Mountain Girl Problems

The silence of the mountains

Crackles within the burning wood

It screams into your city-honed mind

Myriad sounds that terrify and uplift

Chirping birds and sounds of “home”

Warm the fluttering heartache within you

Into throes of a welcoming sun.

The flapping wings of a bird flitting past

Remind you of your relished solitude

While the solitary mountain woman’s chores

Resonate methodically against the oncoming storm.

Mountain girl problems? Against all this?

They’re a fistful of snow.

22 leopards growl and grunt and I walk on, knowing they see me.

Srunching on dried oak leaves and mossy rocks, I move on.

Now, a bear threatens life as well. Oh well, thank god for pokey walking sticks.

Mountain girl problems. Chopping firewood too hardy for soft palms, too brittle for a hardy mind.

Squeezing toothpaste from a frozen tube while whitened hands refuse to move

Much like you, when you walked away.

Leaving a frozen shadow of you behind.

Walking along forest trails that are my new friends.

The moss that looks like mistletoe, and I kiss a dying red flower under it.

The trees that quietly watch me pass, whispering amongst themselves.

The men, oh the men here. Puffing beedis, chewing paan and wondering

If this girl needs city doctor help. It is crazy to live alone in a tiny cottage

That gets snowed in for over 8 days after the first snow fall.

Mountain girl problems. Controlling the urge to eat when provisions deplete.

Controlling the joy of seeing new faces, wanting to hug them for visiting.

Trying hard not to thrash people who say, “you’re so lucky to live here”.

They know not, what solitude brings. They know not, of the hunger of wild animals.

Mostly, the problems involve strength and temperament.

Mostly, I spend days lifting bucketfuls of water for weight training.

And racing sessions with my dog.

Mostly, I spend evenings wondering what Delhi is up to, when I am in bed by 730pm.

Mountain girl problems, they are many and they are few.

In the end, my fate is decided by the Camus kaleidoscope that asks me,

“Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?”