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A quiet night turns into dawn’s embrace,
The clock strikes twelve, a fleeting space.
A year departs, its echoes fade,
A new path calls, yet unwade.

Stars shimmer with promises untold,
Dreams awaken from slumber’s hold.
Hope whispers softly through the breeze,
“Begin again, with hearts at ease.”

The world wears a cloak of fleeting snow,
Covering wounds, letting kindness grow.
Every crack in time, a lesson’s trace,
Each failure—a chance to find your grace.

Fireworks bloom, the sky ignites,
Banishing shadows of the nights.
Laughter rises, and spirits mend,
A chorus of joy, where fears suspend.

Yet beneath the cheer lies a silent plea,
For love, for peace, for unity.
The earth spins on, both frail and strong,
Carrying stories, righting wrongs.

So step forward, with courage anew,
Let kindness be the thread you sew.
For this year may be fleeting, like all before,
But its whispers can open another door.

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

Guwahati , Assam , India

02/01/2025

“Be Limitless” by Blue cloud publishers results were out today . Proud to see my name amongst the winners.

Resolutions, Ruckus, and Reality

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Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5

In a small Indian town nestled along the banks of the Ganga, the anticipation of a new year was as thick as the winter fog. Loudspeakers blared the latest Bollywood remixes, and street vendors hawked cheap glittery “2024” hats and plastic horns. Every corner shop displayed banners proclaiming “New Year, New Beginnings!” as though the digits themselves held the promise of salvation. Amidst this controlled chaos was Ramesh, the town’s chaiwala and unchallenged philosopher-in-residence, preparing for what he called his “Annual New Year Symposium.”

The Build-Up

Ramesh’s chai stall was no ordinary tea joint. It was the epicenter of heated debates, unsolicited advice, and the occasional existential crisis. On December 30th, the regulars gathered as usual, sipping chai and discussing their grand New Year plans.

“Arre, this year I’m quitting cigarettes for good,” Banwari announced, taking a deep drag from his cigarette as he spoke.

Kamla, the neighborhood gossip, wasn’t far behind. “I’ve decided to join yoga classes,” she declared, conveniently forgetting her distaste for early mornings.

Even Golu, a pudgy 12-year-old with a samosa in each hand, added his two bits. “I’ll stop eating junk food… after New Year’s Eve, of course.”

Ramesh, pouring chai with the precision of a scientist, smirked. “So, everyone’s making promises, eh? Let me guess—by February, Banwari will still be puffing away, Kamla will be snoozing through her yoga classes, and Golu will still be found at the chaat stall.”

The group burst into laughter, though Banwari’s chuckle had a nervous edge.

“Listen,” Ramesh continued, his tone playful yet sharp, “resolutions are like Bollywood sequels—big hype, no substance. Everyone loves the idea of change, but few actually work on it. And when they fail, they blame the calendar, not themselves.”

A The Countdown

December 31st arrived, and the town square transformed into a carnival. Kite sellers, fairy lights, and an open stage added to the festive air. The loudspeakers switched to remixed bhajans after a stern warning from the local pandit, who felt Bollywood was tarnishing the sanctity of the occasion.

On the stage, Sunil, the local poet and part-time teacher, performed his yearly ode to New Year resolutions:

“This year I swear, I’ll be more wise,

But soon, like kites, my promises fly!”

The audience clapped and laughed, some already discreetly sipping desi daaru from pocket flasks. Meanwhile, Ramesh stood at his chai stall, watching the spectacle unfold.

A group of college students, emboldened by caffeine and curiosity, approached him. “Ramesh bhaiya, why do you always mock New Year resolutions? Shouldn’t we at least try to improve ourselves?”

Ramesh set down his kettle, theatrically wiped his hands, and said, “Beta, resolutions aren’t bad. But tell me, why wait for January 1st to quit smoking or start yoga? Improvement doesn’t need a calendar; it needs commitment. If you need fireworks and a countdown to inspire change, you’re not serious about it.”

The students nodded thoughtfully, though one muttered under his breath, “He sounds like my father.”

 The Absurdities

As midnight approached, the town erupted in excitement. Firecrackers lit up the sky, and phones buzzed with WhatsApp forwards filled with motivational quotes and recycled jokes. Golu, armed with a plastic horn, ran around scaring stray dogs, much to their dismay.

Kamla was caught red-handed at the dessert counter, stuffing her mouth with gulab jamuns. “It’s the last day of the year!” she protested when confronted. “Yoga can wait till tomorrow!”

Banwari, who had sworn off cigarettes earlier in the day, was seen lighting one at exactly 12:01 AM. “This is just symbolic,” he rationalized.

