rajathtirumangalam

Tag: Speedy Gunzalvis

  • Rajju’s Marathon: A Stitch in Time Saves a Sprinter’s Rhyme

    At the tender age of 6, in the grand spectacle of my uncle’s wedding, a family gathering turned into a chaotic sprint saga. Picture this: my start was so swift, it rivaled the initial thrust of a Yamaha roadrunner on turbo mode.

    But hold onto your laughter, for here comes the plot twist. A cunning cousin, armed with a sparkling idea, decided to catch my shirt mid-race. Using every ounce of muscle and strength, he pulled with such force that, in my attempt to escape, I jerked my shoulders. In the blink of an eye, I found myself crashing down, landing on the sharp fringe of a bench with a sound that echoed louder than my initial sprint.

    Ouch! The pain and dizziness hit me like a punchline, leaving me as stiff as a log – or perhaps a plank of wood. All I could feel was a hot, wet, sticky substance flowing down the side of my face. Silence fell upon us, my face painted with blood, a gruesome exhibit showcasing a portion of my skull.

    Fast forward to the aftermath – I was whisked away to the clinic in the same metallic beast I had attempted to maneuver. Seven stitches later, my open gash was patched up, resembling a Frankenstein experiment gone wrong.

    Now, in the post-stitch era, the mere thought of running sent shivers down my spine for years. It took a whopping 22 years for me to summon the courage to overcome my running fear. And when I did, it was a comeback story that would make Forrest Gump proud. Alongside a brave colleague, we entered a mini marathon, fully expecting to trot, saunter, amble, and perhaps crawl – but surprise, we ended up in the top 20, leaving both of us astonished and the bench long forgotten in my rearview mirror. 🏃‍♂️🎉😄

  • INNOCENCE VERSUS TENACITY: THE TANGO OF A TINY TYKE

    Ah, it was the sacred Saturday symphony, orchestrated by the arrival of a cousin and her lively family. Enter their pint-sized dynamo, a four-year-old whirlwind named Speedy Gunzalvis, emitting energy levels that could rival a caffeinated kangaroo. The house echoed with the delightful cacophony of a miniature hurricane.

    While the elders engaged in verbal gymnastics, our tiny champion, utterly unimpressed by our grown-up banter, embarked on an escapade of his own. Perhaps inspired by a late-night dance competition on TV, he ascended the newspaper stand and commenced a spontaneous jig. Worried about potential acrobatics off the edge, I intervened, cautioning him to descend before encountering a gravity-induced rendezvous with the floor.

    To my surprise, he shot me a suspicious look, as though I were the Grinch determined to sabotage his dance party. In a tone laced with mock defiance, he retorted, “So what?” Stunned, I stood there, a silent spectator to this tiny rebellion. Eventually, he descended, and I heaved a sigh of relief, assuming the risk had passed.

    Little did I fathom that our young maverick had grander plans. Scaling the dining table, towering twice as high as the newspaper stand, he smirked at me and resumed his dance, as if challenging the laws of physics for my amusement.

    Fortunately, his mom, the fearless ringmaster, swiftly reined in his audacious acrobatics, bringing an end to the daring display.

    As I pondered the escapades of this miniature philosopher, it struck me – they, the little ones, live in the present, unburdened by the weight of past regrets or the looming specter of future uncertainties. The pint-sized maestro, aged a mere four years, bestowed upon me a profound lesson – the art of living in the now.

    Oh, the irony! We, the so-called wise adults, tangled in the intricate dance of life, succumbing to the pressures of peers, neighbors, family, and friends, could take a cue from this fearless four-year-old choreographer. Thanks to the tyke, I unearthed the elusive gem of wisdom: the importance of embracing the present moment.

    In the grand theater of life, the best lessons, it seems, arrive in the tiniest and most unexpected packages.