Where Rivers connect...

It is said that raindrops carry music, thunder carries a deep calling, rivers murmur, and the tides of the sea hold an endless rhythm … those who can feel this with the heart are the ones who understand the meaning of love. In the silent language of nature lie stories of affection, compassion, waiting, and surrender.

I am the daughter of a land of  green hills, mist-covered mornings over soft tea gardens, and where rain-soaked earth exists in abundance. I am from Assam,  a river-mothered land. The flow of the mighty Brahmaputra pulses through our lives; that is why we think of rivers as mothers. Just as a mother carries many sorrows within her heart and continues to give  only love to her children, a river is the same for us. Carrying within her body a history of erosion and pain. She  gives life continuously. She makes fields green, quenches thirst, and holds civilisations within her embrace.  Rivers teaches us that true love is not possession, but surrender.

Folk who grow up beside rivers understand love differently perhaps… their affection is deep, vast, and endless, just like the river itself. I often think of the old days of river transport in Assam when roads were not easily accessible, and rivers were our lifeline. Trade, travel, civilisation, and culture all flowed through them. Large wooden boats, sail boats, and merchant vessels moved through the Brahmaputra towards distant lands. They travelled carrying cloth, spices, salt, oil, and goods to faraway places. These were not just stories of trade—they were stories of adventure, courage, and the unknown. River currents, sandbanks, storms, and the flickering light of lamps in the night turned those tales into a living world. The merchants of folktales felt like children of the river.

I have always been deeply fascinated by rivers, imagining merchants cooking on sandy riverbanks at dusk, or lanterns tied to boats guiding them through darkness. Yet, despite this fascination, the idea of stepping into a boat in the middle of a river always brought fear.

But that fear subsided recently.

Through the Dundee International Women’s Centre (DIWC), a group of about twelve of us were given the opportunity to experience rowing at Wormit Boating Club. With the support of our English teachers Jade and Gail, we stepped into a boat that day. We were guided in rowing with patience and encouragement by Greta, Naomi, Evelyn, Heather, and Vered;  warm smiles and friendliness reassured us.

The River Tay in Scotland is the largest river in the country. Near its mouth, where it meets the sea, it carries both the feeling of a river and the ocean. That day, the wind was strong and the sky began with grey clouds. Slowly, however, the clouds parted and the sun appeared… and though it might seem fanciful, it was as if nature itself had joined our joy.

Under the blue sky, I felt an eagerness  to become part of the river’s rhythm. Holding the oar for the first time felt like opening a door into the world I had only imagined. But rowing wasn’t easy. The water felt like there was no ground beneath—only depth. Greta said, “Just feel the water, let the oar do the work.” As soon as the oar’s blade entered the water, the river seemed to remind me of its presence. A river does not easily accept anyone. Sometimes the blade is pushed back, sometimes control slips away, and the boat stutters. In those moments, laughter might escape, along with a little embarrassment. But later, I understood:  the river teaches.

Life is the same. The current does not always move in our direction. We plan one path, but life carries us elsewhere. In such moments, not giving up and lifting the oar again—that is courage.

It is said that when companions are trustworthy, even difficult paths become easy. That is what it felt like for us that day. Trusting those guiding hands, we enjoyed the journey fully. The waves seemed to dance, and the sky moved with us. That day, the river, the sky, and our laughter filled everything around us. What stayed with me most was the women who guided us; their  confidence, and enthusiasm deeply inspired me. Their  responses felt as natural as water, and their spirit as open as the horizon. It felt as if they were not only teaching rowing but teaching us not to fear the unknown.

That day, I felt something deeply. Often in life, women show the way to other women. As teachers, companions, friends, or silent supporters, they extend courage to others. Without Jade, Gail, and these women rowers, the experience would not have been the same. Our hands held the oar, but our minds held courage because of them. Perhaps that is why I did not feel fear even in the middle of the river. Instead, it felt as if I could step into my childhood stories again—the merchants, boatmen, and sailing boats.

After rowing, we had lunch together at the club. Laughter, conversation, and shared experiences made the moment memorable. It showed how strangers can become close in a short time. At the end of the day, one feeling remained—rivers do not only connect places, they connect people. Language, country, and culture may differ, but rowing in rhythm creates a quiet bond.

The stories of my childhood taught me to love rivers. That day at Wormit taught me to live that love. And even though that day began with clouds, we returned with smiles like sunlight on the water.