There was a small village at the foot of a mountain. The village was called Shantipur. In that village lived a little girl named Turona. Every day, Turona would gaze at the big mountain from afar. In the morning, the mountain sparkled in golden sunlight, and by evening, it glowed in a soft reddish hue …
One day, Turona decided she would climb to the top of that mountain. Everyone said, ‘It’s too high, you won’t be able to.’ But Turona smiled and replied, ‘How will I know if I don’t try?’ …
The next morning, she set off with a bottle of water, some fruit, and a notebook. On the way, she grew tired, her feet ached on the stones, yet she didn’t stop. Sometimes she sat down to rest, listening to the sound of the wind and watching the birds fly …
Finally, after noon, she reached the top of the mountain. Looking down, she saw how beautiful her little village was, green fields, tiny houses, and a silver river flowing gently through it …
In her notebook, Turona wrote, ‘The joy of reaching the highest place only comes when you refuse to give up.’ …
Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled of freedom, and inside her heart, there was peace …
She realized that the real mountain wasn’t outside, but within her. And that day, she had conquered both …
How we used to write short stories when we were young! I remember how every night I’d make up stories to tell my little sisters before they fell asleep. I used to jot down bits of them in my notebook too. Often, I’d go up to our rooftop with that notebook, gazing at the distant sky until my thoughts drifted away. I wanted to write, and sometimes, I did. Other times, I simply got lost in my own imagination!
I’m sure it happened with you too!
Anyways, now tell me, What is the ‘mountain’ in your own life that you’ve been afraid to climb? Or tell me, When was the last time you tried something even though others doubted you?
If someone listens to a song And she appears in the verse Not summoned, not expected Just felt, like a breeze through a half-open window Then that is love in its gentlest form …
Not loud, not declared But tucked between notes Where memory breathes, and the heart still knows What it never forgot …
And if they play it again Not to relive the past But to feel her near Just once more …
Alas, the song fades! But somewhere in its echo lives a moment They never said goodbye to …
I was listening to a song when a sudden thought settled in, if someone ever hears a song and thinks of me, isn’t that one of the most deeply emotional and sacred gestures?
That moment stayed with me, and I ended up writing ‘When a Song Remembers Her’ … It doesn’t follow any structure or rhyme, but it holds something personal, love, memory, longing …
Maybe it’s a poem. Maybe it’s just a feeling shaped into words. I’m not entirely sure …
But I wonder, what do you think, can something like this be called a poem? Or does a poem need rules to be real, or can it simply be a moment that moves us? Also, I’m just wondering about you, have you ever heard a song and found someone gently returning to your heart through it?
Tell me, Isn’t it beautiful how music remembers what we try to forget?
When R stepped off the small plane that landed in Paro, Bhutan, she felt something shift, not dramatically, but like the settling of dust after a long journey …
The valley stretched wide beneath her, green and golden in patches, framed by distant, unmoving mountains. It was quieter than she expected. Even the wind seemed to move gently, as though not to disturb the stillness that held this place together …
She had arrived not as a tourist, but as a teacher, a woman in her late thirties from Bangladesh, with a degree in English and a quiet but persistent belief in meaningful work. Years ago, it had been just a passing dream, one that took root on a monsoon evening back home, when her father handed her a book after returning from a short business trip to Bhutan: Married to Bhutan by Linda Leaming. She didn’t know then that the book would become more than a gift. It would become a roadmap …
She read it in one sitting, and then again, slower. The words painted a life far from the chaos she knew: one of rhythm, simplicity, joy without extravagance. Something about it stirred her. Not just the country itself, but the idea that a person could choose a gentler life, one rooted in intention. Ever since, the desire to live and work in Bhutan stayed with her, not loudly, but like a thread running through her decisions, pulling her quietly in one direction …
