" pawe pori hori koroho katori pran rakhibi mor..."

" pawe pori hori koroho katori pran rakhibi mor...". my eyelids opened reluctantly refusing to wake up from this musical dreamy sleep...but wait! since when did my dreams become so lyrical, so heavenly? my dreams were always made up of mean men chasing me and me falling over some deep ciff. so this definitely could not be a dream..it was real. I was wide awake now and rose to find out the source of this tranquil morning call . It was the Borgeet playing in the Naam-Ghar just opposite our house, my ma-in-law said, adding that it was a daily ritual, an auspicious way of beginning a new day everyday. And this was the auspicious beginning to a new life to a brand new bride in a brand new place:Kokrajhar.

Till then I knew Kokrajhar as one of the several districts of my native state, Axom. It used to be in the news more so because of the Bodo Andolan rather than any other worthy cause. What of course I did not know was that it would be my home one day, and I would be attached to it in more ways than one. My first memories of this quaint town was our house in a lush green locality opposite the naam-ghar bearing a pleasant resemblance to Jorpukhuri- paar, my Aita’s ancestral home in my hometown, Guwahati. At that moment, I believe, I had made my connection. Kokrajhar would become dear to me as was Jorpukhuri-paar for myriad reasons. Little did I know that over the years, my attachment would grow and I would become increasingly fond of its old-worldly charms.

Everyone seemed to know my better-half here by name and wasn’t he popular! He seemed to be acquainted with almost everybody starting from the friendly neighbourhood khura and pehi to the ubiquitous bakery owner. And then I realized that like all small towns, everybody seemed to know everybody and best of all, everyone was affable with a moment to spare when you met them. Charming indeed! No wonder he still vanishes in his pyjamas and chappals early in the morning to share a cuppa with an old friend. Did I happen to mention the must-visit to the friendly neighbourhood barber who still has an extra head massage to spare?

The verdant spaces, the tranquil mornings and serene evenings- it is as if life takes its time here to savour each drop. The paddy patches on the outskirts of the town, the rolling green hills, the river Gourang flowing quietly and resolutely on its course and the content little ponds with the lazy ducks are a treat for tired eyes. The journey to the Mahamaya Mandir was another intense experience. Sometimes, time seems to stand still here...

My bond with Kokrajhar has become stronger over the years and now, far away from home, I yearn to spend Magh Bihu in Kokrajhar.( We usually happen to go home around Magh Bihu, a time of reunion for all Axomia people) Where else can I experience dew-filled mornings, the warmth of the wood-fires, the bird-song in the evenings and the taste of “maal-bhog sira” and “doi” with “gur” and “mangshor jhol” cooked on a woodfire? The very thought warms the cockles of my heart on a cold wintry morning miles away…


But over the years, Kokrajhar too, like all bustling towns in India, has seen changes. Globalization and consumerism will not spare anyone will it? The spaces are not so green anymore and time does not stand so still any longer. Businesses are flourishing, concrete structures are fast appearing and roads are bustling. It is as if change is the only constant.


But one thing has remained constant. ..the naam-ghar still stands solid and strong and whenever I am back home in Kokrajhar, I still wake up to the sweet strains of the soul-stirring borgeet " pawe pori hori koroho katori pran rakhibi mor..."