On the luxury of silence...

One of the things that has become scarce or rather impossible to get apart from a lot of good things is silence. And by silence, I mean, absolute silence. One in which even a pin falling or your own breathing could be heard clearly. And sadly, we don’t even notice the lack of it like we do in case of an electricity black out and complete darkness.

Everywhere we go, there’s noise. There’s the cars and other vehicles passing by, honking  incessantly and quite unnecessarily, the loud speakers from the street, people quarrelling, dogs barking, the radio or mp3 player playing good but at times unwanted songs, and how can I forget the absurd amount of time we spend talking on our mobile phones.

Even the nights are not spared of their share of noise. And then we spend extra money buying silence. Every other new residential scheme advertises “a haven of peace and tranquil”, “a place where the only sounds are those of the flowing river and the cuckoo singing”, etc. 

Yes. We need silence. To spend a moment in introspection. To let the mind drift into thoughtlessness for a moment. To just give a moments complete rest to our senses. To just calm down and hear ourselves breathing. I mean, we can close our eyes but we can’t close our ears, can we? And I’m just glad to get my much required dose of it on my treks.

Silence today is a luxury, only a few can afford and which all of us could do with a little more than what we’re getting these days. Silence is healing. No wonder the girl on the poster in our doctors’ waiting room says “Sshhhh……” 

A little monsoon poetry...

Now, I write a little poetry every now and then, and what's a poet who hasn't written a poem on the rains. :D And despite the rain gods not really seeming to be in a very benevolent mood this season, the first shower nonetheless, brings with it all the freshness of the forthcoming monsoon season. And like I said, I just couldn't stop myself from putting together a collection of words rhymed with great difficulty, something I would like to call a poem, and something I hope, my readers will agree with. So here goes...

A bright sunny afternoon turns into grey,

A strong gusty wind starts blowing away.

The parched earth gives out a sweet fresh scent,

And the light drizzle suddenly turns into a torrent

The dry thirsty village welcomes it with glee,

The hope of a good crop in its eyes you see.

The city streets get flooded with the sudden gush

And busy looking street folks for shelter, they rush.

Children in the streets go splashing about,

They jump and laugh with joyful shouts.

The grown up folks for shelter run,

Though secretly they wish they could join the fun.

For some it’s a blessing, for the poor it’s a bane,

With their homes washed away, they’ll start over again.

All that it takes is one heavy shower,

And it leaves their lives, changed forever.

The romantic ideas of dancing peacocks,

Of singing koels and life sprouting on rocks.

For the city these ideas are just fiction,

A hopeless idea of a poet’s imagination.

So many emotions the rains bring with them,

 They come and go, and nothing’s ever the same.

By the window, I think as I sit and see,

What do the rains really mean to me?