expression hard, but beneath it, she could see the cracks. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, he turned away, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the past had finally become too much to bear.

“I hated you for a long time, you know,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a bitterness that made Aditi’s heartache. “After Mom died, I felt like you abandoned us. Dad never said it, but I knew he felt it too.”

Aditi closed her eyes, the guilt washing over her like a wave. She had known, on some level, that this was how Rohan had felt, but hearing it out loud made it all the more painful.

“I didn’t mean to leave you,” she whispered. “I thought… I thought I was doing what was best for me. For my career. But I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I didn’t know how to come back after that.”

Rohan was silent for a long time, his back still turned to her. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, more fragile than she had ever heard it. “I didn’t know how to forgive you. I still don’t.”

A tear slipped down Aditi’s cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away. She didn’t need forgiveness, not right away. She just needed him to understand that she was sorry—that she had carried the weight of her decisions every single day since she left.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” she said softly. “I just wanted you to know that I regret it. Every day. And I’m here now. If you’ll let me be.”( To be continued)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

 Guwahati , Assam , India 

11/10/2024

© All rights reserved by the author

Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5

The sun had barely risen, casting a gentle glow across the small town of Nainital, where the early morning mist clung to the hills like a forgotten memory. The air was crisp and cool, filled with the scent of pine and the earthy musk of damp soil. It had been years since Aditi last stepped foot in this place—her childhood home, the place where her entire life had once unfolded. But today, she was back.

She sat quietly in the back seat of the cab, her fingers nervously playing with the strap of her bag. The roads leading to her father’s house were familiar, yet strange. It felt as though they hadn’t changed in all these years, and yet the weight of time-pressed heavily upon her chest. Aditi hadn’t spoken to her brother, Rohan, in almost eight years. Their falling out had been sudden, sharp, and painful—like a knife that neither of them had been willing to pull out, let alone heal.

They had been close once, growing up inseparable. The world had seemed small when they were together, their bond an unbreakable force against anything life threw at them. But that was before—before the arguments, before the silence, before the deep chasm of resentment that had slowly grown between them.

As the cab approached her father’s house, Aditi’s heart pounded harder. The old iron gate creaked as she pushed it open, and the sight of the faded white house standing in the middle of a once lush garden made her chest tighten with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. Her father had died a week ago, and now, she and Rohan had been left to deal with the remnants of his life—the house, the estate, and the memories that still lingered within its walls.

The front door was unlocked, as she had expected. Rohan was already inside. She paused on the threshold, inhaling deeply before stepping into the quiet house. The smell of old wood and dust filled her senses, along with something else—something familiar, like the ghost of her childhood. Her footsteps echoed softly as she made her way to the living room, where she found him.

Rohan stood by the window, staring out at the garden that their father had once taken such pride in. He looked older, his hair tinged with gray at the temples, his face hardened by the years that had passed. He didn’t turn when she entered, but she knew he had heard her.

“Hi,” she said quietly, the word barely breaking the silence.

Rohan’s shoulders tensed slightly, but he didn’t respond. Aditi swallowed hard, the weight of everything left unsaid between them filling the room. She moved to stand on the opposite side of the room, the distance between them feeling both physical and emotional.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The house felt like a tomb, filled with the ghosts of their shared past, the happy childhood they had once known. Aditi’s mind wandered back to the last time she had spoken to Rohan, to the argument that had torn them apart. It had been about their mother, or more accurately, her death. Rohan had blamed her for not being there, for moving away to chase her career while their mother was sick. And Aditi—she had never forgiven him for the accusation.( To be continued)

Rajat chandra sarmah 

Guwahati , Assam , India

10/10/2024

© All rights reserved by the author

Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5

Maya had always been a dreamer, even as a little girl. She used to fill notebooks with ideas for ads, movie scripts, and short stories. But the city had worn her down. The grind, the competition, the expectations—everything felt so much heavier here than it did in the small world she came from.

As she sat there, her thoughts swirling, she suddenly noticed an elderly man seated at the far end of the café. He was hunched over a notebook, scribbling away with a furrowed brow, pausing occasionally to sip from his cup. He looked out of place amidst the sleek modernity of the café, his tattered overcoat and thick, square glasses giving him an air of nostalgia. But there was something about the intensity with which he wrote, his complete absorption in whatever story he was crafting, that struck Maya.

