All Rights Reserved by the Author
23 November 2025

This morning did not rush into my room; it arrived on tiptoes.
Somewhere outside, a faint tune drifted through the open window — a Japanese folk melody someone must have set to play softly. It felt like a voice carried by the breeze, warm enough to wake me without asking for my attention.

There is a quiet art in the way Japan treats the first hour of the day. Light is allowed to unfold slowly, sounds keep their distance, and even movement has a rhythm of gentleness. I felt a little of that today — a morning that asked nothing, demanded nothing, simply welcomed me.

May your day begin like that too: unhurried, lightly held, touched by a music you didn’t expect but needed without knowing.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
22/11/2025

Evening doesn’t always enter with colour. Sometimes it just arrives, settling around you like a quiet companion.
The world slows without announcement. Street noise becomes softer, thoughts become kinder, and even the air seems to lose its sharpness.
You might find yourself pausing — not because something demands attention, but because nothing does. That pause is the gift.
A familiar tune plays somewhere in the neighbourhood. A window glows. A few words from an old memory drift back, gentler than before.
This is the hour when you don’t need to achieve or explain.
The night places its hand lightly on your shoulder and whispers,
“You’ve done enough for today. Let the rest wait.”

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
22/11/2025

In Jeonju, an elderly woman leans over a clay jar buried halfway in the ground. She lifts the lid the way one opens a family diary — slowly, reverently, certain that something alive waits inside.
For South Koreans, kimchi is not merely food. It is patience shaped into taste, memory sealed in salt.

Every winter, families gather for kimjang, the ritual of preparing kimchi together. Children carry cabbage like treasures. Women talk of summers long gone. Old men sit nearby, telling stories as red pepper stains everyone’s hands.
What fills Koreans with pride is not the flavour alone, but the idea behind it — that good things require time, people, and shared effort.
In a world that races without pause, these old jars stay rooted: quietly fermenting, quietly teaching that depth comes only to what is allowed to rest.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
22/11/2025

In Jeonju, an elderly woman leans over a clay jar buried halfway in the ground. She lifts the lid the way one opens a family diary — slowly, reverently, certain that something alive waits inside.
For South Koreans, kimchi is not merely food. It is patience shaped into taste, memory sealed in salt.

Every winter, families gather for kimjang, the ritual of preparing kimchi together. Children carry cabbage like treasures. Women talk of summers long gone. Old men sit nearby, telling stories as red pepper stains everyone’s hands.
What fills Koreans with pride is not the flavour alone, but the idea behind it — that good things require time, people, and shared effort.
In a world that races without pause, these old jars stay rooted: quietly fermenting, quietly teaching that depth comes only to what is allowed to rest.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
22/11/2025

Today began with a voice — not mine.
Some neighbour, two buildings away, was humming an old tune while watering plants. The song floated across the air like it had forgotten its age, and for a moment, it felt as if the morning had walked toward me on its own.
There is something special about a day that doesn’t demand your attention but quietly earns it. No rush, no instruction — just a soft melody reminding you that life still has corners where beauty hides without announcement.
I stood there for a minute longer than necessary, letting the tune settle inside me.
Maybe mornings aren’t meant to “prepare” us.
Maybe they’re just meant to remind us that even ordinary days arrive carrying small gifts, if we’re willing to listen.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
Date: 21/11/25

Evening is the hour when the world loosens its grip. The rush fades, the noise retreats, and life returns to its softer shape. Today feels like one of those evenings that doesn’t need much—just a comfortable silence and a mind finally willing to slow down.
There’s a gentle truth hidden in these hours: the day is already complete. You don’t need to measure it or compare it or fix it. Let the light dim without resistance. Let your thoughts sit without judgement. Let the world be gentle for a while.
Some evenings heal simply by arriving.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
Date: 21/11/25

Every year, on a night when the moon shines fullest, Thailand becomes a river of light. Loy Krathong, the festival of letting go, transforms the country into a living painting. People walk toward water—rivers, lakes, even quiet ponds—carrying krathongs made of banana leaves, flowers, candles, and silent hopes. Families gather close, their faces brightened by tiny flames

But what the Thai people are most proud of is not the beauty alone; it is the meaning woven into each floating light. A krathong carries away anger, regret, sadness, and unspoken burdens. As it drifts, so does everything you choose to release.
Tourists watch in awe, but for Thais, it is a deeply personal ritual—a moment where the heart unclenches. The night becomes a sanctuary where thousands of small lights move across the water like departing worries.
It is a celebration of renewal, but also a lesson: sometimes the simplest gesture can free you in ways nothing else can.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
Date: 21/11/25

Some mornings arrive with an unexpected softness, as if the universe has opened a small window just for you. Today feels like a day for release—not of responsibilities or ambitions, but of the invisible things you hold tightly without noticing. A thought that hurts. A memory that overstays. A fear that whispers too often.
When you let go internally, the outside world changes shape. It’s not motivation, not strategy—just a quiet understanding that you don’t need to carry everything.
The day will follow your mind’s freedom. Let one small weight drop. The rest will know how to follow.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
Date: 20/11/25

Evening arrives like someone dimming the lights in a room where you’ve been thinking too hard. It softens the sharp corners of the day, slows the pulse, and lets the breath fall into its natural rhythm again. Today, the world feels a little quieter—not empty, just balanced, as if the universe is asking you to put down what you’ve been carrying.
Some hours are meant for gentleness, for listening to the silence without trying to fill it. Let this evening be that small pause where life leans lightly against your shoulder.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile

All rights reserved by the author.
Date: 20/11/25

In Japan, cherry blossoms are not merely flowers—they are a collective emotion that rises and falls with the season. Every year, as winter loosens its grip, the entire country enters a quiet anticipation. Families track blossom forecasts the way others follow election results. Friends make plans weeks in advance, choosing their perfect corner under a tree. And when the first buds finally open, Japan breathes differently—slower, softer, as though the land itself is exhaling.

Yet what moves people most is not the beauty alone. It is the reminder hidden inside the petals: everything precious is temporary, and that is what makes it glow brighter. Sakura teaches a nation to celebrate the moment, not the permanence.
Visitors from around the world feel this too. Under those pale pink branches, strangers become companions, sharing the same brief miracle of colour and light.
This is Japan’s pride—transforming a passing bloom into a universal lesson in how to live.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
Instagram @rajatchandrasarmah5
YouTube @conversewithasmile