The Lilliputians have abandoned us. They have charted their own course in life. They have become independent.
Now they live in a grand mansion of their own. The mansion is a 6 by 4 feet wooden plank and is nestled in the hollow of a garb tree.
The dwellers of this palatial abode have actually made it quite comfortable. There are cushions. There’s a shoe rack. Behind the shoe rack, there’s also a study of sorts where one book is strategically arranged in such a way that the onlookers may see it and remark: the studious Lilliputians. There’s a strong possibility that for all intents and purposes the study in question is merely a showpiece.
While the residents of this luxurious lodging enjoy their new found independence, the adults of the land of Lilliputians are reduced to being errand people for siphoning out food to the tree house dwellers.
The Lilliputians are happy. But not so the birds. All the birds within 100- metre radius of the land of Lilliputians have been spotted wearing ear plugs. The combined chirping, cawing, twittering, and squeaking of all the birds is no match to the intensity of sound pouring out from the mouth of just one Lilliputian. And now since they all dwell in a tree, the decibels emerging from the tree are much above the standard threshold of birds’ hearing. Poor birds!
As the Lilliputians enjoy their new found independence, we, the errand people, look at them with frustration. They have become out of reach, but not out of earshot.
The Lilliputians seem to have satisfied two of the pressing human needs: freedom, and independence.
They have also proven one thing: the regality of a residence is relative. It is just a matter of perspective.