The burnt smell of jaggery over coconut savoury,
The hearth sending forth the aroma of pithas,
The sweet sour odour of masor tenga.
Jetuka dyed fair wrists of gabhorus
Dancing to the beats of dhuls and pepas.
The frail crisp sound of muga mekhelas swirling
Each time they bring home guests.
The sight of kopous in tamul gos.
Of brighter days and lesser gloom
The onset of Assamese new year.
Of feasts and blessings and endless laughter
Welcome home, it's bihu in my part of the world .
I am the eldest grandchild in my family. And being the eldest, I was pampered a great deal by my grandparents. My aama (grandma) and baa (grandpa) always shielded me from every possible dangers including thrashings from maa. I have pleasant memories of evening story sessions as grandpa took me to bed. Aama would oil my hair and tie pony tails which resembled coconut trees that I used to draw. Sundays meant elaborate sessions with my grandparents. Baa would trim my nails, aama would fondle me to sleep. Their bed room was literally my playing room, my story book reading room, my painting room and what not. With time, as I grew, I got a room of my own but their room was still my favourite one. When I left for hostel, I missed them more than I missed my parents. It was in the year 2014, I had come home after my exams when aama received a pressure stroke . She couldn't make it. I had spent a month as he lay sick on her bed. All of a sudden, there was a role reversal. I could
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