Even Sunil, the poet, was overheard composing a new verse between bites of aloo chaat:

“This year I’ll diet, I truly insist,

But first, let me enjoy one last twist!”

Ramesh, observing these antics from his stall, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Humans are hilarious,” he muttered to himself. “We crave change, but cling to our habits like a dog to its bone.”

 The Aftermath

By mid-January, the festive fervor had faded, and life in the town returned to its usual rhythm. Kamla’s yoga mat had become a makeshift rug for her cat. Banwari was back to his pack-a-day habit, and Golu was spotted devouring pani puris with unabashed glee.

At the chai stall, the regulars sheepishly admitted their failures. “You were right, Ramesh bhaiya,” Kamla sighed. “New Year promises are useless.”

Ramesh shook his head. “Not useless, Kamla. Just misunderstood. You all make grand, sweeping resolutions. Start small, my friends. Real change is like good chai—it takes time to brew. Focus on one habit at a time, and celebrate small wins.”

 The Wisdom

That evening, Ramesh shared his closing thoughts on the New Year. “Look, the problem isn’t making resolutions; it’s turning them into a circus. Improvement doesn’t need fireworks or Instagram posts. It needs patience, discipline, and a willingness to forgive yourself when you slip.”

He raised a cup of chai and declared, “Here’s to doing better, one small step at a time. Drink good chai, laugh often, and never stop trying—even if it’s March, April, or November.”

The crowd at the stall cheered, their spirits lifted not by resolutions, but by the wisdom of a chaiwala who had mastered the art of living.

As the sun set over the Ganga, the town welcomed the New Year not with unrealistic promises, but with humility, laughter, and, of course, a steaming cup of chai.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati, Assam , India 

31/12/2024

WISH ALL MY READER A VERY VERY HAPPY , PRODUCTIVE AND ENJOYABLE NEW YEAR 2025

https://reflections.live/articles/17920/the-eternal-quest-of-happiness-is-it-an-illusion-article-by-rajat-chandrasarmah-19664-m5b256y7.html

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 The Path of Uncertainty

The following months were a blur of activity. Arun packed his belongings, bid farewell to his father, and took a leap of faith. He moved to New Delhi, where he quickly found himself immersed in the world of academia. His work was well-received, and he was soon recognized as a promising scholar in his field. His papers were published, and his research garnered attention from scholars across the globe.

But despite the accolades and the prestige, Arun never felt truly at home in the city. His heart still ached for Kaliya, for the simple life he had left behind. He longed for the peaceful evenings spent under the oak tree, for the familiar faces of his students, for the sense of purpose that came from teaching the children of his village.

Arun continued to commute between New Delhi and Kaliya, but the strain of balancing two worlds began to take its toll. The demands of academia were relentless, and the time he spent in Kaliya became shorter and shorter. He found himself increasingly disconnected from the life he had known, from the people who had shaped him.

The loneliness of the city was something Arun had not anticipated. Despite the bustling streets and the crowded halls of the university, he felt more isolated than ever before. The city, with all its energy and excitement, seemed to amplify his sense of disconnection. He missed the quiet of Kaliya, the sense of community, the simplicity of life. He missed the oak tree, which had been his anchor for so long.

One night, after a particularly exhausting day, Arun found himself wandering the streets of New Delhi, lost in thought. He walked for hours, trying to clear his mind, but nothing seemed to help. His thoughts were a tangle of frustration, guilt, and confusion. He had made so many sacrifices to get here, but at what cost? Was this the life he had always dreamed of, or had he simply traded one form of loneliness for another?

As he walked, Arun stumbled upon a small temple tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was a simple structure, with peeling walls and a small idol of Lord Vishnu. Arun entered the temple, finding solace in its stillness. He sat down in front of the idol, closing his eyes and offering a silent prayer. He asked for guidance, for clarity, for peace.

In that moment of silence, Arun felt a wave of understanding wash over him. He realized that his journey was not about choosing between two paths. It was about creating his own path, one that could accommodate both his dreams and his responsibilities. He didn’t need to choose between Kaliya and New Delhi — he could carve out a life that allowed him to live fully in both worlds. The city was not his enemy, nor was his village. Both held pieces of his soul, and he could embrace them both without guilt.

With renewed clarity, Arun returned to Kaliya, where he resumed his work at the school with a new sense of purpose. He continued his academic pursuits, but he also remained committed to the people and the land that had shaped him. Arun had found his peace — not in the pursuit of fame or success, but in the quiet balance between the two worlds he had come to call home.

