" 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..."

The wheel of time

Time is all but ours. Or so we would like to think. I remember the countless times (still counting)my mother reminding all of us that time and tide wait for none. But that was the time when we would all think that we have all the time in the world, that time is all ours. Wisdom dictated that we spend our time wisely, but who had the time? Childhood was time well spent - a time to play and a time to study, time to have fun under the sun. Those were the best of times, a simple innocent time. Then came the heady days of youth. We vowed to have the time of our life. College was a place where teachers told you that now is the time, no time like the present to grab time. But as we all know so well, time spent inside the classrooms were just to pass the time and time spent outside was 'our time'. Time's a wasting, the inner voice said. But hey, what the heck, all in good time, I said! And then came a time to love, infact it came time after time. And suddenly you knew that this time you let go and only time could heal a broken heart. And then suddenly you were running out of time, so much to do and so little time. The boss said "time is money" and so we ran after time, time after time. And then everyone said that it is about time and so when the knight in shining armor came riding on his white horse and left me breathless, I did not wait for time. We both vowed to have a good time. And so we had the best of times not to mention the worst of times too. There was no time like the present and we took time to smell the roses and time to soak in the sun. The stork decided that now is the time and visited us soon thereafter and suddenly we had no time. Time management seemed to be the keyword here as we struggled for quality time. We now live in desperate times- rupee down,prices up, salaries low, inflation high. Only time will tell what the future will bring. I had a good time writing this piece as the milk stands boiling over the fire. I rush as a stitch in time saves nine and then there would be no use crying over spilt milk. The day is done and now my time is up. It's time for me to fly...

Winter Words

As the pallid sun brings in another wintry morning, my dulled sleepy senses are woken by words anew...words which had paused in the crowds...words had just become a bystander , quietly and patiently waiting that in the queue of life, you would give it it's due...and so the day finally comes and you know that words were always there...waiting, watching and hoping, you embrace them too...don't let go of them, my friend,..for when all is said and done, it is these words which will always be true to you...

Sepia Dreams

I write something very profound and very passionate, and the world is at my feet. Everyone complements me on my piece and I am almost on the way to winning a great prize, a grand award.I am overwhelmed with calls, SMSs, mails, messages on Twitter and FB… the works. Students finally realized that there was more to 'Ma’am' than the utter drudgery of preparing for case studies and presentations. Family and friends are too thrilled and friends who considered me too unassuming and of no consequence earlier now realized my true worth. The better and by now bitter half finally realized that words could be fun if only they were put on paper rather than being fired on him like poisoned darts. The little one is proud of her Mama as much as she was of her own achievements of being the only one capable of spelling “education” in her class. Unable to handle so much of admiration and adulation never experienced before, I awake from my lazy afternoon siesta ( ‘power nap’ would have sounded more inspiring, my friend suggests) and realize that like the fading sun, it was just one of my sepia dreams that I drifted into after writing this miserable piece...

would you.....?

if i were to die today
would you hold me and cry?
would you think of the times we spent together?
would you feel the warmth of my love?

if i were to die today
would you see me in the stars?
would you hear me in the breeze?
would you smell me in the flowers?
would you touch me in the leaves?

if i were to die today
would you wonder where i am?
would you wish i was back with you?
would you pick the pieces and move on?


i know you would do all and more
and yet i know that life carries on...
i am just a speck of dust
i cannot hope for more.

to you...my little one...

Letter from a Mother to a Daughter

My Precious Darling,

Today I wish to share a few thoughts with you that have often wandered across my mind when I am away from you.
You, my dearest daughter, have been my greatest teacher and me, becoming your mother, has been my greatest learning.
Before you came into my life, I learnt that the best things in life are unexpected because there are no expectations.
When you were born I learnt that the greatest pain brings with it the greatest achievements.
When you gave me your toothless smiles, I experienced joy that none else gives.
When you cried, my heart tore and I learnt that I was a safe haven capable of providing refuge
When you took your first steps holding my hand, I learnt that I have the power to guide
When you first uttered ‘ Mama’, I experienced fulfillment that only you can give
When you first stepped out of the cocoon of your home into the portals of school, I learnt that I had to let go

My dearest daughter,

I want you to be strong so that you may rely only on yourself for courage and fortitude.
I want you to be patient so that you may face the challenges of this world
I want you to be confident so that nobody can hurt you unless you let them

And that is why
I have to be hard on you at times; so that you assume responsibilities for your actions even when the price to be paid for it is high.
I have to say ‘NO’ so that you understand that we cant have everything that we want in life
I have to let you fall and get up on your own so that when you grow up you see your failures as stepping-stones to success

Dearest Daughter,
I love you more than anything else in this world and I know that the best gift I can give you is that of Roots and Wings: roots to keep you grounded and wings to make you fly.
I hope you will grow up to be a strong woman who can embrace life with all its beauty;
I wish you love, peace and contentment in all you do and in all you have.

God Bless You,
Always your loving Mother.

winter wisdom

Winters bring with it moist dew filled mornings, delicious sun, blue cloudless skies, and blazing flowers along tree lined thoroughfares. Winters wrap up the packages of the year - its delights and its misgivings - in tinsel and in grey. Life, as we see it and deal with it, decides what we do with these packages; do we simply stow them away so that we need not be reminded of it ever so often? or do we carefully put it someplace which makes us hark back and delve deeper into its essence? the coyness of spring, the brazenness of summer, the reticence of autumn or the intensity of winters - life packages in its myriad hues. we embrace the joyous and abandon the despairs. winters remind us of the cycle of life and death, day and night, happiness and sorrow, light and darkness. there is no getting away from either. we learn to enfold all our experiences and call it the wisdom of winters. with its many enchanting charms, winter is the wisest teacher.