The Candy Cup

A muffled sound entered, as the boys and girls turned towards the college gates. Honking his way ahead, Rakesh got rid of his helmet as he tried to maintain balance with one hand. Halfway in the parking lot, he abandoned his unwashed 16 year old scooter. Putting his beard into shape, Rakesh entered the Principal’s cabin the next moment. Preparing for the worst, he took a deep breath and realised, the pen-drive wouldn’t work. The teacher then informed that he had to present first, instead of second. And that there was a typo in the 18th slide of the powerpoint presentation.

Chin high. Chest out. Rakesh opened with a slide that stated - ‘You don’t have to fear the beard’. The members in the room chuckled till the end. Questions followed, until the issue of false accusations for plagiarism popped up. Which the Principal settled by saying, “You shouldn’t hold any grievances about it, Mr.Singh.”

An annual competition, where they grilled students they didn’t know very well. Where students bragged about academics, while wearing scruffy formals. You know, one of those intra-college contests organised from an AC room. After which, in the coming week, the winner from that cute little contest got some brassware. A trophy that was borderline rusted but a mark of prestige in the eyes of everyone in college. Later, at an event organised by the management, the best student of a batch would get to raise this trophy. A photo opportunity for a crowd that couldn't care less. Where some people cheered and some abused in the loud noise. Most eyes were on Rakesh, as he ended up becoming one that year.

Addressing the crowd and the 'acquaintances', Rakesh thanked his rivals as he read out a poem titled “Don’t Try”. A staid face and stone cold eyes, he observed the standing audience. One that was full of people moving their hands, because they saw a man on stage. A man with his hand held high, holding a brass trophy and some flowers. Senior faculty, followed by his father and his relatives seated near the stage, and well-wishers towards the end, cheering on top of their voices.

It was a big moment for Rakesh, which came to an end by around lunch time. Post clicking pictures, a few of his friends dragged him to the board. Twenty long-short names, after which stood a nameplate that said ‘Rakesh Singh -TYBA'. He shook hands with everyone present, as another name was being added to the list. Once the commotion settled, Rakesh said to himself, “I’m a Best Student in a list of Best Students. Wow, that doesn’t make much sense” and suggested they do another competition. A champion of champions. But even that wouldn't appease all those competitive rats.

The moon came out, as Rakesh sat beside his mother. They scrolled through videos from the award ceremony. His mother; that one person who cared about the trophy, had to stay back at home. Holding back her tears, curled up in bed, lying all alone by herself. Only to later see moving images from the ceremony. All her efforts to hold back those tears failed as she heard Rakesh end the speech. “I’d like to dedicate the award to my mother who couldn’t be here today, due to her hardships", Rakesh concluded. With arms wrapped around, she apologised for not being able to make it to the event. She cried, as she regretted having lost that one chance where she could have shoved it in the face of others. People who had forever talked down to her; humiliated her. This was her one moment to look at them from above, with her head held high.

Rakesh sat there observing. A good observer, he always had been. The tears trickled down her cheeks, as he understood what the trophy meant to someone who hadn’t even won it. What it meant for his mother to see her underdog son, standing next to the cup. He became aware that he had not been that great of an observer after all.

To him, it was a brass trophy that could hold candy in it.
To her, it was everything she had been waiting for her son to achieve.