And as the years passed, Arun continued to teach, to write, and to live with the knowledge that the greatest success was not in achieving the world’s recognition, but in finding harmony within oneself. The oak tree, ever steadfast, stood as a silent witness to his journey — a symbol of the strength, the sacrifices, and the quiet symphony of life that continued to unfold in the hills of Kaliya.(END)

Rajat Chandra Sarmah 

Guwahati , Assam , India 

29/12/2024

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Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5

 A Quiet Reflection

Months passed, and Arun’s life in Kaliya settled into a new rhythm. The seminar in New Delhi had left a lasting impact on him. It had opened his eyes to the vastness of the world, to the opportunities that lay beyond his village. Yet, despite all the grandeur and excitement of the city, he had come to realize that what he truly sought was not in the external world, but in the quiet moments that made up the fabric of everyday life.

His days were once again filled with teaching, but now, there was a new depth to his approach. Arun had always been passionate about history, but he now viewed his role as a teacher in a more profound way. He was not just imparting knowledge; he was shaping the future. The lessons he taught were not just about ancient empires and forgotten kings; they were about the lessons of perseverance, courage, and humility that history had to offer.

In his classroom, Arun encouraged his students to see beyond the surface of events, to look for the deeper meanings in the stories of the past. He often shared with them his own journey, telling them about the invitation to the seminar, his brief stay in the bustling city, and the lessons he had learned there. He spoke about the importance of finding one’s true purpose, of understanding that success was not always about wealth or fame, but about the impact one could have on the lives of others.

Arun’s words resonated deeply with his students, many of whom came from families that struggled to make ends meet. They saw in him not just a teacher, but a mentor — someone who had lived through the same challenges they faced and had found a way to rise above them. Arun became a symbol of hope for them, showing them that their dreams, no matter how small they seemed, were valid and worth pursuing.

However, despite his newfound sense of purpose, Arun could not shake the feeling of restlessness that lingered within him. There were still days when he would sit beneath the oak tree, staring out at the hills, lost in thought. He wondered if he had truly found his calling or if he was simply settling for what was easy. His dreams of a grand life, of making a difference on a larger scale, still called to him.

One evening, as Arun sat under the oak tree, the wind rustling through the leaves, he received a letter that would once again challenge his sense of purpose. It was from the same prestigious university that had invited him to the seminar. They were offering him a permanent teaching position — one that would allow him to lecture on history at the university, conduct research, and engage with scholars from around the world.

The offer was tempting. It was everything Arun had dreamed of when he first imagined a life beyond Kaliya. It was a chance to be part of something bigger, to make a lasting impact on the field of history. And yet, as he read the letter, a deep sense of unease settled in his chest. He had already made the decision once before — to stay in Kaliya, to honor his roots and his promises. Was he now willing to break that promise again?

As the days passed, Arun wrestled with his decision. He spoke to his father, who, despite his frailty, encouraged him to follow his heart. “You’ve always wanted to do more, Arun,” his father said softly. “You’ve done everything for this family. Now, do something for yourself. Your mother would have wanted that too.”

The words were a balm to Arun’s soul, but they also made him feel guilty. He had already given so much of himself to his family, to the village. Was he being selfish by considering a life away from them? Arun wasn’t sure. All he knew was that his heart was torn between two worlds — the quiet, simple life in Kaliya, and the grand, uncertain world of academia and fame.

One evening, as he sat at the dinner table with his father, a thought struck him — perhaps the key to his decision was not about choosing between two paths, but about finding a way to merge them. Arun realized that he could contribute to the world of academia without leaving Kaliya behind. He could continue teaching at the village school, while also pursuing his research and sharing his discoveries with the broader academic community.

It was a radical thought, one that seemed impossible at first. But Arun was no stranger to challenges. He had spent his life defying expectations, from his humble beginnings to his brief stint in New Delhi. Why not continue defying them now? Why not create a space where his dreams could coexist with his responsibilities?

And so, Arun made a decision. He would accept the teaching position, but on his own terms. He would teach at the university, but he would also return to Kaliya every month, continuing his work at the school and remaining close to his family. It would be a life of balance — of blending the best of both worlds.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah 

Guwahati , Assam , India 

28/12/2024

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The Echo of the Oak Tree

Back in Kaliya, the oak tree stood as it always had — steadfast and unyielding. Arun returned to his humble life, but he did so with a renewed sense of understanding. He no longer saw his village as a cage, nor did he view his dreams as something distant and unattainable. His journey had taught him that dreams did not need to be grand to be meaningful; they could be found in the simplest of moments.

As Arun resumed his life as a teacher, he began to see his role in the village in a new light. His students, many of whom came from humble backgrounds, were like him once — full of unspoken dreams and hopes. Arun took it upon himself to nurture those dreams, to show his students that greatness could be found in the everyday, in the quiet acts of courage and kindness that often went unnoticed.