It took years to make it happen. Teaching jobs weren’t easy to come by. There were rejections, delays, moments of self-doubt. But eventually, things aligned. A school in Paro welcomed her. And so she came, with a suitcase full of essentials and a heart full of the unknown …
The school was modest: a few classrooms, basic supplies, and a staff of deeply committed educators. Her students were bright-eyed and curious, some from the surrounding hills, others from the valley towns. They called her Miss R with respect and affection. She taught English, but often, she felt she was learning more than she was giving …
In Paro, life had a slower pulse. Mornings began with mist hanging low over the rice fields. The walk to school was lined with prayer flags and the occasional passing cow. She started wearing the kira on school days, awkwardly at first, then with growing comfort. Suja, salted butter tea, became something she reached for on chilly afternoons …
She missed home sometimes: the sound of the call to prayer, her mother’s cooking, the overlapping laughter of cousins. But Bhutan had offered her something she hadn’t expected, a deep and gentle space to grow. Here, her work felt rooted. Each lesson she planned, each conversation with a student, each moment of solitude looking out at the hills, it all added up to a life that felt fuller, simpler, and strangely her own …
Some evenings, when the rain returned and wrapped the mountains in silver, she would pull out the old book her father had given her. The pages were worn now, the cover faded. But the feeling it gave her, that tug toward a life of simplicity and purpose, still felt as clear as it did all those years ago …
Living in Bhutan hadn’t made her someone new. It had returned her to someone she had always hoped to be: grounded, purposeful, and joyful. She wasn’t searching anymore. She was, finally, living the life she had once only read about …
She is here … Teaching … Living near the mountain valleys she once only imagined … And in doing so, she has become a part of a beautiful story …
And at the end of each day, amidst mountain valleys, in the hush of Paro’s twilight, that felt like enough …
Bhutan has a sacred place in my heart. I visited once, and it felt like stepping into a world where everything slows down. Peace seemed to rise gently with the mountains …
I remember the kind people, the prayer flags fluttering in the wind, and the quiet beauty of the dzongs. Everything left a deep impression on me …
Rafting was one of the most exciting parts, unexpectedly wild, joyful, and full of laughter. That whole trip was truly an adventure I’ll never forget …
Before leaving, I bought the book Married to Bhutan from Paro International Airport. After reading it, something in me shifted. It changed the way I see life, more simply, more mindfully, and with a greater sense of purpose
Now the evening descends in stillness And the burdens of the day return to the hands of the Divine He knows what the heart held in silence And wraps the soul in mercy, soft as dusk …
Recently I happen to read a haiku by Bashō: Such stillness the cicada’s cry drills deep into the rocks.
It stayed with me. The depth, it felt like something more than words. That’s when I found the Japanese word Yūgen. It means a deep, mysterious beauty that can’t be fully explained. It felt just right for what I was feeling, so I kept it with me, as the title for something I’m slowly shaping in my heart …
Yūgen (幽玄) A deep, mysterious sense of beauty and the grace of the universe, often felt during twilight or in quiet moments
Your absence hums like a violin string snapped mid-note A comet that vanished before its trail could unfold The eclipse of a lighthouse on a storm-battered coast …
Time crawls, a spider weaving webs of empty hours Memories linger like fireflies trapped in a jar Each one dimming, yet refusing to fade into stars …
Your voice was rain stitching needles through thirsty leaves Now silence looms like an unfinished symphony’s grief A mosaic missing its most vivid, sacred piece…
I search for you in the scent of forgotten gardens In waves that speak like poets lost to their stanzas In winds that carry secrets of unuttered mantras …
Truth is, I miss you like the moon misses its tides A ship adrift, no constellations to confide The ache of a heart where all its echoes reside
I’m truly enjoying the area I’m living in—Chigwell, a suburban town in Essex. As someone once said, “Home is not a place, it’s a feeling,” and this place has captured that sentiment perfectly for me. It’s this perfect blend of town and country, with charming Georgian houses and picturesque weather-boarded cottages that make every walk feel like a step back in time. And I think I can walk here for hours ….
