The introduction of anger rooms in some places to allow people to let off steam seems to be becoming the rage, especially as there seems to be so much rage around us.
In some anger rooms, “weapons” like cricket bats are provided to allow those who have pent up anger to go on a smashing spree. There are also items available to smash and payments are made according to the number of these items and the time allotted/chosen for the destruction process.
I think of what could be stocked in those anger rooms to allow a person to get rid of inner demons by some hurling and smashing. Perhaps there could be a supply of not-very-well-put-together and therefore easy-to-break furniture — not wood, please, as we don’t want more forests to be chopped down, do we? Maybe we could have some chipped ceramic bowls, cups, saucers and plates instead, that were anyway destined for the trash can. The very act of letting go, of shattering and pulverising something else in order to reduce our stress levels and not break into little pieces ourselves may provide comfort for some of us when we are mad at the world ... but are we really ready to destroy things like computer monitors, printers, television sets and other delicate things that are still in working order?
For me, personally, a separate anger room seems totally unnecessary. Not because I have a calm and equable and unflappable disposition, but because I already have my designated domain — the kitchen — where I can give vent to my anger and frustration and do exactly what I like, mutter or shout, stamp and throw things, without anyone paying any attention whatsoever.
What’s more, my kitchen has an ample supply of items to toss and fling — and while they may emerge a bit dented or should I say, “interestingly contoured”, they still serve their purpose as utensils. No delicate bone china for a household such as ours — and that is not because the head cook and bottle washer is in a perpetual state of anger (because those bouts of wild and uncontrolled rage are often followed by weeks of high spirits, happiness, goodwill to all and good meals for all as well), but because we are also clumsy in the extreme!
Yet, even when in a frenzy, raging against the monotony, injustice and sheer slave labour required to get those meals on the table, I find it difficult to break things. When the urge to throw something is great, some inborn parsimony forces me to grab something unbreakable to hurl. I also bang a couple of doors, raise an awful clatter with the cooking vessels as I pull them out of the cupboards and if there’s no relief from all that, I prolong the entire procedure by tossing one steel ladle or spoon or fork at a time from one end of the steel draining board into the steel sink ... all excellent sound conductors that enable my actions to speak louder than my words.
Usually, those clangs and bangs and thuds are not just the drumbeat that relieves my tension — they are also my way of saying, “Get in here, somebody, and help me peel the potatoes/chop the onions ...” But as the first sounds begin, the rest of the household murmurs, “There she goes again. Just another day at her ‘office’!” and everyone turns a deaf ear to the steadily escalating level of sound — and stays out of sight.
Nothing will induce them to enter the kitchen, even if it means they go thirsty and hungry for the duration of my stay there!
Makes me wonder: While I get rid of my tensions in my earmarked rage room, are they secretly relieving their stress by getting rid of me?
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.
