As Bohag draws near, the air fills with excitement, and in Bokakhat’s Gormur village, age is no barrier to celebration.
With frail hands but unshaken hearts, the elderly gather—some well into their seventies—ready to relive the golden melodies of Bihu.
An old man, eyes gleaming with nostalgia, picks up the dhol and strikes a familiar rhythm. His wife, despite the years that have slowed her steps, cannot resist the pull of the music. She sways gently, a smile lighting up her wrinkled face, as she sings the timeless Bihu Naam.
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For a moment, they are young again. Their voices tremble, not with age, but with the weight of memories—of moonlit Bihu nights, of laughter, of love.
The tune of "Abelite Bhat Khai, Godhulite Xui Thak" floats in the air, a playful reminder of traditions passed down through generations.
Bihu is more than just a festival; it’s a feeling, a connection to the past. And in this little village, as the elders clap, sing, and dance, they prove that while time may weather the body, it can never touch the soul.
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