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Candy crushed

By Nickunj Malik - Oct 01,2014 - Last updated at Oct 01,2014

I was never a very athletic sort of individual. Let us just say that the physical education coach was my least favourite person in school. I could run the occasional race and swim several lengths of the pool, but that was just about it. 

The tennis racquet gave me wrist cramps; I could not dribble the basketball; the cricket bat was too heavy for me to swing; and as for the hockey stick, I always kept it as a deterrent for the unwanted intruders in my house. Golf involved waking up at the crack of dawn, so that was a game I did not even consider learning. Sacrificing my sleep was a sacrilege I could not bring myself to commit to. 

My parents tried. To get me to be sporty, that is. They bought me roller skates, a bicycle, jogging shoes, et al. Alright, if truth be told, the cycle and the skates were hand-me-downs from my older brother and were in pretty bad shape when they were passed on to me, but that is not the point. The fact is that I could not even balance myself on these, let alone use them to participate in a competition. 

After several trials and a permanent case of bruised knees and elbows that never seemed to heal, I was left alone with my books. My father, thinking I might suffer from low self-esteem issues, encouraged me to participate in quizzes, musical performances and debates, instead. 

I did pretty okay in those, but the anxiety of not being able to play any of the sporty games never really left me. When I was much older, I did the next best thing. I wrote about them. I covered cricket, golf, and of all things, boxing. I interviewed the touring golfers, cricketers and boxers in Johannesburg, got a glimpse into their lives, which I then presented to the readers. What I learned from them was the magnanimity of heart that all of them had, universally. It is also called the “sporting spirit”, and I had the good fortune of witnessing it first hand. 

With the advent of the computers came a different set of games. Aimed at children and adults alike, these computerised matches had the addicts hooked onto their technical devices for hours on end. Often violent, involving car chases and imploding buildings, it was not suitable for anyone who was squeamish about blood and gore. The relish with which some kids went about playing them concerned me no end. Other things remaining the same, they may just become apathetic towards other people’s suffering, was what I worried about. 

A few companies had digitally introduced some new, so-called entertainment, on social networking sites also. While browsing online on Facebook, suddenly you got a request to play “Angry Birds” or “Candy Crush” games. 

Now, it was not easy to ignore these entreaties because they came at you relentlessly, sometimes at the rate of one every five minutes. 

When I got the hundredth invite within a space of a few hours this morning I knew I needed help. 

“What is this candy saga?” I asked my nephew. 

“Story of Tiffi and Toffee,” he replied. 

“They get squashed?” I wanted to know.

“The game requests will squash your brains,” he laughed. 

“How do I stop becoming a crushee?” I asked. 

“Block the crusher,” he suggested. 

“I can’t do that,” I was horrified. 

“Crush or be crushed,” he announced. 

“Profound! Ok done,” I declared.

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