In the late hours of the night there is a certain kind silence
that I find, silence that is missing from bustle of the day. This atmosphere is
like the term ‘pin-drop silence’ a term that I had heard a lot, and we as
children were forced to maintain that state or else the wrath of the teacher be
upon us. But in summertime there can
never be a ‘pin-drop silence’ state. The rumbling of the air conditioner and the
chakra of three spokes running furiously above me, spitting air at my head. I
wish to switch both of them off and observe some silence but in Delhi AC is not
an item of luxury but rather of necessity.
And I must mention the honorable voices of the night-street
dogs. Constant howling and barking.
Territorial conflicts, no proper shelter and injuries from yesterday are some
of the reasons I identified for their disturbing behavior. Or maybe they are
just being what we humans are during the day, for at night fewer humans are out
on the street.
And then there are also the well-orchestrated performances
by the mosquitoes. What a show they all put up. A combination of bites or
rather their precise injections and humming assure me that I am always a
target. This is the worst kind of
musical show that I have to go through, because they seem to get over all the
obstacles of anti-repellants and what not.
But despite all these negative features that the late night
offers, I enjoy this time of the day. For my mind is full of creative thoughts
at this time. And if it would have been not for ‘the language constriction’ you
would have seen what goes on in my mind. There is a type of hyperactivity that
goes on inside, like a beam of lightening that you can hear during the day but can
see clearly only during the night. And I must say that I am not a writer. Why I
am not a writer you may ask to which I will answer because I have read very
less, I know very less words, my grammar is poor and I don’t have the requisite
patience. There’s some hyperactivity.
Sometimes when I am trying to think of something better, a
car comes with woofers almost in resonance with the frequency at the levels of
shattering the window panes.” Yo Yo Honey Singh, Faaduu Production”. Honey
Singh-Self-Proclaimed definer of what is called Hip-Hop and with an alcoholic capacity
of drinking four bottles of vodka every day. The car goes away but it will come
back because for its riders, it is party time. Three complete rounds of sonic
bullshit.
No moon, No stars today. Although stars I can never see stars
in this city, so crowded with buildings and glare of the street lights. Maybe I
should sleep, too much hyperactivity can cause Brain Damage (The lunatic is in
my head….). Let me listen to Floyd before I sleep.
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