I’m beginning to hate kids. I remember myself as affectionate towards little kids as I love watching them playing. Mom used to say how easily kids get together with me… my little cousins whom I see once in a year or so. Two doors right from my door, there’s a family living with two little girl children. I assume the eldest is 3-4 and youngest could be around 2. The entire corridor is theirs. Initially I used to smile at them whenever I had to cross them in the corridor. A couple of months later the real attack started. Early morning, the family opens their doors and let the kids go on a rampage. Everything in front of every single flat in the corridor will be devastated or misplaced in a few minutes… Shoe racks, waste baskets, newspaper boxes… all mercilessly scattered on the whole floor. The whole corridor will start sounding like they have a schedule of Rambo V going on. One morning, I made tea and was waiting for the carnage to go down a bit so that I could open the door a little to squeeze the newspaper inside. I was too late and all I got was a bunch of shredded paper which looked like it had been used by Jet Li as a weapon against a group of Kung Fu masters!
Since I am being known as an epitome of peace and kindness in this part of the world, I calmed my mind down with excuses of them being little cute children and all… then something else started happening. The kids started banging every door in the mornings. The latch will be banged up and down on the wooden door of every single flat in this corridor. My door has an iron frame in front. The kids could not touch the latch easily so I was saved. Or so I thought. Next morning I woke up to the noise of mad shaking of the iron door accompanied with screaming and frenzied shouting. I ran to the door and opened it to see a young woman (probably the kid’s mother!) standing with a plate of baby food. I looked at her questioningly and she replied ‘Little Girl!’ as if that excuse is supposed to solve any kind of ill feeling I had with the whole episode. The kid had turned to another door and started banging the latch on it. The mother smiled at me (probably her seductive best!) and walked over to put a spoonful of baby food into the kid’s mouth. With renewed energy the kid turned to a shoe rack and toppled it to the floor. A minute later, a waste basket was opened and contents were spread on the floor. I understood that nothing will change if I complain to the mother who is an accomplice in everything the kid was doing. I waited for an opportunity to have a word with the kids’ father. I have seen him in the lift and the parking lot and all before and he seemed to be working in some distant corner of the city. He leaves early and comes back late… must be a hardworking man who’d probably understand the importance of some peace of mind at the end of the day!
Sunday came. I woke up to an Olympics going on in the corridor. I had the courage to open the door in time to save my newspaper (I wouldn’t miss a Sunday Newspaper with all the special editions and supplements!) and witnessed the father organizing a running match between the kids. They were running around, screaming and shouting! The fathers’ voice must have been shaking the entire building out of its foundation. I felt like my head was spinning… The Olympics went on for an hour or so before the kids got tired. I shelved my idea of expecting any kind of civilized response from the kids’ father! I still get attacked occasionally. I suspect mine is the only house the kids never got a chance to enter… which is a bad thing because they seem to be extremely curious about what is inside. If I come out from outside and the kids are in the corridor, I have to open two doors in a record time of 17 seconds or they’ll be pushing me through the door. I’d hate myself if I ever behave rude to kids… that sort of thing could leave a permanent mark in them and I’d hate to be someone who did that. The parents seem to be unapologetic to every carnage these kids do and I suspect that all the three flat-occupants in the same floor must be having their anger welled up inside.
These days I call them ‘drones’. I use codes like ‘Drones are being launched’ when I have time to construct a full sentence or ‘Drones in the Air’ for a shorter one! Unlike the military drones, these are pretty unpredictable. There is not always a fixed target as they do the surveillance first and then decide to pick a random target and devastate it with full force. I instructed the newspaper boy to keep the newspaper through a hole in the iron grill way above the girls can reach. I stopped keeping the garbage outside for the cleaners to pick up. I wait for the cleaners to show up and then personally deliver the garbage bag to them whenever is possible. When corridors start resembling the sets of The Expendables or Die Hard, I retire to an inside room with a book!
I think if these things continue like this for a couple of more months no one can stop me from becoming somebody like Hannibal Lectorand I have the kids’ father targeted!
Body bags…. Body bags…. Body bags….
P.S :- As much as I love kids, I love my privacy! I still believe in peaceful Sundays and silent winter evenings were I can sit in the balcony with a nice book or a good playlist undisturbed by anything… I tend to hate things that disturb these peace sessions. Over the time, I think I have grown a bit paranoid about my privacy that I switch off my cell phone before I sit to watch a film/documentary or change the mode to ‘offline’ before I go for a walk listening to music.
- Drone War Creating More Enemies Than it Destroys (thenewamerican.com)
- Drones: The bloody history of U.S. drone operations in Pakistan (ionglobaltrends.com)
- Drones offer whole new candid camera (sectorprivate.wordpress.com)
- Hezbollah drone reportedly manufactured in Germany (timesofisrael.com)