Sunday sounds
Sunday sounds
I barely sleep at 2 pm on Saturday night. I am kept awake by the howling monsoon wind, ratting windows, and tall coconut trees banging against my bedroom ledge.
I wake up at 5.30 am by soul-soothing chimes of bells from St Andrew's church and as if on cue, dhobi-ghat adjacent to our compound comes alive with thup-thup-thup of washermen starting their hard day's work.
The sound, sight, and smell of Sunday in the suburb of Bandra are unique and quaint. It is also true that my senses are sharper on Sundays, having abandoned all routine and all hope of being productive and efficient that is my want on weekdays.
It is too early for any vendor roaming the street at 6.30 am but come Sunday and I hear a flute seller playing popular filmi tunes hoping to wake up sleepy residents in a more cheerful mood.
Loud horn, the one with a rubber bulb on top sounds by 7 am announcing the arrival of Idli-Vada seller. His customers are waiting hungrily for him, autorickshaw drivers, vegetable vendors, tea stall owners, and sometimes yours truly on my way to walk.
Bandra streets remain calm on Sunday morning devoid of school buses, anxious parents flocking the street corner to push blurry eyes wards into the buses.
The laughter club in one corner of the park generates the loudest noise that seems ungainly for that hour.
Our building remains in silent mode throughout the morning excepting the hissing sound of elevators. There is a French consulate chap who plays a bit of Jazz mid-morning but that is more uplifting than disturbing.
Afternoon sounds are rare in and around our building. Silent hours are 2-4 pm when no noise carrying work may be done. Bandra is a highly civilized place.
Around 5 pm, young boys and girls of our building and the neighboring ones stir into life and one can hear peels of innocent laughter.
As Sunday revelers begin to fill up the Carter road promenade, I hear sounds of horns and loud cheer of youngsters.
There is a Portuguese descent family who likes to dance with loud music for an hour and we let them be. They spill out on the street with beer bottles in hand and we still let them be. Bandra is also tolerant.
By 9 pm, the building, the street below, and everything else falls silent. This is the time when I play my Bose radio with volume higher than the civilized level. I have a long way to go till 2 am and I can not abide by the rules of sound.
I barely sleep at 2 pm on Saturday night. I am kept awake by the howling monsoon wind, ratting windows, and tall coconut trees banging against my bedroom ledge.
I wake up at 5.30 am by soul-soothing chimes of bells from St Andrew's church and as if on cue, dhobi-ghat adjacent to our compound comes alive with thup-thup-thup of washermen starting their hard day's work.
The sound, sight, and smell of Sunday in the suburb of Bandra are unique and quaint. It is also true that my senses are sharper on Sundays, having abandoned all routine and all hope of being productive and efficient that is my want on weekdays.
It is too early for any vendor roaming the street at 6.30 am but come Sunday and I hear a flute seller playing popular filmi tunes hoping to wake up sleepy residents in a more cheerful mood.
Loud horn, the one with a rubber bulb on top sounds by 7 am announcing the arrival of Idli-Vada seller. His customers are waiting hungrily for him, autorickshaw drivers, vegetable vendors, tea stall owners, and sometimes yours truly on my way to walk.
Bandra streets remain calm on Sunday morning devoid of school buses, anxious parents flocking the street corner to push blurry eyes wards into the buses.
The laughter club in one corner of the park generates the loudest noise that seems ungainly for that hour.
Our building remains in silent mode throughout the morning excepting the hissing sound of elevators. There is a French consulate chap who plays a bit of Jazz mid-morning but that is more uplifting than disturbing.
Afternoon sounds are rare in and around our building. Silent hours are 2-4 pm when no noise carrying work may be done. Bandra is a highly civilized place.
Around 5 pm, young boys and girls of our building and the neighboring ones stir into life and one can hear peels of innocent laughter.
As Sunday revelers begin to fill up the Carter road promenade, I hear sounds of horns and loud cheer of youngsters.
There is a Portuguese descent family who likes to dance with loud music for an hour and we let them be. They spill out on the street with beer bottles in hand and we still let them be. Bandra is also tolerant.
By 9 pm, the building, the street below, and everything else falls silent. This is the time when I play my Bose radio with volume higher than the civilized level. I have a long way to go till 2 am and I can not abide by the rules of sound.
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