Sound of Silence

Can you hear that, the sound your neighbour’s bed makes at night, the sound each drop of water makes as it splats on the bathroom floor, the knock on your glass window and the tap of the chappals made by a passerby?

Here’s another piece on the lockdown. Another piece on how to stay sane when you’re surrounded by the deafening silence.

All my life, I have lived in apartments that overlooked the main road. In a city like Mumbai, every road is a busy street unless it’s a bylane. Sometimes, even that might be considered a busy street if there is a shop, school or anything that attracts public. So, for me, waking up to a honk of a bus or a rickshaw starting its engine or cars and bikes honking at each other to get parking was a regular day. A sunday felt peaceful when none of this bothered my sleep.

I still remember my days in nursery, when we lived in Andheri’s Azad Nagar. We were in a small 1RK with a backyard that opened to the main road. Opposite my building was a huge ground with lush green grass. It was the most beautiful sight to look at when it rained.
Imagine this, early rainy morning, you walk through the kitchen door and stop. You see the clouds engulfing the sky and rain pouring onto the ground with puddles of water formed in different areas. If there is less or no rain, you will spot ducks and cranes dancing in the rain, calling you out to play.
This was my view while growing up. My dad would wake me up and before I see him or mom, wrapped in his arms, he would take me outside to see this view. Eventually, we moved to a bigger house, bigger society and things changed. My first view had become my mom’s face and now it’s my phone.

After years of shifting places across the city, I got used to the noise of honks and traffic and people blabbering. I soon realised I couldn’t survive without that and attached this noise to the spirit of Mumbai. My current location, we live in a building which is pretty much the centre of the lane. There is a pan/chai wala which attracts public, rickshaw walas and the lane also has construction of road and building going on, which again invites labourers and workers. Opposite my building is an educational centre, so you can imagine the college kids gathering during breaks.

Earlier, my stay-at-home view was colourful, vibrant and noisy. Girls and boys chattering, smoking, discussing work over tea. Rickshaw drivers enjoying some cooked meal and chai, workers resting and enjoying every sip of the cutting. Sometimes, even the local dog would enjoy attention and love from these people. At night, boys would gather to play pubg or cricket. Old uncles would be chit-chatting and aunties would be sharing recipes. The trees seemed dull, lifeless. The sky was always dull blue in colour and barely noticed the birds.

Since the lockdown, it feels like the parrots have taken the place of those boys who played pubg. Their constant chattering fills the sky with sounds of homour. Koyal wakes up the street with it’s musical voice and the crows make noise in the evening. I could spot the sparrows and I am glad they’re back. Their chirpiness adds to the liveliness of the street. The rustling of leaves, the lushness of trees and the loneliness of the dog completes the picture.
The sky puts on a show, flaunting it’s varied shades when the sun sets in the background. Sometimes, its easy to spot a few stars and planets if and when aligned with yours. A few people looking outside the window, staring onto the empty street and ladies gathering, at a safe distance, around the vegetable seller. In the evening, a musician in a nearby building practices his drums and it’s brilliant way to wake up sleepy heads like me from snooze-mode.

I found this silence loud, musical and pleasing to my ear, more than the honk and taps. I realised that I missed this about my city, about my locality and adapted the noise, misunderstanding it to be the sound of silence.