Modern man has learnt to live comfortably with the advantages offered to him by technology. Even the most stubborn of old-timers have learnt to embrace newfangled gizmos such as electricity, iPads and curling irons. Thanks to the cycle-makers Wright, we now have contraptions that soar over the night skies, much like Pterodactyls, compressing centuries of distances into mere hours. Sitting down is now the most activity most of us are required to do. Of course, this leaves us all a lot of free time to do absolutely nothing.
But one must have an outlet, even if it is for absolutely nothing. Hopscotch, deer hunting and tent-pegging were alright for the pre-Internet generation, but in the age of WiFi and 3G, even these pastimes have been confined to the touch screen. In fact, as soon as a kid discovers the projectile powers of the rubber band, he is handed an iPhone with Angry Birds preinstalled. Just so he doesn’t hurt himself trying to fire a pebble into someone’s ear. Or get his parents called to school. In which case, mommy will have to cancel her spa appointment. This usually makes her really mad. And if mommy gets mad, daddy doesn’t get any, which makes him doubly mad. All of this is very traumatising for the little rascal, who just wants to make friends with the little girl who sits next to him in Social Studies class. But since he has the social skills of a baby walrus, speaking to her is not an option.
Cut to 10 years later and the little munchkin has grown into a larger troublemaker than before. He has now traded in his rubber band for a Moltov Cocktail and totes a bandana. He rides a motorcycle, even though he cannot legally do so for a couple of years still. All his friends smoke and he eats a lot of supari to conceal the tell-tale smell of tobacco on his breath, in case mommy wants a sniff when he gets home. Even the local hooligans are afraid of him and the traders union pay him and his merry me ‘protection’ money, if only to ensure that they don’t start breaking shop windows when the mood takes them. But when it comes to talking to the girl who has moved out of his Social Studies class and into the house across the street, he still draws a blank.
When he goes out with his crew, he makes sure no other girls feel ignored. At traffic signals, in the marketplace and even at concerts, he lets no opportunity slide in making them feel ‘special’. In a heaving mob, he cops a feel; at a traffic light, he sticks his tongue out and pretends to be a cunning linguist; in the marketplace he gets in the way and doesn’t get out. Anything he can do, in fact, to make sure that any of the ladies that come his way do not leave feeling at all comfortable. And at the end of the day, he and all his friends go sit at a shady establishment to compare notes, exchange high-fives and crack obscenely lewd remarks about the size of, well, you get the picture.
Before you get back onto your high horse and tell me that its just kids being kids, allow me to master debate. Social awkwardness is not a disease, it’s a condition; one that comes with years of conditioning and over (or under) protective parenting. That your society is more closed and unforgiving than a Catholic confession booth on the day of judgement also helps stunt the boy’s emotional and sexual growth. To him, the acclaimed comedy ‘40-Year-Old-Virgin’ was actually a real-life drama that left him trembling with fear. And no, even at age 25, he still hasn’t gotten up the courage to go and talk to the pretty girl from fifth grade Social Studies, who has now blossomed into a pretty young thing herself. “So much so, in fact, that she is now being courted by the rich kid from four blocks the block. Yes, the same kid who drives into their street in his Audi off-roader and holds his nose as he steps out the car. The same kid who holds her hand as he leads her to the passenger seat. Heavens! He is stranger and he’s touching her. God only knows what else he does to her. And she probably lets him. What a slut!”
A few years later, he finds out that the slut is marrying Mr Moneybags. “What a waste. She was so beautiful, so charming. She could’ve made me a fine wife. Now she’s becoming his slave. He’ll probably use her and throw her away, just like a razor blade. This won’t do at all. I have to stop her. But how? I know, I’ll go to her wedding and shoot her. That’ll teach her to not go out with me. So what if I didn’t talk to her in 25 years, she saw the way I looked at her everyday. She should know that she’s supposed to be mine. A bullet in her head will teach her. Sure, I’ll get caught, but they’ll let me go. After all, it’s a man’s world, isn’t it?
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