Home is where my heart is, among the peaceful blue mountains that taught me the language of silence. The rustic serenity that I carry, even in crowded places. Images of emerald rice blades glistening in the amber warmth of early mornings and of my tiny feet walking on the freshly mowed grass.
The New Year commences in mid-april. Spring is welcomed by the sounds of Dhol-Pepa, which would make every Nachoni dance to the evergreen songs of Bihu, gracefully moving to the rhythms, infusing life into the humdrum routine.
Bihu dol of tiny toddlers would elegantly perform in each house, singing prayers and praises. Dressed in attractive Muga Mekhela Chador flashing their precious smiles, these little angels never fail to steal our heart. Feating on hando guri, chira doi, and narikol Pitha while chatting around the Mezi till the wee hours – the spirit of Bihu never dies.
And when the rain, separated by sweaty summer days, rushes to embrace the earth, first in tiny droplets and then long torrents, the union is exhilarating. Delicate blossoms and tall bamboo trees would sway to the newfound music. Even the heavens could not be more beautiful than the morning after when the soil turns red and the trees look refreshing. Although the Brahmaputra would be surging high, playing dangerously with its strong currents.
Winter arrives, enveloping the land with foggy mornings, and spreading its icy touch everywhere. We would be wrapped in double triple blankets and sweaters, mufflers, and monkey caps, drinking red hot tea by liters. At night the Orion constellation would be bright and visible. Sitting around the fire, I would watch it rise on the horizon. The warmth of the sun feels like an embrace.
In the month of October, when the fields have dried out and the bitter cold renders us immobile, Kangali Bihu is celebrated. Even if there is no reason to rejoice. But happiness lurks everywhere, it just needs to be recognized.
Majestic hills stand unaffected as if watching us amusingly and enjoying the activities going below. I have spent many days looking at the imaginary rivers flowing through it, wondering who lives in that jungle.
The bright lovely dahlias, blue-hued mountains, red soil, gushing waterfalls and the Stillness. I am a part of it and carry its fragrance everywhere. It’s my home. A home where my heart is.
**I thought of writing a humorous post but guess what… I went all sentimental while penning this one
***This is my entry to Weird Takes your Take series