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 .
The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing...
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