"I always get teary eyed when I leave home. Home is the tiny town of Dibrugarh in upper Assam. Home also is home to a runway which, at least in my opinion, lets you witness one of the most gorgeous take offs and landings in the world.
It is only when we are about to take off that it really hits me that I am not going to see this tea carpeted landscape, walk by the Brahmaputra, touch these clouds or breathe this air for a few months. Anything can happen in these months. My greatest fear in life is of dying in a heartless concrete city which doesn't move my soul one bit. Needless to say I am hopelessly clinging to every bit of Assam at the airport. It was during one such trips - this time flying out of the Guwahati airport that I chanced upon this gorgeous Kauna Grass basket of Manipur. There was a tiny story tucked in the corner of the waiting area once you checked in through the pointless airport security. The beautiful stoles were what caught my eye. Once inside, I chatted the very sweet woman showing me around. I got myself an Eri stole and this basket. And boy! Did I flaunt it all through the flight or what (it was a 6 hour journey with a change of 2 aircrafts ). It has acquired a place of pride in my room. I love craft in all its forms and have a sprinkling of woven products all around. Planters, tiny jewelry bowls, pen stands, bins, wrapping paper holders, lunch baskets - woven from bamboo, cane, jute, etc but this basket continues to be my absolute favourite. I don’t have the heart to use it for what its meant for - as a functional object. I instead keep it on my shelf. Next to books and ceramics. Like an objet d’art. And in anticipation of the next time I am going to land in that gorgeous land where a piece of my heart lives and refuses to travel."
Thank you Megha for the absolutely nostalgic story of yours, so many of us can relate to this.