AND THE RAT RUNS ON..
..and then i felt a warm, strong breath engulfing me. I realized i was not alone in this cage. Yea, there he was..
OK, let me start right from the beginning.
Even before i opened my eyes and looked around, i learnt my alphabets: A for ambition, B for benchmark, C for competition, D for deadline..through J for jealousy, S for speed.. to Z for zing.
I topped my class. Everytime. I had to. Or else, relatives would have ridiculed me. Friends, forsaken me. And my parents, died heart-broken. After all, they had hired the best school for me. The best teachers. The best coaching classes. Sometimes I feel I too was hired by them to fulfill their ambitions.
In short, i had to be the best. I was programmed to succeed. Just as pigs are programmed for pork. Or like human bombs to blast.
Competition increased. Rapidly. Rabidly. It was no longer neck and neck; it was throat and throat. Either i cut the next guy’s throat, or he does it to me. I began to metamorphose. Principle of the competitive evolution. Adaptation for survival. My body streamlined. Became aerodynamic to run faster. I grew a long tail. Longer than my body, to facilitate speed, to balance me at top speed. I grew claws. My teeth nibbled day and night on every bit of info, and became keener. I could get easily at the competitor’s throat.. I became a rat. A fierce, smart, talented rat for one.
Rats have narrow vision. (They call it focused.) Rats see better in darkness; that way they can burrow their short-cuts to success better.
Rats don’t have color vision. They have nothing to do with flowers and rainbows.
Rats have small brains. Efficient like microchips. Zeroed down to the strictly utilitarian.
I became a rat. The race track grew narrower. Straiter. No longer possible to overtake a competitor without finishing him. So I ran along to run a bloody trail. Couldn’t help.
And at long last, there it was..the coveted gold cup. I could actually see it. Its brightness blinded me. Moments of uneasy uncertainty. Anxiety. But I had not learnt my alphabets for nothing. I summoned my courage, my cunning, my spirit..and took the giant leap. Across all the dead competitors. Across the bloody trail. Yes, the gold cup was mine! (or was it the other way round?)
I was successful. Only this mattered in the market. I had a halo. The end justified the means. Nobody questioned me. Market understands cost, not values.
I paused. First time in my life. Still panting. Heart still beating hard. Blood still turbulent. But success was mine. I did pause a while. I did need a break badly... and then it was: a cage materialized around me. Spacious and well furnished. Studded with gold. Bright. Decorated. Cozy. Comfortable... but where was my gold cup?
Anyway I fell in love with the cage. So spacious was the cage that it almost felt like being free. No constraints, just perform and earn. Perks. Benefits. Paid vacations. International renown. Prestige. Status. Viagra for the success libido was aplenty. Enlisted in the world’s top rich. Top powerful. Top 100. Top 50. Top 20. Top 5.... but where was my gold cup?
And then i sensed it. I felt a warm, strong breath engulfing me, and realized that I was not the only one in the cage. Ya, there he was..
There he was. Thick. Huge. Coils sluggishly moving. Staring me with its unblinking, lashless gaze. His moist, glittering, bifurcated, purple black tongue sticking. Like thought of uncertain future.
‘C’mon my child..run..run..keep running..’, hissed a voice, as heavy as the body. ‘so, here are we. You and me. Made for each other. The inevitable rendezvous. Your cage, my home. I host, you the honored guest. But excuse me my dear sir, I don’t like anyone just sitting there. Let’s play a game. Of course on my terms. ‘Coz, your cage, my home. I host, you guest. No.. your consent is irrelevant now.’
‘Cheating..cent per cent cheating this!..’ cried I. Panicked at being cornered.
‘Ya, I know, it’s cheating’ hissed the cool voice. Well, you asked for it.’
‘But where..where is my gold-cup?’ mumbled i.
‘Well, I am your gold-cup. Let me put it the other way. The gold-cup was illusion, I am the reality. OK, as I said, I don’t like anyone just sitting there quietly. I don’t attack the moving target, however. So, be on the move my child, move. Run. Rush for your life.’
‘?...’
‘My dear child, in this situation, in this given situation, you have two options. Run.. non-stop.. without pause..run out of breath. Run out of sense. Endlessly. Unceasingly. Without ever looking back, without looking around, without looking inward. Just run..till your breast bursts, puke blood, and collapse.
‘Or else, pause for a moment, a moment of relaxation, diversion, exhaustion, or introspection..pause for a moment, and perish. Pause, and find yourself within me..in my entrails.. dissolving in my acidic, acrid juices. With all your flesh, your bones, your brains. With all your success, your ambitions, your whatever..’
I am still running. Exhausted to death, still but running. Success no longer excites me. Actually, it bores me.
How i remember my lesser colleagues not obliged to succeed ! Still humans. Men and women, still boys and girls, dancing in the rain. Chasing butterflies in flowery meadows.
The race had already made me a rat; now I feel like an experimental rat. How long can a rat run before popping off? How much cage-space does a rat require – no, not after death, during life?
..But hey! what’s happening to me? What’s that warmth chasing me? No, I mustn’t allow any thought, any nostalgia, any day-dream slow down my speed. Rats are not supposed to become senti. Rats must continue top speed. Top possible speed. Further. Further. Further...So the rat runs on and on and o n a n d o n. . . .