The world is angry.
The husband is angry because the auto in front refuses to acknowledge that his car was personally manufactured to overtake. The wife is angry because the aunt of the maid have died for the fourth time today. The bosses are angry because Gen Z employees are not dancing to their tunes. The millennials are angry because they spent two decades dancing to the tune of the bosses and are still waiting to unlock the treasure chest. Some UP lads are angry because veg biriyani is called biriyani and not pulao. The majority is angry with the minority for the unforgivable crime of existing differently. The minority is angry because apparently existing is a full time job now.
The chickens are angry because their eggs are being deployed in increasingly creative ways. The wives of the corrupt politicians are angry when the washing machines are smelling funny. The police are angry because they too have become collateral damage in the Great Egg Economy. Even the usually serene Hanumanji on the car ahead appears to be looking back at me as if I personally caused the traffic congestion. Now this angry Hanuman car sticker always baffled me. Who is Hanumanji angry at? Whose anger is Hanumanji channelising? Mandir bhi to ban gaya.
I am angry because I wanted to describe the city, slowly roasting at forty degrees, as “angry,” but then feared someone would discover a political innuendo there and write a twelve-post thread explaining what I really meant.
So instead, I distracted myself by reading Facebook comments where govt and private employees confidently explained why hawkers are simultaneously unemployed freeloaders, powerful millionaires, and the root cause of all urban planning problems.
If only we had figured out how to harness this outrage as an energy source. We wouldn’t need coal, solar, wind or nuclear. One active WhatsApp group could power a district. Three Facebook comment sections could probably run the car. LPG cylinders would be affordable again.
Poor Trump wouldn’t have to spend his time worrying about the Strait of Hormuz. He could simply negotiate access to a few Indian housing society WhatsApp groups and secure global energy supplies for the next century. The children in the war torn countries would have got back their childhood.
Students preparing for board exams could sleep peacefully without worrying about the compromised websites. Nobody would need to leak question papers to afford a tank of fuel. Economists would track inflation, GDP and National Anger Output with equal seriousness.
Instead, all this magnificent renewable resource is wasted daily in traffic, comment sections, television debates and people typing “I am not angry, BUT…” immediately before producing five paragraphs of pure fury.
The world is angry.
The truly fascinating part is not what we are angry about.
It’s the things we’re told perfectly reasonable and therefore not to be angry about at all.