To Stand Away

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A multitude of rabbits surround the huge sighing banyan tree and prepare to resume training again. There is no time for large pauses. Life is too short to be cute aimlessly.

The rabbits live to achieve only one ambition- defeating the tortoises.

In this forest called as Mercy, there is no room for late bloomers. Start early or go home.
Every rabbit born is an addition to the probability for victory which rarely comes.

Tortoises have been known to have intelligence that puts the owls to shame and speed that barely surpasses a crawling baby rabbit, yet they always win the Final Showdown.

The rabbits never stop and think about the long term benefits of winning the race. It's just a tradition that keeps going on. The tortoises have no idea about how the race is run. They created an epidemic by winning the first and a system was created.

I am one of those clueless rabbits.

I want to run a race that already had my name registered when I was born. Only because my forefathers were defeated in such a race. Money matters more to me than applicability of what I'm doing. But sometimes popularity is lesser a priority to me than the satisfaction of being right.

I belong to the generation that is being pinned down by a system that is too slow for the modern world, too simplistic for the intricacies involved with the people following the herd and too old to judge the substance in an person challenging the methods of the world.

Only if we'd woken up at the right time.
The point worth noting is, even if the generation has to get out of the ultimate Rabbit-ambition, it has to have a plan. A well-defined aim to pull it out of the common mundane routine and set it apart. To make it the one group of rabbits that runs away from Mercy and attempts to make their own destiny (even if killed in a road accident later!).

We need to fix ourselves and abandon the rabbit coat. Only then will we realize what was lacking. Until we do that, the only thing we'll know perfectly is that we don't know everything.

The Wake-up Siren

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I had my first Ambulance ride today.
I only had time to notice that I had I wasn't alone in the chamber because the instant that can thing took flight, I was knocked out.

Upon my recovery I quickly made an inventory search of the van. I dragged open all the drawers with awesome difficulty and realized that the vacant First-Aid drawer had said it true. There was no First-Aid kit in the van!

In a near panic attack I clutched the handle that comes installed above the windows in every normal car. A split second later, to my utmost horror, I observed that there was no handle. I had a broken tube-light to my share instead.

The Ambulance has to fly, it's the policy. Hence I conferred that the only holy trick I could perform to keep myself intact was to lie flat down on the bench.
Enter the guy with a broken ankle!

His victimized leg had already invaded the comfort of the bench. I gave up trying to stay safe. And then the other guy tried making a short chat which ended in an unsatisfied grunt (from him) on hearing about my ailment.

At once my ego took over and I stepped into Barrack Obama's shoes as I gazed down upon my Ambulance mate. He must assume Mitt Romney's authority. I am in no good posture to win the Election. I have failed America. But Mitt Romney is more pathetic! So I have no fair competition. Hence, the country must succumb to my incapability.

From the core of Fear Files!

Contaminated they are both, but one is better than the other. But when there are more able politicians, why is America still (it never does, but let's assume for the sake of argument!) suffering?
Because talent is never enough?

The University I study in works on the same principle.
Talent is not deficient, but fools are neither.
And this is Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki  as a rustic would zinger.

I don't wish to make this longer, but imagine how well represented India would be if Pranab Mukherjee resigned and A P J Kalam took over again. How many countries do you think have a scientist as a President!
Oh, by the way, I am feeling better now.

The Towel-Wrapped Chic

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Note: Chic is not Chick. Chic means style, and Chick means, I don't have to tell you that! So be prepared to look at the world as a giant chic of fresh innovation covered with a towel. If you want to visualize the chick instead, she enters very late in the story!

At five minutes to 7 he jogged out of his room for the dinner, picking up his sweater and the mobile phone in a hurried haze. In five long strides he had reached both the start of the descend of the staircase and the pinnacle of the blood rush that had been due.

With a precarious step down the staircase his heart registered a seizure and the blackout prepared to instal in his eyes.
Blood rush has always been funny. And orgasmic (to him).

He calculated that he had 7-8 seconds to spare, and thus started the furious chain-of-thoughts game.
He thought he felt like Arvind Kejriwal, who is taking a new step by not-introducing the name of his new party,  but confirming the news that he is, in fact, entering the promenade of lupine personalities commonly called as the spoiled ramp of politics.

Whether he succeeds in inculcating the means, he believes in, in his new colleagues can be left to the argued fourth dimension of physics- time.
Hey, isn't there another such mettle craving news grabber who has taken a bold step recently? 

Aah yes, Priyanka Chopra. Jhilmil famed dudette who calls for clear recognition for her 'In My City' single. Wonder if she'll be the next Britney Spears or Katie Melua!
Unfortunately, yep you guessed it, only time will tell.

And he was rewarded. In shoes.
Which reminds of the novel by the exact name by Jeffrey Archer. Long live the prolific author, but his new attempt at churning out five novels in five year, capping a tour across the world isn't going to work.
The best part you ask? We don't need time for this to be figured out!

Uh oh, 9 seconds of the precious life to be wasted in blackout were not worthless after all!
He took a leap of faith for the last two steps but as the nebulous cloud of confidence in the Almighty cleared, he saw that the last two steps were actually four.

He'd read once that Flying is actually hurtling towards the ground while achieving the skills of missing it (ground). He was a good misser of stuff, like missing scoring in surprise tests or missing girlfriend's bickering on looking at a hot chick passing by, but alas! try as hard he may, he couldn't miss the ground.

He hugged the marble floor in a bizarre position with his right feet bending below him at a suspicious angle. He got up, dusted himself and the tickle crept up through his feet.

He'd had sprained his ankle. He hopped around the dark empty road, sending quick prayers to the same Almighty to surpass the pain and noticed an amazing amount of skin peering at him through a room.
It was a girl, wrapped only in a thin towel, freshly bathed, looking out of her window at his Charlie Chaplin moves!

He paused in his maneuvers and reciprocated her gaze, and it seemed to jolt some message in the girl because she flew her hand across the room and snapped the window shut.
Being an incredible misser as he was, he immediately started missing the scenic glory of an amazing amount of skin, but all was confiscated from him in another instant.

It struck him that she might have taken him to be a peeping tom, hopping desperately to get a glimpse of her avatar. A pole was standing nearby, waiting for the chagrin to invade him, but it didn't come, and the pole was lost of the chance to have been nudged by the soft mound of his skull.

His ankle was miraculously cured and he could walk again. Time took an examination yet again, and he passed. The girl didn't though, but he couldn't care less.

He didn't realize that the world around him was playing the same game as the innocent girl. The world is curious and freshly bathed towel-wrapped, but the intention with which we look at it spoils the oncoming change and we are shut out by the expected revolution yet again.

He shrugged off the feeling of shame and popped the second end of the earphones in his canals, of which the other end was inserted in his mobile phone, traversing through Priyanka Chopra's teenage-like voice and flipped open his keypad to type a post on India Against Corruption's Facebook page begging for a hint of the Kejriwal party's name.

The road was empty and he didn't stumble.