I remember the morning my family and I left Guwahati for the village. The house was half empty. Boxes, bags and books lay around, the sound of things being moved echoed through the rooms, and there was that particular smell of an emptied house - old wood, dust, books and the faint traces of a life lived there for years.

Every room seemed to hold a memory. I would stop for a moment, look around and then get back to packing. Outside, Guwahati was just waking up - the morning traffic beginning, shop shutters opening, the familiar sounds of the city filling the air.

We loaded the last few things into the car and drove away, carrying years of work, memories and a life we had built. As the buildings gave way to open roads, fields and trees, the noise of the city slowly disappeared.

There was excitement, but also a quiet uncertainty. We were heading to a village near Kaziranga, not quite knowing what the next chapter would look like.

By then, I realised I was not simply changing where I lived. I was leaving one chapter behind and moving towards something I could not yet define.

Perhaps that has been my life all along, always somewhere between what I am leaving behind and what I am moving towards.

For more than two decades as a journalist, I travelled, reported and met people whose stories often revealed more about a place than any destination ever could. Tourism later became another way of understanding places, people and their way of life.

Somewhere Between is where I write about the people, places, journeys and ideas that make me stop, look and think- the things that inspire me, the issues that concern me, and the questions that stay with me.

- Abhijit Gogoi