Stories Along the Path

Toruna walks almost every day with her son. These walks are special for her, a time to breathe, notice, and listen to the stories unfolding around. Every face, every moment on the street seems to whisper something to her heart. Walking makes her more thoughtful, more aware of life’s small wonders and struggles …

One evening, on their way to the park, Toruna noticed a tiny woollen cap lying on the road. She stopped and told her son, ‘Maybe a mother was carrying her sleeping baby on her shoulder, and while walking home, the little cap slipped off without her noticing. And then when she reached home and saw it missing, she must have felt sad, that cute little cap of her dear child is lost!’ Her son smiled and said, ‘You’re such a storyteller, Mom.’

They both laughed and kept walking.

But Toruna’s eyes continued to wander, always finding small stories hidden in everyday life …

Near the park gate, she saw twin toddlers quarreling over lollipops, their mother watching with an amused smile. One of the twins looked a bit grumpier, & Toruna observed the mother gently scolding and laughing at the same time ….

A few steps ahead, a woman in niqab (a veil on her face) walked alone on the footpath.
She seemed quiet, almost wrapped in her own thoughts. Perhaps she was returning from a long day at work, thinking about bills, groceries, and what to cook for dinner.
Her steps were slow, her shoulders slightly bent, as if she was carrying more than just the weight of her bag. There was a sadness about her, the kind that comes when life feels heavy but must still move on. Watching her, Toruna remembered that she would be going for Umrah soon, and wondered if she might wear a niqab then too. The thought lingered as she walked on …

Near the park bench, Toruna saw a dead butterfly, its wings still beautiful, though still. She picked it up gently and showed it to her son who looked at it with curiosity, helped her to put it on the height of the side wall!

As they were walking, Toruna observed that two elderly men walked slowly side by side, leaning on their canes and talking as if the world belonged to only them. Their laughter carried softly in the air. Toruna thought about how friendship, even in old age, keeps the heart alive, how sharing stories can make time feel lighter … she wondered what might be the topics of their laughter!

Then, not far from them, a young girl crouched near the edge of the grass, feeding milk and biscuits to a few stray cats. The cats purred and brushed against her legs. Her sweet smile warmed Toruna’s heart, a small act of kindness in a noisy world …

A little further ahead, a young mother struggled with her two small children, one crying, the other running away. Toruna smiled at this sight of this young mother, remembering her own early days of motherhood. How young she had been, and ever since then, how her children had become her entire universe …

She and her son walked side by side, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. These walks had become their little ritual, good for both their minds and hearts …

That evening, they noticed a young boy walking slowly around the park. He looked a bit overweight and tired. Toruna said, ‘I’ve been watching that boy for a while.’ Her son nodded, ‘Yes, he comes here often. I’ve seen him too.’ Toruna felt a sadness for him. ‘I hope he feels better soon,” she said, ‘Life gives everyone some struggle that other people can never understand’ ….

As the sun began to fade, they left the park, stopping by the nearby general store to buy a few things before heading home. Toruna smiled to herself, ‘Tomorrow we’ll come again,” she thought, and surely, the path would have more stories waiting to be found …

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Have you ever wondered, how many stories pass by us each day, unnoticed?

Freedom from FOMO

She no longer fears missing out, for she has learned that what’s meant for her will never pass her by. While the world rushes to chase trends, gatherings, and noise, she finds peace in her own rhythm. Her joy isn’t borrowed from what others are doing, but born from the satisfaction of being present where she is …

She doesn’t measure her life against anyone’s timeline. She knows that every soul blooms in its own season. She would rather miss a hundred fleeting moments than lose the one that truly belongs to her …

For her, the real richness lies not in being everywhere, but in being whole, right where she stands …

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When was the last time you felt at peace simply by being where you are?

Bravery

Climb the hill
Then jump across the small gap
Bravery feels free …

Turona’s Mountain

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?

When a Song Remembers Her

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 …

#roksanatales

Regent’s Park, London

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?

I♥️

Between Valleys and Dreams

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 …

While there in Bhutan

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

I hope to return to Bhutan again and again

Musing

Out of life’s deepest tragedies often rise the wisest truths : pain becomes the teacher, and time, the witness …

Yūgen

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 …

#roksanatales

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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

Silent Moves

Build, love, and strive in silence. Then arrive with grace, not noise; after all, why reveal your next move when the final one will speak for itself!

Are you guarding your vision or giving it away too soon?

Reflect and focus on your vision …

Truth is, I Miss You

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♥️

C’est la vie

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.

Have a peaceful, wonderful, blissful day!

Yours truly,
^^

Do you enjoy solitude?

C’est la vie means ‘That’s life’ 😊

Immersed

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

When I’m happy, either I sing or I paint. when I’m very happy I do both 😊

What do you do when you’re happy or very happy?

A Letter to Beloved

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 …

Cherish caring hearts; love’s true wealth …

I’m uncertain if the title fits these verses. Do you have a suggestion?

^^

Wanderer

His presence lingers always
In thoughts, he resides …

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?