Shove at First Sight

The other day, on my way to work, I saw a 20-something girl beating the daylights out of a similarly-aged boy. Though I was at a distance, I could easily fathom that what could have been a minor lovers’ tiff had done a volte-face, taking an ugly turn. The boy stood apologetically with hands folded, looking beseechingly at his lady love, who in turn, looked in no mood for any compassion. She stood erect, one hand holding what was perhaps the boy’s mobile (no doubt holding some telltale clue to the aggression on display). With the other hand, she pummelled his chest with all her might, hurling vitriolic abuses at him, her face contorted with blind fury.

There was of course an expected stream of curious bystanders. Some had even pulled up their vehicles to witness this tussle - commenting, giggling and cheering-on the two agitated parties.

This led me to wonder – while people and quarrelling are inseparable, what makes even busy people stop dead in their tracks to become onlookers at brawls?

We see it all the time – two neighbours are quarrelling loudly outside their homes – a bandwagon of people gather around them in the twinkling of an eye. The spectators get completely caught-up in the squawking, taking sides, shaking fists, doling out unsolicited advice that was bound to cause bodily harm to either or both of the two warring parties, and giving free wings to their repressed anger - in the form of unparliamentary language. All this while, they forget their own household chores that need attending to. More often than not, they are often unaware of what caused the commotion in the first place. Minutes later, when the two neighbours decide to call it a day, the crowd disperses, chattering excitedly, and taking steps back to their humdrum lives.

There is the oft-reported pub-scene where highly-'spirited' men exchange sneers over beers, moving on to risky whiskey, brandishing unsightly middle fingers in each other's faces, and finishing with kicks and blows after consuming a few more. They are egged on by the other patrons, till the fed-up owner of the lounge sends in a couple of beefy bouncers to extricate the two.

We also see the occasional scene when a speeding motorist rams into the car ahead of his. Bam! The owner of the first car steps out - fist clenched, a snarl all too evident on his frowning face, smoke billowing out of his ears. He dives into the driver’s open window of the second car, switching off the ignition and pocketing the car keys triumphantly. A push and an unkind shove are next, followed by rude vocabulary that involves doing unspeakable acts to the other’s mother or sister. A loud smack is often heard, leaving an audience of 20 stunned, waiting with bated breath for the next slap. ‘Witnesses’ who weren’t there in the first place, zoom up, stepping forward, adding to the drama as it unfolds, ensuring a trail of blows, ear-pulling, swearing, eye-poking and collar-grabbing. Name-dropping is at its most generous and phone calls to relatives or friends who are in the higher rungs of the police ladder, are lawyers, or goons, are made in quick succession.

It's just too bad if your car happens to be behind – as obviously the two parties have no qualms of stopping right in the middle of a busy flyover or crossing. You smack your forehead in annoyance, praying that the two sort out their differences before they come to blows and neutral police have to be called for assistance.

What is with people, we included, that makes us stop all that we are doing, to see one guy pounding the cr*p out of another?

Are we all proving something to ourselves?

Or is watching a fight equivalent to making up for something lacking in us?

Does seeing someone nailing a punch on someone and making him kiss mother earth equate to a primal instinct in us to fight?

Does it take us back to our youth, when a resounding slap and a stern mouth said it all?

Does our latent sporting talent get a resuscitation when we see a chap do some good footwork on another?

Is it the sheer adrenaline pump of watching an action flick unfold right in front of us?

Does it stem from one of our oldest urges of curiosity?

Does it unleash our dormant sociopathic streak?

Is it our gut feeling of betting and waiting to see who emerges winner?

Or do we think that violence is the solution to everything?

Any other lame reason for doing so?

You tell me...