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I've always wondered how we take language for granted. Language-in the sense of having names, spelled out in alphabets, written out in exams and application forms. The nation needs to know our name: for passports, for citizenship. But if you are from this village in Meghalaya, one of India's north-eastern states- your name is not really a name. Your name is just music. Bizarre, I thought. But it is true. If you are from the village of Kongthong, you have a musical tune as your name. Your name didn’t exist in words, but sounds. Your name couldn’t be written in a language. A tune was your name. It baffled me, that a world like that existed, still exists. What was the world really like, before we knew that we needed to have a name, spelled out in letters? What is the history of nomenclature? Were names necessary? We had taken language, a written language with a script so much for granted, that it had become almost impossible to envision a world that does not use it. Here, we have a couple of villages in the Khatarshnong where people will have a minimum of two unique tunes, one for short calling, and one for the official calling. And thus began my journey in Kongthong, the village of tunes. You walk into the village, and there's music everywhere. Mothers calling out to their kids who are playing, by their 'tune-nicknames', kids calling out to each other. Everyone knew each other's names, songs, everything. It was as if even the mountains sang in Kongthong. I was alone. I walked along a mountain, only to watch how the rain passed over the rest of the hills, and left me untouched. I saw how the grass was greener, and the sky bluer than Shillong, Mehalaya's only city. It was evening by the time I reached, and the Kongthong's youth club had gathered in the playground. Games with arrows was the agenda for the evening. Kids were playing football, while the young men shot their arrows aiming at a target. Kongs (the respectful Khasi term for women) strapped with their kids on their back, were watching me, as I watched the men play. It was a playground surrounded by mountains, and the only playground in Kongthong. If Messi were to play there, the football would be lost forever among the hills, with one strong kick. Songs and arrows- if I had to describe Kongthong in a word, that was it.