Monday, Jul 4, 2005
Cottage By The Mountains
- Harshvardhan Kumar Harshvardhan Kumar, currently in India, is 12 years old. Born of parents who themselves are writers and journalists, writing comes natural to him.
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In a village beyond the fair Himalayas, there lies a little cottage. It has a straw canopy, and below it a humble fire burns. Sometimes an old man sits there and lazily tends to the hearth. When it burns and extinguishes, there is little left that he can do. He cannot bend properly, he cannot even sit up straight. A turban on his head and a staff in his hand, a gentle prod and the fire seems to wake up. It seems to live for him, because if it didn't, the other will not do the same. They live for each other.
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But an interesting fact is that that he is actually me. I am Garamond Phillip. I am a lonely shephard in the Cottage by the Mountains. I have no kin, I have nothing. But I have my fire, and the fire has me.
There was a time in my life when I could have crawled up the highest peak and looked down and mocked the fair distance below. There was a time when I could have smiled at the sunlit halo around my scalp and really feel like KING. But now, I have my fire to blanket me and my eyes to just stare at the many memories I put into it. A lot of my day is spent in living in the past.
One such memory is quite recent. Maybe a few days ago. I just had to go to the nearby village and get a few provisions. I walked into the Village of the Youths. A turban across my head, my pajamas worn, and my shirt barely able to cover back, I turned to the grocery store. But there I got a few stares. Maybe I was a stranger or maybe I was just another entry to be beware of. But those stares made me feel my age.
I returned to my home and opened my door. I realise now that I am just too old to mix with folk, to walk among them, or to chatter amongst the many voices. I will remain unheard, I think. I do not mind, though. I have my fire and my memories. And just like them, I will while away myself, in my Cottage by the Mountains.
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