For a long moment, she simply watched him, wondering what stories he had to tell. What had brought him here, to this café, on a rainy afternoon? Did he, too, have dreams once that were larger than life? And if so, had he achieved them?

She was lost in thought when the man looked up and caught her gaze. Embarrassed, she quickly looked away, pretending to check her phone. But when she glanced up again, he smiled softly, a knowing kind of smile, as if he understood the questions she was too afraid to ask.

That evening, Maya returned to her apartment feeling different. She couldn’t quite place it, but something about that quiet encounter had shifted something inside her. Maybe it was seeing someone so consumed by their passion for writing, or maybe it was the realization that even in a city as overwhelming as this one, there were pockets of quiet where dreams could still take root.

Maya sat down at her desk, the blank page on her laptop screen staring back at her. It had been a while since she’d written anything outside of work, and the thought of starting again was daunting. But she reminded herself of why she had come here in the first place, what had driven her to leave behind the safety of home and throw herself into the unknown.

It wasn’t just about the job or the paycheck. It was about creating something that mattered, something that would leave a mark—if not on the world, then at least on herself. And that, she realized, was enough.

She took a deep breath and began to type.

Over the next few weeks, something in Maya shifted. She stopped feeling like she was drowning in the city and began to move with it. She started taking long walks in the evenings, observing the people around her—the street vendors, the office-goers, the couples stealing moments of affection on park benches. She found inspiration in the small, everyday stories that unfolded around her, stories that she had been too distracted to notice before.

Her writing, both at work and on her own time, started to flow more easily. The ideas came faster, more naturally, and she found herself feeling a renewed sense of purpose. The city hadn’t changed, but she had. She had stopped looking at it as a battleground and started seeing it for what it was—a living, breathing organism full of stories waiting to be told. 

One evening, as she walked home from work, the rain began to fall once again, softly at first and then in heavy sheets. She ducked into a small bookstore to wait it out, the familiar scent of old pages wrapping around her like a warm embrace. As she browsed the shelves, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was her mother.

Maya hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hi, Ma.” 

“Maya! Finally! I’ve been calling for days. How are you? When are you coming home?”

Maya smiled softly, her heart full as she looked out at the rain-drenched streets. “Soon, Ma. I’ll be home soon.”

The city would always be there, waiting with its dreams and its challenges. But for the first time, Maya felt like she didn’t need to choose between the two worlds. She could belong to both—the city beneath the lights, and the home that had shaped her.

And with that thought, Maya knew she had found her balance.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

9/10/2024

© All rights reserved by the author

Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5

They called it the city of dreams. A place where lives intersected, ambitions collided and destinies were made or shattered under the blinding brilliance of a million city lights. For Maya, those lights had always been a beacon, a promise that life could be more than her small hometown’s narrow lanes and stifling traditions. She had always imagined herself stepping into this world, arms wide open, ready to claim the future she envisioned. But as she stood at the edge of her tiny apartment balcony, staring out at the sea of neon signs and traffic below, she wondered if the city truly had room for her dreams.

The air was thick with the scent of wet pavement, an aftermath of the evening rain. Cars honked incessantly, and the voices of street vendors selling their last batch of snacks echoed faintly in the background. Maya tugged at the collar of her coat, pulling it closer against the night breeze. The day had been long and tiring. Her job as a junior copywriter at a mid-tier advertising agency, though not glamorous, was her lifeline in this city. Every day, she pushed herself to come up with something fresh, something that would be the breakthrough to earn her place in the industry. Yet, every day, the feedback was the same—“It’s good, Maya, but not quite there.”

She sighed, leaning over the railing, letting the city’s hum drown her thoughts. She had always believed that with enough determination, she could forge her way through. But lately, that determination had started to feel like a burden. Her family back home in Agra kept calling, asking when she’d come for a visit. Her mother’s voice was always tinged with concern, asking her when she planned to “settle down.” The question itself felt suffocating. It wasn’t that Maya didn’t want to have a family someday, but her dreams—weren’t they valid too? Couldn’t she carve out a space for herself before folding into the expectations of marriage and family life?

