Life is a race. It starts in the morning, or saying it is also wrong. It starts with the birth, or saying it is wrong, it starts before it, or saying it too is wrong .. when does it start? To hell with the start line, I am in the middle, where am I? To hell with where am I? I am in the race? If it is so, I should know where am I? Why is it I am trying to find out and what? Is there a finish line? Where does it end?
In the relentless pressure of the race, the sportsmanship has taken a back seat. Two very subtle things struck me in the last couple of days. Today morning on the way to office, it was a mad race in the traffic, and no one giving an inch to the other. Me too, i cherish the competition. I reached office, a few minutes early. But was it worth the few minutes, or would it have been good to start early and reach the same time?
A couple of days back, i was at a clinic, a children clinic. As usual the rush there is there, the queues. Limited seating space. So i stood outside, while my wife and kid managed to get a place inside. As the rush increased, i saw a change, the men started to sand outside, while the kids and ladies got a space inside to sit. When my chance was over and i came out, the men were still standing and all the new comers following the unsaid rule. It happened inadvertently but it did teach me a lesson. A race is where you see a race.
