The Race

I was about to leave for office when a flurry of emails landed in my inbox with the precision of an air strike. My heart sank as I briefly glanced at the subject matter. A launch of a new product is underway. Last-minute jitters. Doubts. Ego battles – why designation XYZ’s suggestion wasn’t incorporated in the communication. Well, Sir, because it made as much sense as civet droppings without coffee beans in it. Of course, the previous sentence existed only as a thought blurb. So yes. It was going to one of those dreaded days. Full of misplaced rage and carefully worded pleas for reworking the entire ad campaign.

I stepped out of the house and headed to my car. A little boy, about 5 years old, had parked his tricycle beside my car and was petting a cat oblivious to the world. As I got into the car, he drew himself up to his full height of 40 inches or so. The moment I switched on the ignition, he started pedaling away furiously. I drove as slowly as I could ensuring there was enough distance between us. Our little cyclist meanwhile had reached the community gate beyond which he was obviously not allowed to venture out. As I slowly passed him, I told him 'Your cycle is faster than my car'. I could almost see his tiny chest swell up in pride. He waved out merrily, smiling broadly all the time.

Suddenly, the day ahead didn’t seem to matter any longer. Long live innocence.