A Weekend Letter on Mystery, Mindfulness & the Little Surprises of Life

August 2026 | Office Diaries

My office is full of the liveliness of the world.

Every day, I meet people who arrive carrying more than their files, laptops and lesson plans. Some carry stories. Some carry silence. And occasionally, if you are observant enough, you discover a little mystery hiding beneath an ordinary-looking robe.

I consider myself blessed that life is teaching me one simple lesson:

Understand yourself, so that you may better understand others.

And then came him.

At first meeting, I thought he looked like a desi Indian rapper who had somehow wandered into an academic institution. Medium height, muscular, fit, confident. But give him a few seconds in front of a camera and—surprise!—he transforms into something closer to a Hollywood model.

He is a sports-injury therapist, a good basketball and football player, and, according to people around him, possesses the strange ability to look more like a student than a teacher.

A decent fellow. Strongly rooted in his values.

But I suspected there was something else.

I just didn’t know what.

Until last Friday.

I was sitting quietly at my desk when, suddenly—

“Do I smell good?”

I nearly jumped out of my chair.

“Where did you come from?” I asked.

He smiled.

Before I could investigate further, he produced a tiny bottle from his pocket. It looked almost like one of those little homeopathic medicine bottles.

He opened it, rubbed a little liquid gently onto my palm and said,

“Take a good inhale.”

I did.

And suddenly my office disappeared for a second.

There was something citrusy—fresh, almost like crushed fruit—but beneath it was the warm, mysterious character of cinnamon bark.

“What is this?” I asked.

He looked at me with the quiet confidence of someone who had been waiting for that question.

“Watch the bottle carefully.”

He shook it.

Something changed.

The liquid became cloudy, almost white, while a strange layer floated above it like a tiny landscape trapped inside glass.

I stared.

“Where did you get this?”

“From a tree bark,” he said.

“Which tree?”

“From the high mountains of Kumaun.”

Now I was completely silent.

The detective inside me had woken up.

And then came the revelation.

“I am an alchemist.”

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he explained that he prepares fragrances from different scents and natural materials.

And inside my head I immediately said:

You got it, man.

This is my kind of person.

I have always been fascinated by perfumes, flowers, leaves, forests and those invisible little signatures that nature leaves in the air.

Some people collect watches.

Some collect shoes.

I collect moments when the air suddenly smells like a story.

And now, apparently, there was an alchemist sitting somewhere between the staff room and the classroom.

But the mystery did not end there.

He wears half-tinted glasses almost all the time—even while teaching.

Sometimes I look at him and wonder:

Does this man have infrared vision?

Perhaps he sees things the rest of us don’t.

Perhaps every person has a secret talent, but most of us never get the opportunity—or courage—to reveal it.

There is another interesting character who often stays beside him, almost like a fruit that refuses to leave its tree.

I shall save that story for another day.

Because office life, like a good book, should not reveal all its characters at once.

And perhaps that is what I am learning here.

A person who doesn’t easily socialise may sometimes appear like a silent bird.

But give that bird the right branch, the morning sun and a little freedom—and suddenly it begins to chirp.

People change.

Places change.

Time changes.

And, quietly, we change with them.

Perhaps weekends are meant for exactly this—to stop rushing long enough to notice the strange, beautiful and funny little things happening around us.

The colleague who smells of a mountain.

The friend who unexpectedly makes you laugh.

The tree outside your window.

The cup of tea you almost drank without tasting.

The five-minute conversation that somehow stays with you for five days.

These are not interruptions to life.

Sometimes, these are life.

And if your week has left your mind tired, don’t try to solve your entire existence this weekend.

Just replenish yourself.

If you have been carrying that tiredness quietly, you may also recognise something from my earlier reflection, The Invisible Stress You Didn’t Know You Were Carrying. Sometimes the first step toward feeling lighter is simply noticing what we have been carrying.

And perhaps that is why gratitude belongs here too. A weekend becomes richer when we pause to appreciate the ordinary people, ordinary moments and unexpected little joys around us. I explored that feeling in

Sunday Letters: When Gratitude Feels Like Home.

Five Little Weekend Messages for a Tired Mind

1. Breathe before you react.

Try ten slow breaths. Mindfulness is not about escaping life; it is about returning your attention to the present moment. The American Psychological Association offers a useful introduction to mindfulness here.

2. Notice one thing completely.

A flower. Your tea. Rain on a window. A fragrance. Give it your full attention for one minute. That’s mindfulness in its simplest form—attention without judgment.

3. Find one small surprise.

Talk to someone you normally overlook. You may discover an artist, athlete, storyteller—or perhaps an alchemist.

4. Write down three things that went right.

They don’t have to be grand. A good conversation counts. So does sunlight on your face.

5. Leave one hour unplanned.

Don’t fill every empty space. Creativity often needs a little silence before it knows what it wants to say.

Mindfulness doesn’t have to become another task on your weekend productivity list. Sometimes it is simply stopping long enough to notice the world that is already happening around you.

So this weekend, don’t merely rest.

Observe.

Listen.

Smell the flowers.

Talk to someone.

Laugh at something unexpected.

And perhaps, somewhere between Saturday evening and Sunday morning, you may discover that the world has been quietly preparing a little magic for you too.

As for my mysterious colleague?

I still have questions.

What exactly was in that bottle?

What tree did it come from?

And what other secrets is the man carrying behind those tinted glasses?

I have a feeling this story has only just begun.

To be continued…

Until next weekend,

Rohitash

Sometimes the best weekend therapy isn’t another screen, another achievement or another plan. Sometimes it is simply being present enough to notice the alchemist sitting beside you.