There is a story written in the frost of the Garhwal mountains.
It began at 7:00 AM, in a world that refused to choose between the night and the day. If you check the modern calendars, they’ll mark it as December 5th, 2006. But the earth recognizes a deeper clock.
I arrived in the year 2063 of the Vikram Era, in the month of Margashirsha—the month the ancient texts call the crown of all months. It was the year 1928 of the Shaka Samvat, on a Tuesday that carried the fire of the Red Planet. They say those born on a Tuesday are forged in courage, inheriting the spirit of the protector and the warrior.
That morning, the sky was a masterpiece of symmetry. To my left, a Full Moon hung heavy and silver, reaching its peak brilliance in the constellation of Rohini—the star of the creator. To my right, the sun was just igniting the Himalayan ridges in a flood of gold. I was born in that exact sliver of time where the moon and the sun shared the horizon.
I share this heartbeat with a man who built worlds out of stardust—Walt Disney, born exactly 105 years before me on this very day who arrived to prove that " If you can dream ,you can do it ."
So, I don’t just celebrate a date. I
celebrate the Tuesday fire, the Himalayan frost, and the Purnima light that watched me arrive. I am a child of the high peaks, born when the moon was too beautiful to leave and the sun was too eager to wait.
I am a child of the Purnima .
