bhaskar saikia

We often chase big moments—achievements, breakthroughs, the next milestone. But life, I’ve realised, is mostly made of tiny, repeated acts of care. The little routines that ask for almost nothing yet give us a sense of continuity, grounding, and peace.

In a world that moves faster than our thoughts can settle, it’s the smallest rituals that quietly hold us together. They don’t demand attention; they simply exist—soft, familiar pauses that help us return to ourselves.

Every morning, when I water my plants, I realise it’s not just about nurturing them. It’s a conversation without language. The gentle tilt of the watering can, the faint glisten on fresh leaves, the subtle promise of new growth—each moment reminds me that life unfolds slowly and quietly, and that is perfectly enough.

Making tea is another small ceremony of calm.

There is something soothing about the sound of water beginning to boil—that soft rising murmur, almost like the day warming up from within. It’s a reminder that even before the world becomes demanding, there is a moment that belongs only to me—a moment to inhale, to reset, to be present.

And then there are the evening walks.

The light shifts, turning the sky into a canvas of mellow colours. The air cools, carrying with it a kind of gentle forgiveness. With every step, the noise inside me fades. Birds settle on branches, homes glow softly, and something about the world feels more manageable, more kind. My thoughts slow down enough to find their shape again.

These small rituals may seem ordinary from the outside, but they hold extraordinary power. They whisper to the mind that it can rest, to the body that it is safe, and to the heart that it is held.

Life will always offer grand moments, but those moments are rare.

It is the quiet repetitions—the watering, the tea-making, the walking—that truly build the structure of our days. They ask for almost nothing, yet they give us everything we often forget we need: rhythm, grounding, and a gentle sense of home within ourselves.

In the end, small rituals aren’t just habits.
They are anchors.
They are therapy.
They are reminders that amidst all the rushing, we can still choose slowness.
We can still choose softness.
We can still choose ourselves.