Noise festival

The crows start at the break of dawn. Dogs are late risers and are used to the incessant cawing. They slumber on. People start waking up. Cars and two wheelers are soon in motion. The garbage collection van from the municipality is getting ready for action. It’s generating several decibels with its double toned alarm. It sounds as if someone is breaking in to the vehicle. The irony of stealing from a garbage van is puzzling. A quick glance resolves the mystery. The vehicle sounds a siren while reversing. Safety first, close your ears if you can’t bear the noise. The crows, unable to compete with the van, take off en masse from the Asoka tree across the road. They settle down when it stops reversing and continue their relentless din.

The dogs still having a lie-in, under cars, on top of cars, have no choice but to wake up. They bark randomly at the emerging day as if asking each other what the day has in store for them. A few elderly residents get together for their morning meditation. They finish with synchronised Oom chanting. Oom Oom Oom, they invoke the Universal Consciousness. The dogs find this irresistible and join in. Ooo Ooo Ooo they howl. Their friends pick up the signal from far corners until the whole place is reverberating with their primordial wolf howl. Caw caw caw the crows keep up their dissonant chorus. Just then a call to prayer, from a distant mosque – the azan seems fainter than I remembered Am I imagining it or has the general noise level increased?

The garbage van kicks into action.
“A clean India, yes, a clean India, together we will build a clean India!” the recorded song plays out full blast. Maids (Little People) carry their masters’ garbage in plastic bags and throw them in the van. A man (Little People) is riding on the bumper guard and sorts the garbage in real time. Aluminium cans and bottles in one section, paper in another …

Enter the fruit and vegetable sellers (Little People).

“Buy potatoes, buy tomatoes, buy mangoes … “ they list their wares in no particular order.

House owners query the price from their second and third floor apartments. An elderly lady is scandalised by the price of mangoes.

“90 rupees for one mango? Hai Ram! This is robbery.” She berates the vendor. When she gets no response, she changes her tone.

“Will you take 80?”

“It’s morning time. Can’t refuse the first sale. You’re killing a poor man. Any way …” he concedes. He has a smug smile tucked away under his bushy moustache. To the world, he’s the exploited underdog. The lady comes down and buys a dozen. She too is hiding a smile under her chunni which she uses as a semi veil. No one else bargains, for the price has been publicly declared and agreed, at least for the day. Mangoes sell out in no time. The vendor throws a ripe tomato to a dog and it smacks its lips in gratitude.

A crow perches on the gate and looks sideways with longing at the ripe tomatoes. No such luck for the bird. It has no status. It finds no mention in any of the religious tomes. Not even the vehicle of a minor god. No legendary antics associated with it. Unlike the squirrel who gained his stripes by helping Sri Rama build his bridge to Lanka (by rolling in the mud and unrolling at the other end) the crow can claim nothing. It is the bird equivalent of persona non grata. The fruit seller shoos it away. Oh! Never to be born a crow, ever.

A car honks. It is parked on the side. A driver (Little People) is at the wheel. Drivers don’t dare honk for their lords and masters. A few minutes later he honks again as if testing it still works. He looks bored. He sits there honking at regular intervals until lunch time.

The curtains are all drawn, the ceiling fan spins slicing the warm air a thousand times a minute. The air conditioner whirs on in the corner competing with the fan, inserting slices of cold air into the room. The external noises are muffled. Then suddenly there is an ear piercing loud tune – JINGLE BELLS JINGLE BELLS JINGLE ALL TH.. – it is either a reversing vehicle or Christmas come too early. A peep through the curtains confirms the reversing vehicle theory.

I fall asleep and dream of dogs, mangoes, Christmas, mass uprising of the little people, crows raising the slogans of revolution, thereby securing a place for themselves in the annals of this nation … among other things.