ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR

DATE: 11/04/25

The window doesn’t dream—
but it remembers
how light crawls across a floor
with slow affection.

It doesn’t blink,
but watches the seasons
press their palms against the glass—
sometimes with rain,
sometimes with silence.

Today,
the window framed a bird
that hesitated mid-flight,
as if unsure
whether to return
or keep going.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA

You may follow me on:

📷 Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
📧 Mail ID: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
🌐 Website: www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
▶️ YouTube: conversewithasmile

Good morning my friends and readers

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR

Date 10/04/2026

There are silences we don’t speak of.

Like the one between a question and the nod that never comes. The silence of an apology that remains stuck at the edge of the throat. The quiet that stretches across a dinner table when both know it’s over but won’t say it.

We think of silence as emptiness. But it’s not. It holds everything we couldn’t put into words.

The way a parent stares out of the window, pretending not to cry. The friend who stops calling without explanation. The lover who leaves your message on “read” for days.

Silence isn’t absence—it’s the deepest kind of presence.

We spend our lives fearing it, running from it, filling it with noise. But if you listen closely, silence has its own grammar. A vocabulary of pauses. A rhythm of glances. A punctuation of unsaid things.

Sometimes, what we leave unsaid says the most.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA

You may follow me on:

📷 Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
📧 Mail ID: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
🌐 Website: www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
▶️ YouTube: conversewithasmile

Good morning friends and my readers .

All rights reserved by the author.

Date of Posting: Wednesday, 9 April 2025

A memory does not knock—
it seeps in,
like rain through a forgotten crack
in the attic window.

You were laughing, I think,
though the sound has grown moss.
The light was warmer that day.
Or maybe that’s just my mind
rewriting shadows into sun.

I fold it up carefully now,
this paper-thin feeling—
slide it behind the spine
of a book I haven’t opened in years,
and leave it there
to breathe.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA

You may follow me on:
📷 Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
📧 Mail ID: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
🌐 Website: www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
▶️ YouTube: conversewithasmile

Good morning friends and readers

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR

DATE OF POSTING : 8 APRIL 2025

We forget too much. Not because we want to, but because it’s easier.

We forget the smell of old clothes kept in the back of the cupboard. The texture of a voice once familiar. We forget the way a parent touched our forehead after a fever, the way a friend once waited without checking the time.

Forgetting becomes a habit—easier than confronting what once mattered.

But here’s the strange thing—memory doesn’t really disappear. It hides. It resurfaces when we least expect: through a taste, a scent, a city we once passed through without understanding why it felt like home.

And then, suddenly, what was forgotten arrives unannounced. A photograph tucked in a book. A name whispered in a dream. A song from a radio we didn’t intend to listen to.

And we realise: forgetting is never permanent. It’s just memory in disguise.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA

You may follow me on:

📷 Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
📧 Mail ID: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
🌐 Website: www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
▶️ YouTube: conversewithasmile

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR

Date of posting 7 April 2025

The silence is not absence—
but a room with no furniture
where thought lingers like dust,
suspended in a shaft of morning light.

Between spoken words,
between the ticking of the clock,
there’s a place where nothing happens—
and that’s where everything begins.

We chase after noise,
replies, blue ticks, headlines,
forgetting the soul exhales
in the pause,
not in the applause.

I sat by the window today
and did not write.
And in that not-writing,
a line found me first.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA

You may follow me on:
📷 Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5
📧 Mail ID: rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
🌐 Website: www.rajatchandrasarmah.com
▶️ YouTube: conversewithasmile

Good morning dear friends and readers.

ALL RIGHT RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR

06/04/2025

Redefining Happiness

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