Race, of a different kind

Shyam was getting impatient. The calming greenfield did nothing to alleviate his irritation. He only watched her from the corner of his eye.

She skipped thrice, stood at ease for less than a second, and immediately launched towards the cockpit of the airplane with two quick jumps. She quickly scooped up her prized possession and started the return trip.

With five quick jumps she was back to the tail end.

Level 9 done, she smirked, to no one in particular.

“Damn. No mistakes made,” her brother admitted grudgingly.

The two were playing hopscotch: The rules of the game were simple: throw a stone into one of the many boxes on the airplane-shaped play-field. Skip to the box, and get the stone back. You played until you strayed away from the boundaries.

For the longest time, Shyam was unbeaten in this game.

Only recently, had he carved out an airplane on the ground by digging large mud trenches in a greenfield. Because the ground was his, he considered himself a better and more dedicated player.

But today, Ramya seemed to be unstoppable. She had zoomed past 9 levels, blocking any and all chances for him to play.

So he simply faced away from her and started wandering to the other side of the plane. What you cant see, cant hurt you, he thought to himself.

In the meantime, Ramya had crossed yet another level! Crossing the 10^th level meant you had to start throwing the stone to the farthest end of the plane, blindfolded.  The farther you threw the more points you got.

She clamped her eyes shut, and lobbed the stone to the other end of the plane.

Splat!

Ow!

Arghh.

The multiple unpleasant sounds told her what had happened.

The stone had landed directly on her brother’s head, who at the time, was wandering on the field.

He lay there, arms splayed, teeth bloodied. 

He stared. She only turned away.

If speed was his talent, anticipating the future was hers. The two were the last remaining giants, left on the earth, with tons of time, and little to no work to do.

Even as Shyam got ready to claim his revenge, Ramya moved slightly to the left.

The stone landed a few feet away from her, and she smiled triumphantly.

She calmly lifted the stone, and proceeded to finish the 11^th level.

“No no no,” he came charging at her. “You are out. It’s my turn now,” he said.

She did not give in.

He tried to throw a punch at her, and she jumped to the next box.

“You landed in the middle of the field, you idiot, “ she shouted, as she skipped along. “Just as you are now. Now, move,” she said.

She was right.

“I hate you,” Shyam thought. “What cant you be like my other human friends? ..Weak and submissive,” he said aloud.

“Giants or humans..the rules of the game stays the same,” said Ramya. “Now move,” she commanded, as she went on to score a streak till the 15^th level.

Words

Let me play with you.

Let me coddle you, let me dress you up,

And proceed to rind you, down to the bones.

Dear Words, let me do all that and more to you.

Let me stitch you into beautiful carols,

Let me introduce you to the beautiful symphonies

And then shove you into the anguished cries of a broken child

Dear Words, you’ve made many lives.

You’ve also broken many hopes, and families.

And now, I’d like to return the favour.

Would you want to come over for dinner?

I’d feed you till you collapse from exhaustion

And make a shawarma out of you.

Or tea perhaps?

You know, I make great masala chai.

I’d serve you some and stuff you into the feather light croissant.

Dear Words, your species is heinous and vile.

You comfort one minute and scar the next.

You bring out the devil in me,

Unleash me in front of unsuspecting humans,

And I thoroughly I despise you for that.

So, I've decided to be a devil, that's faithful only to you.

And seduce you..

Seduce you.. until death can finally do us part.

Expectations

Expectations, they're are a curse.

There’s a reason why people ask you to dream big,

But, caution you, stop you, tell you to expect less.

Tread with care, it says, because the journey ahead could get rough.

But I don’t pay heed. I nurture my expectations like a boss.

How can I settle for less with a dream so big?

A few years later, I hear the echoes, in slow and rhythmic chant:

They’re a curse.. They’re a curse...Expectations are a curse.

And so, while I wait and work for it, they only go farther off.

Why are they such a mystery I wonder:

After all, the expectations are mine!

I birthed them, fed them, let them play with my dreams.

Now, all they have to do is come and embrace me. Make themselves a reality.

Instead they taunt. They poke. They make me wonder about their dimensions:

Am I not too high? Am I low?

Instead of just showing up, they further torment me, in hushed whispers:

If you lower me, aren’t you lowering your self-worth?

What will people think?

How will your face yourself when you’re 80?

With such questions they bring in confusion. Chaos. Sadness.

For every choice I make,

Be it a house, a car, or a partner, expectations come forth like disapproving uncles.

But weren’t these expectations mine?

I owned them. But now, somehow, I seemed to be disappointing them.

Amid long stretches of these heavy thoughts, comes one ephemeral strand of relief.

'Fuck the expectations. They are only in your head.

They are just the speed boosters to your vehicle.

Your vehicle is going to get to the destination, with or without the boosters.

You’ll get there.'

Fuck the expectations. Fuck the expectations.

Get to the destination. Get to the destination, I chant to myself.

Meanwhile, the slightly weakened tormenter continues its job.

And with every step comes the:

Poke. Taunt. Poke. Taunt. Poke.