Whackers of the world, Unite !......

(Submitted for the Blogadda "Whack!! this Wednesday" contest) (747 words).


Just think. The amount of times you’ve wanted to shout at a complete stranger, and when beyond tolerance,in plain words, whack him/her.

Then read on, and thank the Internet for allowing you perform the violence virtually.

Standing at the signal, several kilos of veggies loading my clavicles, waiting for a pedestrian signal. The signal changes, we start crossing, when a really fancy car, continues to move ahead. Tinted windows, uniformed chauffeur, guy in sunglasses reading a newspaper in the back, cellphone stuck into his ears.

The inability to notice signals, the defiance of civic norms, and the lack of concern for some who may come under its wheels is inexplicable. The crossing public, me in front, intersect with the car. Shouts falling on closed windows. The car doesn’t stop. A direct hit on the bonnet of the car with 5 kg of vegetables in a bag does the trick. Today, dented cars count more than dented humans. No dent anywhere on the psyche of the fellow inside, who seriously needs a whack.

Sometimes , it’s the way folks drive their minds. Like at the local recreation centre, open to all, with certain rules. You’ve stood in line, obtained permissions, followed rules, and noticed how sincerely the folks who work there behave. Comes someone, whose bigness of mind falls hugely short of the bigness of his emoluments and position in the hierarchy. He shouts and threatens the guy at the counter, because he dares to point out rules to him, The big chap is a month late doing his renewals. He speaks about going to higher ups. What an amazingly bad example to the young ones there. But abuse of power has made him deaf and blind. I wish it made him dumb too. Seriously needs a whack, or even two.

Ten years ago, I was lucky to rush with someone, in an ambulance, on a Sunday to a big hospital some distance away. A plaintive siren today, falls on deaf ears in traffic. Some cars and buses tentatively move to the side, but are thwarted by two wheelers, that plague Mumbai roads today. They squeeze through gaps, even scrape past your toes, overtaking the ambulance. The ambulance and the patient in trauma, struggles through the traffic, led by two wheeler monsters who think they are pilot wheels leading a luminary’s car. Whacking is really the minimum these guys need. They can’t be whacked enough.

Take the guy with his shameless moves in a packed bus. Standees only. Double the amount of people in half the space. Women, children, office goers, seniors. You push your daughter ahead of you, and stand directly behind her. But everyone doesn’t have someone. Another young girl struggling with her books and purse, trying to reach the exit. The queue moves every now and then when folks need to get down. The girl pushes ahead followed by a “decent” looking fellow, close behind, who presumably also needs to get down. She gives him a disgusted look as she darts to the door to disembark. He grins, and gets down at the last minute. I watch with growing anger, crushed somewhere in the middle of the bus. She could also be my daughter; the guy needs to be severely whacked.

The elderly lady who has driven in to buy some fruits from the gully off the main road. She trudges back laden with bags, and sees another car parked at a weird angle , making it difficult for her to leave. She knocks on the drivers side, where some guy is busy with headphones, stretched out in A/C comfort, waiting for his Memsaab to return. He ignores . She knocks, the bags of fruit loading her uncomfortably in the hot sun. She walks back to her car, then back again to knock. Finally a kind soul on the road does some concentrated window banging. The fellow inside erupts, abusing the kind soul and the lady. Possibly emulating his master. I’m disgusted. No amount of whacking will suffice here.

Sometimes it’s the pool. It’s the peak of summer. Changing rooms are crowded. Mothers more concerned about swimsuits, Children, least bothered. We go in to change. Loud conversation between two mothers in change cubicles, on fairness and dark skins. Running down of a good swimmer who happens to be dark. The trouble is, she is there, in the changing room. The mothers have just miseducated their kids.

The question is, how do you whack minds ?

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Whack them hard!