Junak Baruah wants to win the prestigious short film competition in his university. But with hundreds of participants and a stellar jury on board, winning means making a film that's never been made before.
And that means breaking the rules and taki...
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It was Bihu. Two years ago, on this day, Dikhou had stood on a field, amidst a buffalo fight, scaring a naïve man from the cities about a ghost haunting a bridge on the highway.
Today, Dikhou stood in his room, staring down at a ridiculous hoodie in his hands. It had eyes and ears and a long, pointy horn.
The rest of the room was mostly packed in suitcases. The academic books on his table were still there, so was the broken typewriter he had collected from his neighbour's house. A few of his old clothes were left in the wardrobe but all his other things were tucked away in three bags.
One bag lay open, half full, on the bed in front of him.
He could not yet believe this was happening, despite spending most of the past month in Delhi, attending the training sessions, looking for houses that would be comfortable for his mother and scouring schools for Lohor. He could not yet believe this was happening, despite having the flight scheduled mere two days later. He was leaving, perhaps forever, this house that he loved and the village too that was dear to him in its own ways.
It was a little cruel, if he stopped to think about it, how leaving his home was the only way he could live his life. He wondered sometimes if he would have been content living here if things were different. He would've married someone like Gagori and they would've had a house here, while he worked somewhere in the nearby town.
But it was what it was, and perhaps this was for the better. It was a better job and, though he would miss the clean air and the calm of the village, there was hope now of a fresh start. Maybe he would make friends there, friends like Niribili and Banhi, and he could be as confident as Puhor - minus the violence and man bun, of course. He could go to movies with Lohor whenever they wanted and visit those famous clubs Junak used to tell him about.
He would still miss Junak, of course. This joy felt hollow without him. When Dikhou first went to Delhi, he could not help but imagine what it would've been like if Junak was there, showing him around, taking him to his favourite places. Dikhou missed the way he used to hold his hand, missed his laugh, the twinkle in his eyes and just... everything.
Life felt a little empty without him and the feeling did not seem to dissipate no matter how many days flew by.
Dikhou figured he would just have to live with that.
He touched the hoodie to his lips and closed his eyes, hating how it had long lost Junak's scent. He still took in a deep breath, before putting it inside the bag -
Or at least, he was about to. His mother called him from the other room, an urgency to her voice that made him drop the hoodie on the bed and run outside.
His mother and both his sisters, who had come to help them pack, were standing on the porch, staring at their neighbour's front yard. Frowning, Dikhou followed their line of sight and -
