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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.
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.
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
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
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
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The morning was crisp, with the faint chill of January wrapping around Chhatarpur, New Delhi. As I stepped out of my house, the aroma of freshly brewed chai lingered in the air, and a sense of quiet anticipation settled over me. Today wasn’t just another road trip—it was a journey toward new beginnings, experiences, and perhaps even nostalgia waiting to unfold.
The cab arrived just as the sun timidly peeked the horizon. It was a humble white sedan, slightly dusty, as if it had stories of its own to tell. The driver, a kind man named Ramesh with a weathered face and a cheerful smile, greeted me warmly. “BITS Pilani, right?” he confirmed, and I nodded, settling into the backseat with my backpack snug beside me.
The roads of Delhi, even in the early hours, hummed with life. Auto-rickshaws whizzed by, honking with their distinct urgency. The aroma of parathas being fried at roadside stalls teased my senses, and I made a mental note to grab some breakfast soon.
As we navigated through the sprawling lanes of Gurgaon, the city gradually gave way to open roads and fields. The chaos of urban life melted away, replaced by the serenity of the countryside. The morning sun now shone brighter, bathing the fields in golden hues, and a gentle breeze made the mustard flowers sway like an orchestra playing to nature’s rhythm.
I couldn’t help but think about my destination—BITS ( Birla Institute of Technology)Pilani. A name that carries prestige, dreams, and a slice of India’s academic brilliance. My thoughts drifted to the people I would meet, the places I’d explore, and the memories I’d create.
Somewhere along the way, Ramesh suggested stopping at a dhaba near Rewari. It wasn’t your typical roadside eatery; it was one of those places where the food feels like an embrace, warm and satisfying. The aloo parathas came dripping with butter, accompanied by a tangy pickle and a steaming cup of chai. “This is the kind of meal you can’t find in cities,” Ramesh remarked with a proud grin. He wasn’t wrong—it was comfort on a plate.
The journey resumed, and the roads stretched endlessly, flanked by green fields and clusters of trees. I rolled down the window, letting the cool breeze kiss my face, carrying with it the earthy scent of freshly plowed soil. Villages passed by in a blur, each with its own rhythm of life. Children with backpacks walked to school, women in vibrant saris carried water pots on their heads, and elderly men sat in groups, discussing the day’s affairs under the shade of neem trees.
As we neared Pilani, the air seemed different—lighter, perhaps, or maybe it was just my imagination. The iconic clock tower of BITS Pilani came into view, standing tall as a beacon of learning and aspirations. My heart swelled with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
We pulled up at the gates, where the guard greeted us with a knowing smile. “First time here?” he asked, and I nodded, unable to suppress my grin. The campus was alive with energy—students walking in groups, their laughter echoing in the corridors, and a sense of purpose radiating from every corner.
As I got out of the cab, I looked back at the road that had brought me here—a journey that wasn’t just about miles but about moments, reflections, and the beauty of the world outside the confines of a screen or a schedule. It was a reminder that sometimes, the path is as meaningful as the destination.
RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
Camp : Pilani , Rajasthan , India
29/01/25
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Instagram : rajatchandrasarmah5
The final day in Bali arrived far too soon, tugging at our hearts as we prepared to bid farewell to the island that had embraced us so warmly. The day began in the quiet stillness of dawn. By 6 AM, we were up and ready, our suitcases packed and lined up neatly in the corner of the room, each holding not just clothes and souvenirs, but countless memories of the past few days.
The staff at the resort had been nothing short of remarkable throughout our stay, and their care extended even to our last moments there. Knowing we had an early flight, they had lovingly prepared breakfast for us, neatly packed and handed over with warm smiles and heartfelt wishes for a safe journey. There was something deeply touching about their thoughtfulness; it felt like a personal goodbye from the island itself.
Clearing the bill at the reception was a smooth process, but it also came with a bittersweet pang. As I signed the receipt, I couldn’t help but glance around the lobby, the familiar surroundings that had become a temporary home. It’s funny how a place that was once just a destination on a map could now feel so deeply personal.
The driver was already waiting for us at the entrance, as punctual as ever. He greeted us with his usual cheerful demeanor, helping us load our bags into the car. The drive to the airport was quieter than usual, not because we didn’t want to talk, but because we were lost in our thoughts, replaying the highlights of our trip like a favorite movie reel.
The flight back to New Delhi was on schedule, a small yet welcome relief. Airports always carry a sense of transition, and this one was no different. As we boarded the Air India flight, a part of me felt torn. The excitement of returning home was tinged with a lingering sadness of leaving behind a paradise we had just begun to understand.
The journey itself was uneventful, but the view from the window seat held its own magic. As the plane ascended, Bali slowly faded into a patchwork of greens and blues, the vast ocean glinting under the morning sun. I whispered a silent goodbye, promising myself that this was not the end, but a “see you again.”
We landed in Delhi on time, greeted by the familiar chaos and energy of the capital. The warmth of Bali still lingered in my heart as we stepped off the plane, but the hustle and bustle of the city quickly reminded us that we were back to reality.
As we exited the airport and hailed a cab, I took one last deep breath, carrying with it the essence of Bali – its serene beaches, lush greenery, vibrant culture, and the kindness of its people. The trip was over, but its memories would stay with us forever, like a soft glow that would light up our days whenever we needed it most.
Bali had not just been a destination; it had been an experience, a feeling, a story. And though we were back in Delhi, a part of our hearts remained on that beautiful island, waiting for the day we’d return.
The story ends here for now but I will try to come back once again . For the time Good Bye Bali ( END)
RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
Camp: Pilani Rajasthan , India
28/01/25