The next morning, Maya woke up with a strange restlessness. The heavy curtains in her room barely let in the morning light, but she could already hear the familiar sounds of the bustling streets below. Her phone buzzed incessantly on the bedside table—notifications from work, family WhatsApp groups, her best friend Priya asking if she was still alive after ghosting her for the past few days.

She stared at her phone for a few moments, debating whether to respond or to let the world believe she was just fine. In a city so densely populated, it was easy to feel invisible. And that’s what Maya had been doing for weeks now—blending into the crowd, mechanically going through the motions of her workdays, and avoiding questions about her future, even from herself.

But today felt different. She didn’t know if it was the remnants of last night’s thoughts still clouding her mind or the incessant rain pattering against the window, but something inside her stirred—a quiet rebellion against the passivity she’d fallen into. She couldn’t stay like this. She couldn’t let her dreams slip away in the monotony of everyday struggles.

She thought about the people she worked with, the ones who seemed to have their lives together. They came in every morning, immaculate in their tailored clothes, with their spotless portfolios and their sharp, confident smiles. What did they have that she didn’t? Was it money, connections, luck? Or was it just the unwavering belief in themselves? 

By midday, Maya found herself in a quiet café nestled between two old buildings in a forgotten corner of the city. The café had large windows, offering a view of the rain-slicked streets where people rushed by, huddled under umbrellas. She watched them absentmindedly as she sipped her coffee.

( To be Continued)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah 

Guwahati , Assam , India 

8/10/2024

A GIFT OF NATURE (Part -III)

© All rights reserved by the author 

(Other than tourism or educational purposes)

Instagram : @rajatchandra sarnmah5

CONTINUED FROM PART -II

Connectivity and Access

Reaching Kaziranga is relatively easy, making it a popular destination for both Indian and international travellers. The park is well-connected by road, rail, and air.

By Air: The nearest airport is at Jorhat, about 97 kilometres away, and Guwahati’s Lokpriya Gopinath Bordoloi International Airport is about 220 kilometres from the park. Both airports offer regular flights to major cities in India, making air travel a convenient option.

By Rail: The nearest railway station is at Furkating, around 75 kilometres from Kaziranga. This station is connected to Guwahati and other major cities in Assam.

By Road: The park is located along National Highway 37, which provides direct road access. Both government and private buses operate regular services from Guwahati, Jorhat, and Tezpur. Taxis and private vehicles are also available for hire, making road travel convenient and comfortable.

Once you arrive, the park itself is best explored through organized jeep or elephant safaris, both of which are available at the park’s entry gates. Safari rides are usually arranged in the early mornings or late afternoons, allowing visitors to experience the wildlife at its most active. The Hotel and resort owners normally help the tourist to get the bookings.

Local Culture, Hospitality, and Cuisine

One of the most striking aspects of a visit to Kaziranga is the warm and welcoming nature of the locals. The Assamese people are known for their courtesy, and this extends to the surrounding communities of Kaziranga. Many of these villages are home to ethnic tribes like the Mishing, Karbi, and Bodo, each with their unique customs and traditions.

If you’re lucky enough to visit during a festival like Bihu, you’ll witness the joyous celebrations that define Assamese culture. Bihu is marked by energetic dances, music, and a general sense of community festivity. Local food is another highlight, with dishes like masor tenga (a sour fish curry), pitha (a traditional rice cake), and an array of other Assamese delicacies on offer. If you’re feeling adventurous, don’t miss out on trying the local rice beer, apong, which is traditionally brewed by the Mishing tribe.

A Hub of Nature and Tea Gardens

Beyond the wildlife, Kaziranga’s proximity to Assam’s famous tea estates adds another layer of charm to the region. A visit to one of the nearby tea gardens offers a peaceful break from the thrill of wildlife safaris. Walking through the well-manicured tea plantations, you can witness the traditional tea-picking process and even enjoy a fresh cup of Assam’s world-renowned tea. It’s the perfect way to unwind after a day of exploring the park.

The Orchid and Biodiversity Park

Just a short drive from the park is the Kaziranga National Orchid and Biodiversity Park, which houses over 500 species of orchids native to the region. It’s not just a botanical wonder, but also a cultural hub where visitors can learn about Assam’s rich heritage. The park features traditional folk performances, a museum of local crafts, and even a bamboo park. For anyone interested in the flora of the region or the local culture, this park is a must-visit.

