Small towns have better stories than cities. I come from a small town. A quintessential, nondescript place called Morigaon, where trends reach late because the highways do not pass through it. Before I was the “hi-fi” American student, I was the “Morigoya” girl for the first sixteen years of my life. I am still the “Morigoya” girl, albeit my “Morigaon-ness” is limited to reminiscing about it from different places. But I go home. Quite a lot. I love Morigaon, the nondescriptness of it, its being-there-while-not-being-thereness, the feeling of not knowing what to answer when someone asks where in Assam are you from. Really, nobody knows a lot about my town. And I am glad they don’t—I get to play the “exotic” rural Assamese girl for the city-bred savarna Guwahati-boys. I started smoking in 2018. Couldn’t tell you exactly when, but I remember a friend in my pg leaving a few cigarettes out on my table, forgetting about it, and me and my roommate trying them out on our balcony. It felt ...