Absence
The main road outside my home, usually filled with the cacophony of impatient horns and the miasma of diesel fumes, is in mourning. Where are the cars cutting lanes, the jaywalkers, the motorcyclists riding in the wrong direction or on its sidewalks? Why are the humans not pounding down it, heedless of sun or smog? What has changed in their fervid quest to make money? The street dogs at least have not abandoned the road, and squirrels are shyly renewing their acquaintance with the trees planted along this once bustling road. But still, it hurts, this neglect, this ghosting. Even the buses are few and far between, driving carefully and slowly instead of hurtling down its length with the careless abandon of yesterday.
The buildings lining the road are forlorn. The receptions are empty, the elevators lie in wait of absent passengers, there is no sound of whistling as the delivery boys come and go. The shut windows blink at each other in confusion. What is this strange new way of being? Why are the humans hidden away, subdued, only once in a while leaving furtively and returning hurriedly? Where are the children, laughing and running in the compounds? The old buildings cannot understand this strange new normal.
The great hall of the railway station opposite my home is utterly depressed. Instead of the thousands upon thousands of people cheerfully exiting the packed trains, spilling out onto its platforms, hailing friends, eagerly exiting the subways, there is…nothing. In living memory, the railway station has never felt this lonely. Not when its very tracks were flooded. Not even when the bombs exploded and strewed its platforms with broken bodies. Won’t someone please explain? Are the humans on strike? Have they grown roots? Do they no longer need to move as fast as possible from one point to another?
Marine Drive is bereft. What use its twinkling lights, its beautiful promenade with no humans enjoying the sea and the breeze? The water is sullen but clean, free of the chips packet, the gnawed on butta and other assorted debris. The sky above is a clear blue, every little detail on the horizon in stark relief. Across the bay, the people hide behind the sharply delineated windows but there is no one gazing out from a single balcony. Marine Drive feels let down on this beautiful Saturday evening and a little frightened. Because no matter how famous your beauty is, your elegant curve, your sweeping vistas, what use are any of these grand things without the human beings to appreciate and admire?
The trees and birds, the squirrels and snakes know though. They know what’s hurting the humans but there’s nothing they can do to help. They are happy to have clean skies and a bright sun. I have rarely heard as many bird calls on my balcony as I did this morning. There is no sound of traffic or construction work to mute the sweet sound. The Magpie Robin is outdoing himself, treating the neighbourhood to his full throated and uninhibited serenading. The mynas and bulbuls have suddenly found their voices and a golden oriole is calling, hidden in the dusty green canopy…there are other calls too, of birds I cannot identify.
And so the day, the silent day, the day catching its breath, the long and never ending day, winds to a close. The silence is profound as the night closes in. The bats, the frogs are silent, as if they are still asleep. There is an echo all around, the slightest sound amplified and reverberating to ears unused to this absence of noise.
I stand on my balcony and think of family and friends around the world. Tonight is silent night. A night when the spirits walk abroad. There is nothing holy or calm or bright about it. This is ‘sannatta’ in its true sense – not just silence but a vacuum. From away across the maidan, the clock tower chimes as clearly as if it’s in my living room. Then a dog barks. The silence is broken but only for a moment.
And still the road lies quietly, resigning itself to more days of this unquiet to come. The lights of Marine Drive blink on but are somehow subdued. The great railway station, the heart of this city, tires of waiting. And the buildings ready themselves for the long night to come.
Superb!!
Well said Sanaya. The sentiments Resonate with a lot of us.