Windy City Chicagor boliyaa botaah jake
Kane Kane koi gol
" 'Tis the season of Bordoisila in Assam".
In my back yard
The wind is blowing away the white flowers from a tree.
Komuwa toolar dorey
They are dancing and flying
Sutal-khon boga-phoolor-dolisaa koree.
And, Oh yes,
'Tis the season of
Our Bohagor Bihu in Assam.
Nedekha Kopou phoolor xubaxe
Mon mur urunga urunga korey,
Xagoror xipaaror sinaki matir gundhe
Mon-pokhee uruwai niye...
My mind flies away with the wind
To the Land of Red river and Blue hills.
Following the rhythmic beating of Dhol,
Heart-wrenching sound of Pepa,
Kulir kuhu-kuhu maat
And the delicate fragrance of Kopou phool
I fly eastward
Xuruj uthaa dexoloi...
Flying high over mighty Brahmaputra
Riniki riniki jen xunu
Jibon joguwa Bihu-geet eti...
... I don't remember for how long I was flying...
I'm home, here in Chicago
Kintu, mon-tu kot?
Where's the mind?
Aah, there she is...
Happily counting the hanging clusters of Kopou phool
In the front yard of her Jorhat home...
Let her be there - for a while!
'Cause, like a bird comes back to the neer,
Uronia mon will find her way back home
To me - here.
NOTE: I can never ever show disrespect to my own mother-tongue - Assamese, or any other language such as English. After living here in this country for so long, quite often some of us automatically use both Assamese and English - sometimes in the same sentence - naturally and without realizing. That is code-switching. The above piece is just an expression of my thoughts at that time...