The oak tree, once a silent witness to his doubts and fears, now stood as a symbol of his journey. It had seen him grow, just as it had seen generations of his ancestors. Under its branches, Arun found peace, knowing that his dreams were not confined to a city or a career, but lived in the heart of his village, in the lives of those he touched.

Arun’s story spread beyond the borders of Kaliya, inspiring others to reevaluate their own journeys. His tale became a reminder that dreams are not always about escaping the world we know, but about finding meaning in the lives we lead. And as the years passed, Arun continued to teach, not just history, but the lessons of life — the importance of family, of roots, and of the quiet symphony of solitude that each of us carries within.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah

Guwahati , Assam , India

27/12/2024

“Feliz Navidad,

próspero año y felicidad”

“Merry Christmas, prosperous year and happiness”

“I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart.”

Merry Christmas to all my friends and readers .Have a great time

RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH

GUWAHATI, ASSAM , INDIA

24/12/24

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Instagram: @rajatchandrasarmah5

The Journey of a Lifetime

The journey from Kaliya to New Delhi was nothing short of transformative. Arun, who had never traveled beyond the region, was both excited and terrified as he boarded the train that would take him away from everything he had known. The vastness of the country seemed overwhelming to him, with its endless stretches of land and people of countless backgrounds. Arun was a simple man, used to the quiet, slow pace of his village, and now he was thrust into the bustling heart of India.

The train ride, though long and tiring, offered Arun a glimpse into a world he had only read about in books. He watched as the landscape changed from the lush hills of the Northeast to the vast plains of Uttar Pradesh. The faces of the people on the train were as diverse as the land itself — some were like him, simple and humble, while others were sophisticated, carrying the air of city life.

As the train approached the capital, Arun’s heart began to race. He had heard stories of New Delhi, of its grandeur and its chaos, but nothing had prepared him for the reality. The city was a labyrinth of noise, lights, and people, each one rushing to their own destination. Arun felt small and insignificant amidst the grandeur, but at the same time, he felt a strange sense of belonging. For the first time in his life, he was part of something bigger than himself.

The seminar was held at one of the most prestigious universities in India. Arun, wearing a simple kurta and jeans, felt out of place among the other scholars, who were dressed in expensive suits and spoke with an air of confidence he couldn’t quite match. But when it was his turn to present, something extraordinary happened. As he spoke about the ancient dynasty he had researched for years, his words seemed to flow with a clarity and passion that captured the audience’s attention. He spoke of kings and warriors, of the rise and fall of empires, and of the timeless lessons that history taught us.

The room was silent as he finished. There was no applause, but the looks of admiration in the eyes of the audience were enough. Arun had done it. He had stepped into the world he had always dreamed of, and he had made his mark.

But as the seminar ended and the attendees moved on to other discussions, Arun found himself alone in the corner of the room. For all the success he had achieved, there was still an emptiness inside him. The city, with all its grandeur, had failed to fill the void he had carried for so long. Arun’s dreams, once so vibrant and full of promise, now seemed distant and intangible. He had achieved what he set out to do, but at what cost?

The faces of his family back in Kaliya haunted him. His father’s frailty, his mother’s absence, and the promise he had made to stay with them weighed heavily on his heart. He had chased his dreams, but in doing so, he had left behind the very people who had shaped him. The city, with all its opportunities, could not erase the guilt he felt for abandoning his roots.

Arun spent the next few days in New Delhi in a state of confusion. He attended meetings, visited museums, and explored the city, but none of it brought him the peace he had hoped for. The dream of the grand city that had once seemed so alluring now felt hollow, like a distant echo of something he could never fully grasp.

It was during a late-night walk through the streets of Old Delhi that Arun’s perspective began to shift. As he wandered through the narrow alleys, the sounds of the city — the honking cars, the calls of vendors, the chatter of people — blended into a symphony of life. It was chaotic, but it was also beautiful. The city, with all its imperfections, was alive. And in that moment, Arun realized something important — his dreams were not confined to the city or the seminar. His dreams were in the stories of the people he met, in the history he taught, and in the simple acts of love and sacrifice that shaped his own life.

Arun returned to Kaliya with a new sense of purpose. He had seen the world beyond the hills, but he had also realized that his place was here, in the quiet corners of the village, where his history, his family, and his roots had formed him. The grand city of his dreams was no longer the goal; the journey itself had become the destination. Arun had found his peace, not in the cities or the accolades, but in the quiet symphony of life that unfolded with each passing day.

Rajat Chandra Sarmah 

Guwahati , Assam , India 

24/12/2024