Walking is healing to me; it’s my savior, my way of life. Certainly I can walk for hours, especially with music playing. Sometimes I even find myself talking as I walk, or certain words pop into my mind, and I jot them down. Later, I write based on what I felt when I made those notes. It happens every time …
I’d love to share the songs I’ve been listening to lately while walking. Though my taste in music keeps evolving, these tracks have really stuck with me …
Ever wonder how music can change the rhythm of your thoughts?
Ya’ Aburnee/ arabic (n.) lit. ‘may you bury me’ a declaration of one’s hope that they’ll die before another person because of how unbearable it would be to live without them
I have a fondness for breaking apart A fascination with the fragile The delicate dance of hearts Walking unsteadily on the edge … In love …
I have a fondness for breaking apart At times it seems Love’s other name is Broken hearts … An echo of longing … A symphony of cracks …
I have a fondness for breaking apart In love, I find A beauty in the fracture, In the spaces … Where light seeps through the wounds Where the raw and the real collide In a blaze of truth and tenderness …
I have a fondness for breaking apart It’s a mosaic of Shattered dreams Pieced together with hope … A courage of feeling The audacity of connection …
I have a fondness For the breaking … For the way love demands vulnerability … For the way it strips us bare … For the way all its flaws are revealed I have a fondness For my unguarded heart Breaking apart …
For in the breaking, We find the depth of love The resilience of the beautiful soul … The beauty of a heart That dares to love Even knowing it might break … That’s how I have a fondness For breaking apart …
My Dear, It’s likely that as you were writing to me, I was walking back home from work, taking in the beauty of the flowers in my charming neighborhood …
I adore my neighborhood. The scenery is incredibly captivating with its tall trees and beautiful blossoming flowers. I frequently opt to walk home from work, as it’s only 850-1000 steps from my workplace to my home …
So, what I was saying about my neighborhood!
I really admire the shade under the tall trees and enjoy watching the breeze rustle through the colorful bougainvillea. It’s lovely to see people walking along the footpath and enjoying their time. As I passed by the mosque, I noticed people seeking relief from the scorching heat under the trees in front of the mosque. I adore the vibrant colors, the fragrant scents, and the sense of simplicity in that scene.
It was scorching heat outside. And there I found myself embracing the warmth of the surroundings. There was refreshing cool breeze and thoughts of you. It may sound unbelievable, but it’s the truth. Your presence in my thoughts remains unwavering amidst the whirlwind of life’s events. Please, believe that.
So, where was I? I was expressing my fondness for the delightful, blossoming, shady path in my neighborhood and how much I’m fond of you …
Today I took a break from work as I was feeling an intermittent cramping in my abdomen. Some rest will help me feel better. However,. Sudden leave from work leads me to think, “How can I best utilize this extra time at home?” Swiftly, I begin mentally compiling a to-do list. Eventually, I decided to walk back home…
While returning, I found myself feeling happy to see these blossoms and greens. The outside heat was too strong but I cared less and I continued walking, intermittently pausing to capture photographs.
I returned home and checked my email once again. I was so surprised to receive your mail. This news brightened my day so much that now I feel inspired to spend the next few hours painting.
I find great pleasure in painting when my heart is filled with happiness and I was very happy to read your mail.
Your words and painting will grace my own solitude for today, now and here.
Do you enjoy solitude?
I eagerly await your response to my somewhat poetic emails.
