Kids aged 6-10 are – if I’m not to be unkind – the worst. They’re like those Energizer bunnies from Hell. Limitless appetite for destruction. I ought to know, I’ve been a victim more times than I care to count.
First things first. I’m a very tolerant fellow when it comes to kids. I know they have limitless energy. I also know that thanks to the traffic and the kidnapping for ransom scenarios here, parents wish to keep their kids where they can either see them or where they know the kids will be safe. Which is usually the street they live in.
My problem? My house is right at the end of one such street. Which makes it the perfect target for hits with a ball when playing cricket. Bonus points if you hit the car parked outside. My poor car has had more hits than the house, everyone hates the car except me.
I wouldn’t have minded even that – my car’s a toughie and can take endless hits from a 10 year old’s tennis ball. One fine day, they decided to play with a cork ball. The end result – I get home and the sight that greets me is a shattered rear windscreen and a bust tail light. A plethora of dents on the bodywork where the ball hit was aesthetically unpleasant to behold as well.
One of the kids squealed in response to my thunderous, murderous looks and told me it was the neighbors’ kid who did it. All of it. So I made the kids’ dad pay for all of it. His dad in turn gave him a good beating for the financial loss he suffered too, which explains why the kids no longer use my house or car for target practice.
Then since cricket in the street got banned by the parents, they started a competition to see who could leave the biggest scratches on the cars parked around the place. My car’s bonnet bears silent testimony to their success. As do quite a few other cars – no car was left unscratched. Result? They all got a hiding from their parents this time, since their shiny new cars suffered horribly. No playing in the street – was the commandment issued by the parents.
So now they’ve taken to screaming at the top of their shrill little voices “Uncle agayey, bhaago” (Uncle’s arrived, run!) whenever they see yours truly approaching. Since I’m the one with the irregular hours and if I catch them playing at games that may damage anyone’s property, I have carte blanche from their parents to beat the shizz out of them. I usually catch them wreaking havoc with the plants and bushes outside the houses. Once I even managed to catch a kid busy peeing in my little garden as if it was personal toilet. Marched him with his trousers down and little butt wagging (accompanied by much laughter by the other kids who tailed me) straight to his mom and well – what happened wasn’t pretty. These days, I merely growl menacingly and they run off.