Now that all the minor issues that can engage humanity's brains have been taken up - with Hawkings and his ilk bothering about 'Why and what is the universe?'; Trump and his ilk ably handling how to help people live with each other; and any number of gurus fighting to tell you the truth of what happens to you after death, burial or cremation or being fed to the vultures apart - I can concentrate on the more important conundrums of life.
Picture this scene - something that is quite common in Indian movies, specifically South Indian. The Mafia Boss tell his henchmen to go and hunt down the hero. Immediately, hordes of them, wielding machetes, cram themselves into cars and drive off in a flurry.
Tell me, is that the time you would feel the pressing need to do some calisthenics? When crammed twenty to one car, with no space to breathe without your stomach bumping the tail-bone of your companion? Yet, there they would all be, with machete-wielding hands sticking out of the windows, swinging them vigorously while they scream at the top of their voices in a pathetic attempt at the Japanese 'Kiai'. One would have thought that a playground would give them more...err...space for their calisthenics. Is it because it is necessary to do warm-up exercises before you engage in murder? Having never committed one, I am woefully ill-informed about these things.
And, of all times to draw attention to oneself, the last, I would have thought, would be when you are out to murder someone. Sort of like taking a selfie, just as you slice someone's neck, and posting it on the net. I mean, I know this is a selfie-obsessed generation but to take a selfie just as you are killing someone and to post it on Facebook is a tad too far even for them. Not even if it will get you a million likes. I don't know if you are allowed to check on Facebook, when they drop you through the floor, with a noose around your neck to keep you from falling all the way.
If the villains flummox me, the heroes leave me gape-mouthed in wonder. The knife flashes in at the abdomen; the hero can twist out of the way, jump backwards, slam the wrist of the opponent aside - and with a million such options available, what does he do? Grabs the knife and, with blood dripping off his palm, twists it out of the villain's hands and tosses it away. That, apparently, is macho behavior. You know, something like a batsman hitting a bouncer with his helmeted head in order to prove his cricketing prowess.
Much of this macho attitude seems to demand such a level of sheer boneheaded behavior that it is a wonder that the species survived till date. If our ancestors had patterned themselves on our heroes and villains, they would have disdained to produce spears; would have attacked saber-toothed tigers bare-handed and skewered their own guts on those saber-teeth to prove their machismo - net result being that the cockroaches would have developed to cockroach sapiens, with us unceremoniously vacating the field in favor of being digested by the less macho, more pragmatic carnivores.
But then all this is peculiar to Indian cinema - or, even, to South Indian cinema. So, perhaps, the species IS safe after all.
Or is it? It seems like the chest-thumping gorilla version of humanity is gaining the upper-hand all over the damn place. But, then, THAT is inevitable when people stop thinking and start emoting. Worse still, when they actually think that knee-jerk reactions are what thinking is all about.
Homo Sapiens, indeed! One needs to remove that Sapiens and put in a more appropriate word. Homo Trumpensis, perhaps?