Sounds I adore and detest
By: K S S Pillai
It is useless to complain about the high-decibel sounds when you live in a city. Many of the megacities never sleep, and people move about all the time. I have seen eateries on footpaths open till early morning with many people waiting for food plates. I am often rudely woken up by the honking of horns late at night, making me envious of deaf people who continue to snore despite the sounds.
That takes me to my childhood in my village. There was a cashew tree near our home. It was full of fruits in different stages of growth during the school vacation. Several crows, other birds, and animals like squirrels had their fill during the day, but the tree was monopolised by bats at night.
Hanging upside down, they would suck the ripe cashew apples dry and drop the remnants with nuts to the ground. The regular sound of falling fruits made my siblings and me happy as our pockets would bulge with cashew nuts in the morning. We would get up before sunrise and comb the ground under the tree in the light of kerosene lamps. We would pocket the nuts, discarding the sucked fruits.
Some nights we would assemble near the tree and eat the hot kernels after getting the outer shells burnt out in the fire built with dry leaves and twigs of the tree. When there was a sufficient quantity of nuts, they would be sold to vendors who came to buy them. By the time the schools reopened, all would have a decent sum of money.
Being a village, there would be birds of different types on the sprawling trees. They would emit sweet sounds while their young ones chatted inside the nests. One could see cranes returning home in battle formation, making crying sounds at intervals. Every evening, we could hear the sound of a commercial aircraft on its regular flight path to a distant city, its tiny shape moving slowly through clouds of different shapes, leaving a trail of smoke after it disappears.
There was an evening market on the outskirts of the village, selling all essential goods. One item most people bought was fish caught from the nearby Pamba River and the Arabian Sea, which was about 15 kilometres away.
Fishmongers would go to the wholesale market on the seashore on their bicycles in the afternoons with large bamboo baskets tied to their modified carriers. Some would go there early in the morning and rush to the village to cater to the womenfolk who like fish in their lunches. The vendors would bellow in a particular way to announce their presence. Women would hurry to them with large leaves or earthen pans to buy fish after bargaining.
Another regular visitor to the village was a man from across the river who had several cows. He came with pots containing curd and ghee. He would be a much sought-after man during the marriage season for pure milk and milk products.
Now that I live in a housing society in a faraway city, I have to live with different sounds. There would be vendors of vegetables and fruits announcing their presence with loud calls in their styles. Others who visit the society regularly are beggars and junk buyers who make their presence known through loud calls. The sounds of some of them are so shrill that they shoot up your blood pressure.
In the dead of night, it is the security guard on his regular round who blows his whistle loudly to let the residents know that he is performing his duty.
The marriage season with the modern music system and the festival season also see to it that you are not allowed to sleep peacefully at night. Added to them are leaking pipes and ceiling fans that make a creaking sound while rotating. Some television channels have their way of jolting you by suddenly increasing their volume.
(The author is a retired professor of English. A regular contributor to ‘The Kashmir Vision’, his articles and short stories have appeared in several national and international publications)
