Morning Run

It was a damp squib of a morning. It was colder out here than M r Reddy’s heart. He was my neighbor while I was in Dehra dun .That son of a bitch never used to return our balls which often used to sometimes go over the fence while playing cricket or the usual catch - catch or the more profound game for guys ,sikkim tadi. That weasel squealed to our parents almost every time. We were just playing , grow up dude. Well as time progressed I grew up and our throwing around became less and so did his visits .But I think he missed us, our playing. He missed the balls for his back yard reeked of desolation, of emptyness. Well as I said , It was smothering cold out there. I was out on my regular scheduled morning run or more like morning rut, which was just so planned the previous week ,of which I had just made three appointments. My bulging belly was my chief stimulus .It was like a pea soup that day. As I was trying to trot and match a young kid’s pace who was sneering at me as if he was the adult and I the kid. He derisively sprinted ahead of me without much effort. I was disheartened at my failed attempt to outrun a boy where I was not much of an adult myself at the fresh age of 20. I became murky . I felt like an adult. With out much hope for my dark future ,I grudgingly dragged my ass forward . As hard it was to find my way in that haze of a fog, it was even more hardy a task to watch out for other people bustling in from all the directions. It was like a skirmish , with all attempts being made with what ever means possible. There was Mrs Rajput who instead of using her baton ( it was her husband’s , an Ex Army General’s baton) for support, was actually using it for clearly the fog ahead or more like knocking down every one on her way. She was a woman on a mission , a mission to reach home safely even if it is at the cost of all the bystander’s lives and to think that since she was from a military background she would be more inclined to lay down her life for the masses just like her husband but these army folks, you can never trust them. Just give them a gun and they’ll just start shooting no matter which side they’re on. The Ist thing I’ll do when I start earning is that I wont pay any bloody damn taxes. Yes, that’s it I’m going to evade taxes. Then there was Mr Parekh who was a man with a dog or more like a dog with a man.From the looks of his face , it appeared that never in his 26 years of blissful married life would he have been willing to go for a morning walk.Yet still he does with this consort by his side or more like leading him with their dog following her lead and he following their lead. The hitch was that Mr Parekh wasn’t able to handle the dog , it was the dog that handled him .Mr Parekh was at the bottom of the food chain in his family with his significant other occupying the chief topmost spot. The dog was all over the place , sniffing , drubbing and pissing all over the place. Twice in three runs when I stopped for a moment to give my regards to his ailing father , did the little bastard of a mongrel pissed all over me. And all he could muster up was that he was kind of color blind for the color grey and pissed all over it whenever he saw it .His defense couldn’t suffice the next day coz I was wearing blue and disregarding his vision and my senses of reasoning he stuck with his vindication of his dog. I don’t like the dog . Mr Parekh doesn’t too, I reckon. He does it for his spouse. Sheesh , things we ….nah things the other stupid men do to be at par with their ladies is sickening and revolting. I’ll die before giving in to her demands.


The boy who outran me was now walking at a rather brisk pace some steps ahead of me. In this I saw a lost opportunity to redeem my self esteem and sprinted like a mad dog runs after the milkman. Little did I know that the little runt was just changing lanes but that wasn’t not going to stop me from giving my all…no sir. But that defiant victory was short-lived for I was struck by Mrs Rajput’s rigid baton on her return journey back to her base. Damn it, I hated the Soddy baton like I hated Mr Parekh’s dog. Maybe more than that, I despised the mere presence of it in my sight. But Mrs Rajput was too nice of a person to be argued with regarding her satanic baton. I knew she needed it coz of her sight. I know it would be very hard for her to part with her husband’s memory with whom she co-piloted 37 years of rough landscape. The constant waiting and crying .The constant elation on hearing news of his well being .The consistent and yet arduous struggle against loneliness. This is the harsh ground reality for people like her. It was all worth it , for her warrior was still out there .And then one day he slipped not off a precipice ,but slipped on a spill of milk . And to think if it , I thought titans were invincible , they are… but only on the battle field. Life in the “real” world is much crueler and obtuse to fathom. I respect her baton for on it are imprinted the hands of a proud and resilient warrior who stood his ground for many wars. For it was once held by a righteous man who would stand on a mountain peak and diffuse his enemy with just his poise. I respect her for the way she keeps alive her husband’s pride with her.
While meandering the course, as these thoughts creep into my mind with the pain of “the” baton still fresh….I ponder how insignificant my troubles seem to be . I feel guilty for being such a spiritless youth. I gather my senses .I inhale in the morning freshness which has drifted along like cavalry with the morning sunshine and with that I augment my pace.

A funny thing is this morning run ….you start out with being drowsy and sluggish and the comfort of your bed at the back of your mind and in the end, you turn out all invigorated and zealous and ready to take on the misled vagaries of life for the rest of the day.