There once was a curious soul Wondering how your days roll What activities fill your time … It’s something she often wonders about … Completely immersed in the moment
Can you perceive An unseen bond between us? It ties us together; trust it, my love … It’s invisible, yet unmistakably sensed Certainly by me … Do you not sense it as well? A connection surpassing time and distance… Ours is an endless bond Our eternal, cherished blessing …
Through moments fleeting and forever The thread weaves its way … Stretching, sometimes tangling, Yet resilient, unyielding … As time, as it is infinite, it will stay …
Oh, my beloved, my dear … Please pardon me, the mistake was mine Throughout the moments we shared And the clarity we’ve known … It took me a while To fully understand your essence …
Now I know This love endures, and Time, place, circumstance may shift, This love is unbroken, my constant uplift …
On this day, he reflected, “I recall she used to attend her prayers for Jumma day.” …
On this day, she reminisced, “I recall he would probably meet the girl.” …
Today, he worried, “She has been feeling a bit unwell. Will she still be able to go to the mosque for her prayers? Perhaps she should rest today. Will she ever heed my advice?” …
Today, she pondered, “When will he meet the girl? Will it be in the evening? That would be preferable. It’s quite hot outside today; they might not feel comfortable meeting in such humidity. I hope their meeting goes well.” …
Despite feeling unwell again, she went to the mosque for Jumma prayer, then in the evening she prayed for him before falling asleep …
In the evening, he met the girl, and they enjoyed their time together, discussing their future life …
Throughout all this time, they remember their memories, Yet they never announce their presence, Simply flowing directly into their hearts …
When will I be able to let go of the enchanting pull of Kashmir, with its grand mountains and stunning scenery? I believe I’m entirely in love with it.
Discovering happiness and serenity along the path and journey ….
Have you ever visited a place that lingers in your mind long after you’ve left?
Often these days My thoughts are spreading out to you With too many questions hovering upon me.. Is the heat too intense where you dwell? Are you navigating it with ease? What’s the moisture like in your realm? What’s the humidity level there? I sense the weariness in your words; It seems like a struggle for you; Are you truly alright?
Here, we’re also dealing with scorching heatwaves – Yet, amidst the swelter, my mind wanders to you How do you cope up in this relentless weather? Often these days It crosses my mind …
Do you think of me too, Sometimes?
Do you remember my disdain for humidity, And how it worsens my headaches …. Do you remember my aversion to doctors, Yet now they’re an inevitable part of life?
My heart, already broken by your absence, Feels the toll of days passing … I find myself overthinking, Lost in thoughts of you, Especially in these days, Days of relentless heat, Days of suffocating humidity ….
Though You may never grasp … There’s an essence about you that I can’t shake Even amidst these sweltering heatwaves … A grip on me akin to The greatest tale left untold …
So,
Could you narrate an episode or two from your journey? Could you paint a tale of your eccentric existence? Could you recount an experience For me? To me? In these sweltering heat Amidst the scorching waves there? …
Meanwhile Take care, my dear, Know that I pray for you … In every moment In every humid day and night Of these days ….
I do drink lots of water in these scorching conditions. I do keep my body cool. Though I hate to use sunscreen, just I avoid sunburn. I do like coconut water a lot. And Nimbu Pani too ☺️. Then I love ice cream too 🤷🏿♀️
Most days, when it’s Friday, I remember that on such one Friday I entered his city, and he didn’t show up …
Do you know what I was thinking when I stepped out of the airport? I never been to this airport and unfortunately I was going to stay only the night at his city ….
Our hotel cars were outside the airport. We girls got into the cars and the car was passing through the airport road to get to the city centre … the full moon was racing with us, I was watching it through the car window …with my wandering heartbeats on …
I wanted to believe that he will be there to surprise me. So without any contact with him, I was still hoping that I may see him in there at the hotel lobby and for that I was feeling a bit nervous, ‘What if he actually comes!? Should I go outside to grab coffee with him as he wanted to take me out for a coffee, or should I ask him to have dinner at the hotel restaurant as it was already late because of the delayed flight. We won’t get time for a coffee break somewhere else.’ – to be honest I was feeling very nervous too. And more importantly, I needed to give him the gifts that I’ve been carrying throughout my whole trip,… So I needed to unpack my luggage!”
“Oh no! That would be a mess!” – I was thinking about all these in my mind …
Then we reached the hotel. The lobby was normal with less people. I looked around a little bit more. “Was there any face that was searching someone?” – I was looking here and there and was thinking about this – “Oh! better if he doesn’t come now.” As if I can recognise him. I never saw him even. How stupid and pathetic I was! I was thinking, ‘I want to freshen up first and then I’ll be coming down again for dinner, and may be by that time he would come and I may offer him dinner Dosa at the hotel restaurant’ … I still can’t believe that I was thinking all of these even without any confirmation from him to meet me here! Feeling too much angry at myself ….
