An Old Tale

 

There was once a hare and a tortoise.

Hare was fast and nimble. Tortoise was slow and shy. Tortoise watched the hare from far away and wondered what would it be like to have long and powerful legs like that. It imagined itself being carried on those legs, galloping together over the meadow in a brown and white flurry. 

(pic credits: https://jessica-rawlings.co.uk)

Hare had also noticed the tortoise, occasionally. How it slowly raised its head from a meal and receded into the shell instantly as it caught the hare looking.

Slow. Elegant. Shy. 

Both knew what those fleeting glances meant. But no one made any moves. Their worlds were vastly dissimilar. One moved in quick leaps and the other barely moved at all. Their grandparents had told them about a century old tale where two of them clashed in a race. How the outcome surprised the entire world and effectively shut down any possible reconciliation between the two cultures. That story had multiple narratives and more conspiracy theories resurfaced every now and then. 

The hare thought about all this, bit off the head of a green tender blade of grass and looked at the brown shell across the meadow. It seemed to move towards the hare. The hare paused. Curious.

It was noon. The sun was beating down heavily. Time was moving slow. After what it felt like an eternity, the tortoise got closer to the hare. It was transfixed by the sight of those long legs in all its splendor. The hare was aware of the scrutiny, and suppressing a smile, asked; "Are you checking me out?"

Instinct took over the tortoise and it withdrew into its shell. 

The hare waited for a full minute and looked around for some shade. There was a tree a hundred yards away.

The sun got hotter. As the hare watched from under a tree, the tortoise popped its head out, looked around and slowly turned the other way.

 The tortoise headed back to where it came from. "It was all in my head", thought the reptile. "What did you make me wait for!", wondered the hare.

Nothing happened. No words exchanged. No fables re written. 

Somewhere in another world, some random guy put his pen and paper down, dunked another glass down his throat and muttered; "some other day, some other day".

Ants in my hair

If Eve doomed the human race for an apple, what would she do for a pair of Christian Louboutin? If someone made a movie about Morgan Freeman, who would narrate it? If Facebook banned photos, how many people would die?

(pic credits: wikipedia)

Alone and bored in an empty house in Kochi, I looked at the ceiling and pondered over what I thought were existential questions that bothered the fatigued and over thinking intellects of the cosmos.

I tried to detect if there were hidden patterns in the white paint that covered the ceiling. I imagined the ceiling in black and wondered if it would make a difference in the night. Before another thought could strike my brainwork, I felt a tingling behind my neck. It started at the base of my neck and worked it's way up, and paused at the beginning of my hairline. There, it got entangled in the short strands and seemed to move slowly. Did I awaken my chakras? Half bemused, my fingers sought out the tingling.

It fell out. An ant, its life squished out my my prying fingers.

A bunch of new thoughts pervaded my mind. Why did the ant get into my hair? Was it doomed to die like this, at the hands of a bored human in a lonely building? Is my hair sweet?

I put it down on the floor. In a few minutes, a few more ants gathered around, picked it up, and carried it away amongst a small, busy, mourning party.

I went back to the thoughts. Was it an important ant? Should I wash my hair, change my bed sheet or stop eating dinner in bed? Why is a dead ant part of my thoughts?

Dead ant dead ant dead ant.....