Sound
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(Written on a cool afternoon January 2019)
It’s a silent afternoon in Mumbai – there’s only the muffled sound of a single electric drill in the distance. No Metro work, no loud voices, almost no honking or traffic. Even the parrots are dozing. That’s deathly quiet for these parts. The Republic Day weekend has begun. But the best part is the breeze. It’s so quiet I can hear it make its way through the trees. At the far end of “my garden” are the rusty shield bearers and Ashokas. They murmur to the breeze as it comes in from Marine Drive and over Brabourne Stadium. Then the breeze is amongst the peepals, each leaf a miniature castanet and a mirror too, catching the sunlight on its shiny side and throwing little sparks into my eyes. A silence as the breeze rolls across the lawns and then the gulmohars, still flowerless, are tossing it to the badams. The huge leaves of the badams are dusty now, brown and orange and green, lazy with age…and then the breeze carries the smells and sounds of these beloved trees into my home… I like the peepals best. They make interesting conversation.