However, after the hotel formalities were done, we went up to our room and then I came down with my travel mate and by that time I grew a feeling of no expectation that he would come. ‘If I expect, it’s going to hurt me. It’s alright’ – I was thinking to make myself feel better and now I’m waiting for my dosa with an expectation of having a good dinner, because I was so hungry by that time through so many things and all of these unsure traumas …
Unfortunately -A delayed flight disappointed me … -‘He’ disappointed me (He didn’t come. He didn’t confirm he would come though. Still I felt disappointed as if it’s all his fault…. ) -Dosa disappointed me (I was so hungry and I was craving dosa, but it was a disaster)
Now what?
A dilemma …
To keep or not to keep the gift packet at the reception desk!
My poor little handmade gifts for him, and few other things – should I keep my gift packet for him to pick later on when he gets to know that I was at his city and about all of these!
Poor me and my surprise gifts!
Wish he would know how brave it was for me to accept his coffee date for sometime in the middle of the night …
It won’t make sense if he never comes and by that time I started having headaches. I must sleep for sometime, and so I did, having a medicine …
It was 3 AM in the morning, again our cars were on the road of his city to reach the airport. This time I took some videos of the road as a memory of the city.
Long ago when the young girl in me visited this city, she was a carefree young girl who didnt know what does disappointment means! At that time she treasured the memory of visiting the famous amusement park with her siblings – it was full of fun, laughter and pure innocent joy. That time she left the city with delightful memories.
Now she’s leaving the city with the gift she so lovingly brought here for someone she never met before, but whom she thought she knew for a long time ….
This time she was innocent too, as her feelings were so deep and true, but she didn’t understand why she would be disappointed for someone who didn’t even know about the gifts she’s been carrying for him.
But for what reason, she was upset – she didn’t understand though she’s not a carefree young girl anymore …
But she was upset, confused and disoriented because now she was carrying the gifts to bring back home and carrying a strange unknown heart leaving a bit of her heart in this dark city!
Dark, because she entered it with a strange unknown feeling and it was nighttime though the moon was there (a relief to my eyes) and dark, because her heart was broken for a completely unknown, strange, unspecified reason so she was in denial for long …
It was a Friday night entering his city and on the morning of Saturday my flight took off from his city …
So on Fridays, most times it reminds me of that Friday when I was in his city, and he didn’t show up …
It’s a long post. I’m sorry for that. If you’ve read the whole story, thank you and tell me if you’ve ever felt the same? Or any instance that you might have felt ….
You are like a music Which creates melancholic moods inside my heart … A melody that lingers, night and day … I take time to listen to it, I find myself enchanted; When nothing seems to ease my restlessness I listen to you, my music To walk the long journey of life Even though it only creates melancholic moods But you are like that music to me Loving, healing, heart-touching Connecting my soul to you Forever and always ….
I was waiting For you And you didn’t show up while my odes started to burn … A heartache …
After a while, There a humble person came along .. Seemed so at the moment … I asked him to take a picture of me and There I sat at the corner of a bench In the garden … Took some time to Get my mood toned Up my unsettled face … There the man waited patiently … A gentleman ….
Once it’s all set yet unsteady As I was, I heard the man said, ‘Ready?’ Twinkled at him and said, ‘Yes’ Smiling … With the chilly breeze that was Passing through I preferred my warm Jacket kept aside And my heavy heart smile For the warmth I needed …. A harmony ….
Later on I welcomed a friendly Conversation with the stranger He seemed to like all of it … My chitter-chattering And laughter flowed freely, naturally … Then we started walking In the garden, blooming all around An attachment ….
The balance was the two umbrellas For each of us, His violet, mine yellow one We were walking and talking Keeping the in-between distance mindfully yet our heart-felt notions were quietly replaying … The undefined mysteries of the world, meanwhile … Letting love in our heart, unknowingly … After a while, we faded into our different paths Just two strangers with memories A detachment ….
Roksana Tales 