I have a nouveau riche neighbour. The cheap man has come into new money and is now screaming at the top of his lungs that he’s got some. No humility, zero class, and a deep desire to show off in the cheapest possible way that he has arrived. Or as they say in Punjabi, `Oochah jat katoora lab-ya, paani pee pee appray-ya’ (the nouveau riche found himself an empty cup and he’s now drinking water until he explodes). Get a grip, you idiot!
Let’s call my neighbour Kawaaran (hence the frustration, since he’s never been laid). Kawaaran inherited his house from his ancestors, but the gardens of the house do not belong to him. They belong to God, some even go as far as to say that Adam and Eve lived in this garden when they first found each other.
The garden is beautiful, it has succulent fruit..
Blooms and blossoms in colors vibrant, and fragrance sublime.
Streams, springs, and rivers are translucent.
Glaciers that glisten.
Mountains that invariably make one sigh, `SubhanAllah’.
And residents, poor, as most gardeners are, yet generous, sweet, simple, rustic, and kind.
This gardener has been wanting to demarcate the boundary of the garden and build a gazebo in its center where his family can play and dine. Where he can celebrate weddings, festivals and have a sense of belonging and merriment.
But that’s not to be, not on Kawaaran’s watch.
He then coolly picked up his weapon, aimed at Kawaaran’s favourite toys, and fired. Tha, Tha, Tha, Tha, Tha. Five toys down
Kawaaran has been beating the gardener black, blue, and bloodied. He’s had his goons rape the women, maim and kill children, humiliate the men, destroy the architecture of the garden, the geometric shape that represent the heavens.
Any atrocity one can imagine has happened in the garden.
While Kawaaran boldly plays Gubbar Singh at all hours and allows his extended family to run amok in the garden, play havoc and go ape with the gardener and his family. And essentially gaslight the residents of the garden into believing it’s their fault that they are in this situation.
Some days ago Kawaaran decided to have a party in the garden. During the party a bloody attack happened.
Guess what Kawaran did?
He blamed his neighbour on the other side for it. Without a shred of evidence, zero proof he blamed his neighbour on the other side.
The neighbour insisted that they had nothing to do with the garden party attack, but jingoistic Kawaaran would not have it. Mind you, the neighbour has his own domestic drama going on and denied involvement.
`It’s from inside your walls, crazy Kawaaran, you’ve been cruel to your gardener, maybe he’s had enough of you and hitting back.’
The neighbour said it’s the age of videos and cameras, where is your evidence that we jumped the wall and did this Let’s get the HOA involved and check the footage. Call the English-speaking investigator, the mastermind who drafted the conflict-ridden ownership agreement decades ago. He has satellites in the sky, you have drones and cameras, let’s rewind and watch this movie together. You are so flashy and nouveau riche, Mr. Kawaaran. Why didn’t you have your chowkidar and uniformed/armed guards run after the attackers? You could have caught them. Oh, but then you didn’t want to because that would point the finger at the mirror.
Mr Kawaraan was full of rage, frustrated, angry, greedy, power hungry, and self-worshipping, and he now needed a villain. As night fell, he attacked the neighbour's backyard, killing some of his family and his place of worship. While the children died in the yard, Kawaaran’s jingoistic and war-mongering mongrels kept their barking at full volume. Hungry for more, are you?
Let me give you something to eat, you mongrels, said the neighbour.
He then coolly picked up his weapon, aimed at Kawaaran’s favourite toys, and fired. Tha, Tha, Tha, Tha, Tha. Five toys down.