T HE apartment on the 37th floor is not soundproof. However, at that height, one would assume that silence would be paramount. But in reality, itis not so - the quiet is often disturbed by the strident notes of the fire trucks, the urgent sirens of an ambulance following the fire truck, the piercing alarms of the police cars, probably chasing an offender on the roads or a part of the entourage of the fire truck. The cacophonous notes, wafting across to the upper floors, often break thequietude,disturbing thestillness. Butmost times,even thoughit’sdowntown Chicago, busy at its core, its quiet, its peaceful. And believeme,there’s no greater pleasure than walking on a street, bustling with cars and people, yet the silence is all pervasive.

 

While navigating the wide uncluttered spit-freecleanpavements,whatnever fails to impress me is the hush - despite the flow of constant, heavy traffic - cars of all sizes zooming past, the silence is pindrop. Only major intersections between streets and avenues have traffic lights. But despite the number of vehicles plying on the roads, at all times of the day, nary does one come across a honk or an angry call, for whatever reason. When one is at the intersection devoid of traffic lights, the movementisclockwork smooth,onevehicle from each side crossingover while otherswait their turn,patiently.Andifapedestrian wants to cross over, all traffic comes to a halt. I couldn’t but equate the heavy traffic tosynchronisedswimming-nowild gesticulations,nonoise-justapolitedance at intersections where cars yield patiently, waiting their turn and pedestrians rule the asphalt.

 

I truly revel in this ‘luxury’ if I may be allowed to call it that. ForIalwayscompare thiswith theorchestral dissonance waiting for me back home in India. The minute I step out of the airport, cab drivers, gathered at the entrance like a flock of vultures, pounce all at once, “Madam, taxi chahiye?” This is uttered in a tone that will be audible at least half a kilometre away. The decibel levels are indicative of competing for a gold medal in vocal endurance. “Bhaiya, I hear you loud and clear,” I am annoyed. But then it dawns instantly - he has to exercise his vocal cords to the maximum capacity to be heard over the other vendors - doing the same- shouting at the top of theirvoices. But the real show begins when you settle down comfortably in the cab - the driver’s fingerglued to thehorn,createsanonstopmusicalmedleyofhonks,beeps-long bursts and short ones - depending on who is at the receiving end. The road, well past midnight,is practically empty, and soI ask him, “Why are you honking? There is no traffic on the road.”Imanage to squeeze this sentence between the honking.

 

And even before I finish my sentence, a pack of stray dogs, growling loudly and fighting aggressively appeared out of nowhere on the road, making him brake to a halt - the tyres screeching and leaving a stench of burning rubber. “Isliye horn bajata hun madam-dogs,cattle,peopleon twowheelers,cyclistsappearrightin frontof thevehicle,asifbymagic.Noonerespects therules, and I would be foolish to do so.” After a jarring ride, when I step into my abode,Ismile widely. For after all there is noplacelikehome.But thesmileisinstantlyreplacedbya frownasIhearloudpounding and grinding of tiles from the next building. The construction work in that apartment has been going on for ages - I think, like the government, they want to followafive-year plan. It’s well into the night, but it appears the labourers had decided to do an all-nighter. Well, all that I can do is sigh in exasperation. Adding to my plight is the sound of a grating voice - someone is singing on Karaoke - and the voiceis travelling from therestaurantacross thestreet-situatedon the top floor.Wonder what happened to the ‘No noise after 10 pm as it’s a nuisance to the public’. Sadly, no one complains.

 

The frustration continues, for throughout the day various kinds of loud noises emanate from the building, hampering my peace of mind. The lady in the next building yells at her maid servant, the soundwafts across tomy ears; thechowkidar, at an unearthly hour of 5 am gargles and gurgles loudly, the pressure cooker whistles add their own harmony to these discordant notes, even as the raddiwala bhaiya yells at the top of his voice, “Raddi, Raddi”. Saying anything to anyone will be an exercise in futility. Which again brings me back to Square A-comparisons -whichI feelareinevitable in our lives. The apartment above my daughter’s place in Chicago had to replace the flooring in their living room - all the residents received a mail to that effect, and those immediately above and below were apprisedof the time theinstallationwould take place and it was requested that even though there wouldn’t be any major disturbances,if theywanted theyshouldleave thepremisesduring thoseparticularhours. Back home, ifIutter a line, “Stop the work during afternoons as I want to rest after a hard week’s work, and I want peace,” the answerismoreorless,“Madam,itnakaam hai, thoda bear kijiye.”

 

Translation: Live with it! So for my peace of mind, I keep mum, and bear the constant pounding noise. I remember the two frisky dogs in my daughter’shousehappened toonedayrun across thecorridoras thedoorwasleftopen. In their pleasurable playful mood, they barked. Natural dog instinct.Within a few minutes,mydaughterreceivedamail from the management of the ‘chaos’ they had caused in the corridor and how it was ‘extremely disturbing’ to one of the residents on that floor. That is the level of intrusion that people there will not tolerate. As for us, in our own territory - we are all privy to it, one yelp at night, and suddenly all the dogs in the area wake up and joinin thechorus.‘Yapyap,barkbark,whine whine, growl growl’-the pillow on my head, cotton stuffed in my ears is not able to drown all that commotion. The background score of vehicles honking and vrooming on the empty roads, accompanied with the many curs growling at theirloudest and thepounding from next door adding to the noise pollution, is very frustrating. Makes me wonder often, with so much din in the world today, have we all forgotten the beautiful sound of silence?