KSS Pillai
I have disliked loud noise since my days as a college teacher. I wanted complete silence in class while delivering lectures, but some students, confined to the lecture hall for hours, wished for some relief. They wanted at least to whisper to those beside them. When I sent them out, it seemed like they liked it. I could understand their feelings, as I had behaved the same way when I was in their shoes.
Those who live in Delhi are fortunate that cracker bursting has been banned there, though the air remains so polluted that it is unsuitable for breathing most of the time.
The Diwali season takes the cake, turning into a festival of noise rather than light. Since there is no ban on crackers where I live, children start bursting them days before Diwali. They do it on the road near my bedroom at night, depriving me of sleep. Clenching my teeth, I endure the assault silently.
It seems to be the wedding season year-round. Even poor families spend lavishly on weddings, making them noisy and using filmy music as a form of publicity. The business of renting high-decibel sound systems, DJs, and singers thrives here.
When a pandal comes up nearby, I brace myself for the noise. They keep the music at the highest volume to ensure everyone in the vicinity knows about the wedding. The ear-splitting sound continues until midnight, when they switch it off due to legal restrictions.
I don't protest, as it would be futile and only create enmity. Marriage processions, starting late at night, move at a snail’s pace, halting repeatedly. Everyone dances to the blaring music from an accompanying vehicle. I lie on my cot, trying to sleep, cursing them. Since I like fresh air, I keep the windows open while sleeping under the ceiling fan, but the noise forces me to close them and switch on the air conditioner. I spend the night tossing and turning, relieved when the morning light finally enters.
My immediate neighbour’s contribution to noise pollution is not minor. An elderly man with a hearing deficiency, he is a cricket enthusiast. He keeps his television volume so high that everyone nearby can hear the commentary. Another irritant is visitors who, assuming all elders are hard of hearing, speak to me loudly—even on the telephone.
There is an airport nearby where aircraft make deafening noises while landing and taking off. Planes flying to distant airports leave long streams of smoke that spread slowly and drone at a low volume. There is also a helipad nearby. When it is used, mainly by politicians, I am assaulted by the loud noise of helicopters. Children rush out, shouting excitedly. Policemen accompany the politicians in their vehicles, their sirens wailing.
My favourite sound is that of flocks of birds flying high to their nests at twilight in battle formation, calling intermittently, mixed with the chimes of temple bells and the call from mosques summoning believers to prayer.