“Didi, I’m leaving this city for good. I can’t live here anymore,” my domestic help announced out of the blue the other day. Why? The worst of Covid is long past, and the air in most metro cities is back to unbreathable, so what triggered this sudden move? “The noise here is killing. And if you complain, the noise-makers are out to kill you. It was bad even before corona, now it’s beyond everything. Don’t you feel it?”
Probably I didn’t. Or got used to it. Like millions of Indians resigned to breathing black every winter and trying to hum the lyrics of ‘Jingle Bells’ while in a traffic jam without beginning or end, I’d like to believe I was immune to noise. And all the while praying louder than the loudspeakers, hoping this too shall pass.
Silence is golden, we memorised that proverb in school. But was it so valuable that someone earning less than 15K a month and with several mouths to feed, decides to seek shelter from noise, of all things?
Besides the fact that chances of finding good help in a city are rarer than breathing clean air, I was worried for her. Inflation needs to find a new word to define it, yet cities still held some hope for the rural poor. Or so I thought.
“Festival and wedding celebrations this year are louder than before corona. Everyone is making up for the lost noise. I’m earning a little more than what I would in my village, but spending everything on doctors and hospitals,” she explained.
“You people live in big buildings, you won’t understand. But in our homes, it’s become unbearable. My four-year-old child cries every time those big black speakers are out, and my old mother has been hospitalised so many times.” Yes, we know those black monsters too. No matter how tall the skyscraper is or how soundproof the glass is, they rattle one and all. And the noise that spews forth, like spells from Lord Voldemort’s wand, is a killer. Like He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, the ones ‘living it up’ without a care for others’ lives need not be named either for they’re everywhere.
Yet, I couldn’t quite fathom what was new about noise to prompt such a drastic step. After all, celebrations for Indians have always been about giving the neighbourhood sleepless nights, haven’t they? Even the NRI, who would keep the decibels hush-hush when abroad for fear of the cops, returns to India to blare it all. Because here, everything is free for all, except, perhaps, the right to live peacefully.
Long before the pandemic, some managing committee members of the building where I then lived, bought two of those monsters using the society’s resources. And the rest of us were at the receiving end when the monsters were first unleashed, on a Holi. Except for Voldemort and his army of Death Eaters, it didn’t quite turn out to be a ‘festive’ day. Instead of mixing colours, a brute majority decided it was a day to mix sounds and tell the world they were having a good time. Others who wanted to celebrate but not quite in that earth-shattering manner were forced to remain shut indoors as pleas to lower the volume went unheard. Obviously, that’s what the high volume was for.
Initially, we knew those speakers were meant for indoor events or open stadiums, but over the years, free noise delivery, like groceries, books, gadgets etc., has come to your doorstep. Court orders to check the menace have fallen on deaf ears (what else do you expect of earthlings under the spell of those alien speakers?), with lawmakers and enforcers missing in action. But we, the people, known for our resilience in the face of potholed roads, bridge collapses, frothing lakes and other such minor hiccups, have silently taken noise too in our stride. So why was she complaining all of a sudden?
“Yes, Didi, it is not new. But initially, when the court said ‘low noise’ and ‘nothing after 10 pm’, people were a bit scared. Then with corona, everything fell quiet. I thought after the two quiet years, people would sober down a little. But it’s become worse than ever. And it’s not just the speakers, people are now ready to kill if you say anything is hurting you. You either join them, or they join hands against you,” she sighed.
“A little earlier this year, after Omicron and all that, my neighbour held a kirtan at her home. And with her, ten guests came two of those big speakers. I begged and pleaded with her, reminding her that our parents, too, held kirtans and jagrans, but their prayers reached their destination without the help of the speakers. That music could be played without hurting anyone. I held my four-year-old son close as he started crying with that thumping noise. My mother and daughter tried to shut out the sound using pillows. But finally, we had to rush to the hospital.”
“Oh, it must have been tough,” I tried to empathise. “No, Didi, that isn’t it. When I returned the next day, the entire neighbourhood was standing with sticks and swords outside my door. They claimed I had disturbed the puja, and now I would have to make amends or else. What to do, Didi? I sent my mother and kids to a relative’s house for a day and held a kirtan in my house where those speakers were present too,” she burst into tears. “The noise made me feel so sick, but if I had said anything, I’m sure they wouldn’t have let us stay there.”
“But that’s over now, isn’t it? People will calm down in some time,” I attempted to console her. “Nothing is over. Earlier wedding processions had one speaker, now there are three or four. It’s the same with pandals during festivals. How many times do I send my family away? And where? My relatives, too, have a similar problem in their areas.”
“Did you complain to the police,” I asked. “What’s the use? For over a month, there have been truckloads of people travelling on roads across the country with huge speakers blaring, with the police clearing the way for them. The windows tremble with the sound even at 3 am. Does anyone stop them? Poor people like us have no one to turn to, no police, no politician or court can help us. So my relatives and I are all thinking of returning to our village. We’ll earn less, but at least be able to live in peace.”
My initial shock on hearing she planned to leave was gradually turning into awe. And admiration. “So, there are no such speakers in your village,” I queried enthusiastically. “These speakers are now everywhere, Didi. But since the villages are not congested like cities, the sound doesn’t hit so hard. Besides, the people there won’t rush to attack me if I ask them to lower the volume a little,” she asserted.
I could understand. There’s a banquet hall nearby and, though, technically, all events are held ‘indoors’, every host shares their own taste in music with the rest of the neighbourhood. When Marc Antony said, ‘Friends…lend me your ears,’ he sure didn’t mean this. I’m sure it will all be accounted for on Judgment Day, but till then, one has to make arrangements to survive. And this seemed a godsend.
“Can I find a house to rent there?” I said as I handed over her dues. “You want to shift to the village, Didi? But it will be very tough! You’ve never lived in a village. The toilets there, too, are different, you know,” she looked aghast. Is there an internet connection, was all I wanted to know. “Of course, children in my village are hooked on to it all day.”
That’s it. Swades, Panchayat and all such inspirational narratives couldn’t do what she helped me to. Take a leap of faith. Shut out the noise.
(Sonali Chakraborty is a senior journalist)
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