What kind of freedom is this?

Doors bang shut as the occupants emerge from the vehicle; then begins a high-pitched verbal tirade that I am sure you can already imagine, taking the darwan to task for falling asleep while the occupants had to wait outside for an interminable and atrocious minute or less. This tirade, liberally laced with illustrious street language and audible to the entire area, has a peculiar slant; it sounds a bit slurry. Must be the alcohol! The darwan says a few inaudible words and slinks away like a shadow as the three or four characters break into a garrulous conversation out there in the open. After all, the club or the party from which they have come must have been hot as hell. Or it could be the alcohol. Or both. The conversation gets louder and merrier by the minute, followed by peals of laughter ringing throughout the neighbourhood. As the small group finally heads inside, you pray for peace and hope they have a sound-proof house…but that's not to be.

At that un-Godly hour, when the rest of the world is seeking to distance themselves from a long day's tribulations, there is no respite from these creatures of the dark. There is yet another episode that you must brace yourself for: the full blast of the latest hifi system crafted with precision engineering by any accursed renowned company so that the entire city can hear the Hindi-Punjabi rhythms selected by these illustrious sons of the soil as they embark on their second round of private revelry. A few lights go on briefly in the area as if to record a protest, a man coughs loudly as if to gain the attention of the disruptive bunch, and a child cries out in irritation as its sleep is disturbed…all to no avail. These disrupters of peace do not think, especially about others!

Now, dear reader, repeat the above scenario in regular intervals and you'd understand why I'd like to migrate -- not to another part of the city, or the country, or even this prithvi, but to another planet if I could. This "freedom" thing is getting to me, especially the freedoms that we have been granted by the new journey we began in 1971! I am sure these neighbours I depict believe this is a free country: they can come and go where and when they please; they can talk, sing and listen to music as loudly as their ruptured eardrums will allow them to hear; and they can drive, ride or commandeer whatever vehicle they can at whatever speed and rev their engines however loudly they please. The new 007 ads and the stream of Hindi movies promoting and perpetuating obnoxious behaviour help set the pace too!

I have been warned by my good neighbours not to approach these people: They are neither neighbour-friendly, nor have they behaved well in the past when the issue was raised by a brave heart. And that perturbs me because it seems as if they, the well-connected, are free to do whatever they want, while we do not feel free to even approach them to resolve this gnawing matter. What kind of freedom is this where most everything favours the powerful, i.e., the touts, the defaulters, the loud-mouthed, the liars, and the violent ones, while the law-abiding, decent folks cower in their ranks, resigned to bear the adverse circumstances?

I'd like my readers to tell me what I should do now. Should I call the police (hoo man!), organise a neighbourhood get-together followed by a sit-in at the gate, call a local area hartal until the obnoxious vehicle rusts in the garage, toss a surreptitious grenade (where can I get one?) and skip town for a long vacation, or inform the US Third Infantry that there is a terrorist hidden in the house and that a Tomahawk missile, carefully zeroed in, might not go unappreciated! These "people" are getting on my nerves and I am getting quite desperate. If order is not restored shortly by those who should step in when duty calls, anything dire can happen.