Conclusion

Kaziranga National Park is more than just a place for wildlife enthusiasts; it’s a complete experience that encapsulates the beauty of nature, the warmth of local culture, and the richness of Assam’s history. Whether you’re wandering through the dense grasslands, enjoying a traditional Assamese meal, or simply gazing at the Brahmaputra River, Kaziranga leaves an indelible mark on your soul.

In conclusion, my visit to Kaziranga National Park remains an unforgettable experience, filled with the thrill of spotting wild animals like the one-horned rhino and the majestic Royal Bengal tiger during the elephant ride. The serene beauty of the Brahmaputra River, the lush green tea gardens, the vibrant birdlife, and the charm of the Orchid Park added to the magic. I’m certain that anyone who visits these incredible places will carry cherished memories that last a lifetime.(END)

 Rajat Chandra Sarmah 

Guwahati , Assam , India

7/10/2024

A GIFT OF NATURE

© All rights reserved by the author 

(Other than tourism or educational purposes)

Instagram : @rajatchandra sarmah5

In February 2024, I visited The Kaziranga National Park not far away from my place with my family. I spent a week at Kaziranga National Park, located in the heart of Assam, which is one of India’s greatest treasures. 

I feel that I should share some of my experience with my readers, so that someday, they may also enjoy the beauty of the place and relax for some time here, in the most tranquil manner with nature. 

The National park

The Park spread over an area of 430 square kilometres earlier, now expanded to an area of 1090 square Km, it’s a land where nature, wildlife, and culture converge beautifully. It is spread over the districts of Golaghat, Sonitpur, Biswanath, and Nagaon – Whether you’re drawn to its iconic wildlife, the meandering Brahmaputra River, or the rich local traditions, Kaziranga offers an immersive experience that goes beyond being just a wildlife sanctuary. It is a UNESCO world heritage site.

The mighty Brahmaputra River flows along the northern boundary of Kaziranga, shaping its landscape and ecosystem. This river, one of the largest in Asia, is vital to the region, not only because of its rich biodiversity but also its impact on the lives of the people and wildlife that inhabit the area. The Brahmaputra plays a significant role in replenishing Kaziranga’s wetlands and grasslands, which are crucial for sustaining the park’s unique ecosystem.

During the monsoon season, the river swells, flooding parts of Kaziranga. While this flooding may seem destructive, it’s beneficial too. The water rejuvenates the park’s grasslands, making them fertile and fresh. However, floods can also pose challenges, with animals sometimes migrating to higher ground, crossing the national highway to safer places including areas near human settlements. The park authorities also made some highlands within the park so that the animals can take safe shelter. Efforts are consistently made by the park authorities to mitigate the risks and ensure that both animals and humans coexist peacefully during these periods.

Aquatic Life in Kaziranga

Given the park’s connection to the Brahmaputra and its numerous water bodies, Kaziranga is home to an array of aquatic species. While the one-horned rhinoceros ( number around 2600 approximately) and the royal Bengal tiger  

( Kaziranga was declared a Tiger reserve in 2006) often steal the spotlight, the park also has a rich diversity of aquatic animals. The waters of the Brahmaputra and the numerous beels (wetlands) within the park are home to various species of fish, turtles, and even the endangered Ganges river dolphin.

The presence of these species highlights Kaziranga’s complex ecosystem, where aquatic life supports the larger food chain, benefiting birds, mammals, and other creatures that thrive in these watery habitats. Spotting a river dolphin surfacing for air, or watching migratory birds gather around the beels, adds a serene and magical touch to a visit to Kaziranga. ( TO BE CONTINUED)

Rajat Chandra sarmah 

Guwahati , Assam , India

05/10/2024

(c) All right reserved by author

Instagram :@rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com

Asha stepped out into the rain, letting the drops hit her face. The sensation was immediate, a coolness that spread across her skin, refreshing and cleansing. She could feel the tension of the past week—the hurried deadlines, the phone calls, the busy schedules—melt away with every step she took into the downpour. Her saree clung to her, but she didn’t care. There was a freedom in it, in the way the rain allowed her to just be. No expectations, no worries, just the present moment.

