Returning to the Banks of the Titas River: A Journey Through Memory

Hello dear friends,
I hope you all are doing well and spending a beautiful life with your loved ones. I wish you all happiness and peace.

After a long time, I finally returned to my village yesterday. Life in the city — full of rush, noise, and responsibilities — often leaves me drained and longing for peace. Deep inside, I always feel the pull of my village, of familiar faces and old memories. This time, my visit felt special filled with emotions, nostalgia, and an overwhelming sense of calm.

As soon as I arrived, I met many familiar faces. Some people looked older, their faces marked by time; others still carried that same warm smile from the past. I talked to many of them some asked about my city life, while others reminded me of our childhood memories. In the midst of all this, a beautiful afternoon invited me to take a walk along the banks of the Titas River.

Ah, the Titas River just the name brings back countless memories. In the soft golden light of the afternoon, the river looked peaceful and alive. A few fishermen were busy casting their nets; some boats rested quietly near the shore. The water level had started to recede after the monsoon. The once-submerged lands were now visible again, and farmers were preparing them for cultivation. I saw people plowing, spreading fertilizer, and working together scenes that reminded me how deeply life here is connected to the river.

This river holds the story of my childhood and teenage years. I grew up swimming in its waters, floating boats made of banana leaves, and fishing with friends under the scorching sun. I still remember how, during the monsoon, the river would swell up, and we would climb onto the trees by the riverbank to watch the waves dance. Sometimes a branch would drift away with the current, and we would run along the shore, trying to catch it. Those simple joys now exist only in memory, yet they remain as vivid as ever.

As I walked by the river yesterday, it felt as if the Titas was speaking to me — whispering, “You’ve grown up, but I’m still here, just as before.” The calm flow of water, the smell of the river, the floating water hyacinths, and the sound of oars dipping into the water everything carried a kind of peace that the city could never offer. For a while, it felt as if time had stopped moving.

Now, as the water recedes, the people of the village begin their new season of life. The lands around the river turn into fertile fields where farmers grow rice, vegetables, and other crops. The river gives them everything — fish, fertile soil, and above all, hope.

The Titas River is not just a river; it is a part of our existence, a silent witness to generations of life, laughter, and loss. Time has changed its shape, people have come and gone, but the love for this river remains unchanged. Standing by its bank, I don’t just see water — I see my roots, my identity, and my past reflected in its flow.

As the soft breeze rippled across the surface and the sunlight danced on the waves, I felt my mind slowly calming down. All the exhaustion and stress of city life seemed to fade away. Maybe that’s why no matter how far we go, we always return — to our land, to our memories, and to that one river that has seen it all.

The Titas River, with its quiet and eternal beauty, reminds me that life flows on — but memories, like rivers, never stop.