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 .
"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while ...
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