She walked down the narrow lane that led to the market, her sandals squishing in the wet mud. The rain had turned the streets into little rivers, the water flowing steadily along the sides, carrying with it leaves and small twigs. Vendors had covered their stalls with plastic sheets, but they too seemed to have slowed down, their usual cries of “fresh vegetables” and “best prices” softened under the rain’s lullaby.

At the corner of the street, she stopped by the chaiwala, a small, cozy tea stall with the sweet scent of boiling tea leaves and ginger wafting through the air. There, a small group of people had gathered, their umbrellas discarded in favor of the makeshift tin roof that offered them shelter. The chaiwala, Ramu, smiled when he saw her. He handed her a cup without her needing to ask, the steam rising from the glass cutting through the cool, moist air.

“Beautiful weather, isn’t it?” Ramu said, his eyes twinkling.

Asha smiled, taking a sip of the hot tea. “It feels like the world is taking a pause,” she replied softly, her voice almost lost in the rain’s murmur.

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the raindrops create ripples in the puddles, the sound of the rain blending with the hiss of the stove as more tea was brewed. Asha felt a warmth spread through her, not just from the tea, but from the simple joy of the moment—this shared appreciation of life’s little pleasures.

As she finished her tea and handed the cup back, she noticed the rain had begun to lighten, the once heavy downpour now a soft drizzle, like a final farewell before the sun broke through the clouds. The children were still playing, their laughter echoing down the street, while the adults had resumed their daily routines, albeit at a slower, more mindful pace. The world seemed to breathe in unison, refreshed and renewed.

Asha turned and began to walk back home, her heart full. The rain had done what it always did—it had washed away the dust, both from the earth and from her spirit. There was something timeless about it, the way it connected people, from the children playing in the streets to the elderly man sipping tea on his porch, to the strangers gathered at a chai stall, all brought together by nature’s gentle touch.

As she stepped back into her house, her wet feet leaving faint prints on the floor, Asha couldn’t help but smile. Rainy days, she thought, are not just about the rain itself, but about the way it makes everything around it pause, slow down, and simply feel.

And sometimes, that’s all we need—a reminder to breathe, to listen, and to be present in the moment, just like the rain.(END,)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

05/10/2024

( C) All right reserved with the author.

Instagram : @rajatchandrasarmah5

The day began like any other—a soft hum of the early morning stirring as the world awoke. But as the first rays of light peeked through the heavy clouds, the anticipation of rain hung in the air, a gentle promise whispered to the earth below. By mid-morning, the sky had turned a shade of grey, pregnant with moisture, ready to drench the land. It was one of those days when nature slows down, inviting you to do the same.

Asha sat by her window, the familiar creak of the old wooden chair a comfort to her ears. She had always loved rainy days, ever since she was a child. There was something magical about the way the world outside transformed with the first drop of rain—how the trees seemed to stand taller, their leaves glistening, and how the earth, dry and cracked, drank greedily from the sky’s offering. She watched now, as the first few drops splattered against the windowpane, running down like little rivers before gathering in a pool at the sill.

The street outside her house began to change. People who had been walking hurriedly moments ago stopped, looking up to the sky, hands outstretched, letting the cool drops fall onto their palms. Children—who moments ago had been trudging home from school—erupted into laughter, throwing their bags to the side and running into the streets. Asha could hear their joyous shrieks as they splashed into puddles, their faces tilted upwards, embracing the rain like an old friend.

The scent of wet earth rose into the air, an aroma so familiar and grounding it pulled Asha from her seat. She stood at the doorway, her hand resting on the wooden frame, watching as the rain grew heavier, the drops thicker, creating a soft, rhythmic sound against the roof. The world outside was awash in shades of green, everything looking more vivid under the soft filter of rainfall. The trees seemed to sway gently with the breeze, as if dancing to the rhythm of nature’s symphony.

Across the street, she noticed Mr. Rao, the old man who lived alone in the house with the blue shutters, sitting under his porch. He, too, was watching the rain. There was a peacefulness about him, a quiet contentment as he sipped his tea. He caught Asha’s gaze and smiled—a small, knowing smile, as if they were both part of a secret club of rain lovers.( To be continued)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

04/10/2025