The Rat Race

When you start running, you think you see the finish line. And you don't run, you sprint; because its a 100m race. If you stop, scores of people would outrun you. Tens are already ahead. Your foremost aim is to get past them. Forget everything else, there are people ahead. If you get past them, you're ahead, on the road to victory. After all, its a 100m race.

... except that it isn't. That finish line you saw was just a checkpoint. The sprinters would eventually tire, and slow. Some would stop. But the race is long, and at the end, it is only with yourself.

We know it all so well. But still we sprint. It is easy trying to get past the one ahead. But it is difficult to make up your mind to run that long, maybe even the extra mile. It is amazing how it all boils down to such a simple fact... that we so easily turn a blind eye to.

You have wasted a lot of precious time in reading this post now. Run, my friend, run!

Perspectives

It was a cool night in an industrial fair and I was dawdling around watching people. I like to be alone in public and watch people. I fantasize myself as a philosopher who sees more in a crowd than a callous mass of people scuttling around blabbering strange languages. But for that, I need a subject. And that particular night, mediocre faces and tired people are all I saw. I was getting bored of the exercise and just considering giving it up in favor of a good movie when I saw her.

She wasn’t one of those beautiful, cute or innocent faces that make you stand and stare, nor was she sensuous enough to make a guy drool. But she was strong; maybe sometimes headstrong, very sure of herself and very happy. If something overshadowed her strength of character, it was her wide smile and light step. As I scuttled forward to catch glimpses of her between the thickets of people, I couldn’t help smiling myself. As I watched her delve deeper into the crowd, I followed her a few steps behind and started weaving her story.

“24, maybe 27” I said to myself; “brought up in a city, maybe Delhi”, her dressing sense told me. I have been to enough Indian cities to tell one’s people from the other. And you can always tell a Delhi girl from a Mumbai girl. When you see one dressed to kill, flaunt what she has and tease you on working day mornings, you know you’re in Mumbai. Delhi is more of casuals and comfort wear. Of course there are intricacies and there are exceptions. But my experience told me this was Delhi material.

She stopped by a small woman selling baskets. I went and stood at an adjoining stall and lent an ear. She was bargaining sweetly for a couple of rupees. I would have loved to deduce “lower middle class”; but her sweetness baffled me. Then, she settled for a price and paid, thanked the woman with a smile and went off clutching two small baskets.

It was then I noticed a college identity card poking out of the back pocket of her jeans. That confirmed her age for sure, but didn’t explain the baskets. I followed her around as she bought a couple more trinkets from small stalls while conspicuously ignoring the larger ones. Her ways intrigued as much as angered me. Nothing fell in place. Even after half an hour of watching, I did not have any conclusion on her story.

Suddenly I bumped into someone. I recovered a little angry for my broken chain of thoughts when I found I was staring right at her. She looked at me from inches away and breathed right onto my face. It was then I realized that lost in thoughts, I had bumped right into my subject. I mumbled an apology and moved on. Just as I turned around to see her again, I saw her waving to a toddler on his father’s shoulders. I watched her face for a minute. Her expressions were telling her story, but I did not understand.

Then it hit me. The whole picture came before me, and the strands fell into place. It felt as if just her expressions could spell it out. I could see a little girl from a poor family, who struggled at every step to study; taken advantage of and eyed by the wolves of the society. But she did not yield. Instead, this hardened her heart and made her determination even stronger. And today, she has what she had struggled for all along. And she has come to celebrate it in her solitude within the milling crowd. Her heart is filled not only with happiness of success, but a tinge of mirth for those who pulled her down. She knows she’s on a road to success. But deep in her heart, she’ll always remember where she came from.

* * *

Dear Diary,

It has been a hectic semester and kept me busy. But finally, I decided enough was enough and I needed a break! I went to a fair today; even though my friends wouldn’t come along saying it was too silly. Sometimes, it is good to be silly, isn’t it? Well, it was fun even alone. I bought a couple of baskets; simply because, I couldn’t find anything better and didn’t want to come empty handed. The best part is that I think I finally learned how to bargain.

The stalls all sold stupid stuff that won’t even last a couple of days. However, I had some things to buy and so I stopped at the mall while coming back.

Strangely, there was a creepy man following me all along. At first, I thought that a lone girl in a fair was giving him ideas. But then, he bumped into me and didn’t even try to grope. Even his apology sounded sincere and flustered. But this was far from comforting as he turned even creepier after that. Anyway, I left right after with no harm done. But who knows? If I see him one more time, I’m going to call the police for sure.

Enough of him now and for my tomorrow’s schedule. I have got a couple of classes and an assignment to do. But that is pretty much it. I think I can afford to sleep late tomorrow.

Good Night