We have almost no appreciation for silence, and the damage this will cause us and our environment may be catastrophic
More young people have begun taking an active interest in what the government does to protect our public spaces. Representation pic
I think about bikers a lot, in the wee small hours. They have a habit of zooming down desolate streets at 2 or 3 am, when the rest of us are trying to sleep. They do this on bikes that have modified silencers, for reasons known only to themselves, because disturbing the peace makes them happy. The saddest thing about this isn’t the damage caused to the mental health of millions in our crowded city; it is the sense of resignation with which we accept it. It’s as if we know we cannot expect to find peace even at night.
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Another thing I think about is the default volume settings at which we operate in our daily lives. We scream at watchmen and grocers, shout out orders at fast food outlets, and yell on buses and trains when we need to step off. Much of this makes sense, given our inability to be heard amid the cacophony of a metropolis, but it’s strange how many major cities around the world don’t compel their residents to raise their voices the way we are constantly forced to. It says a lot about who we are as people.
Then there are the festivals. I know we aren’t allowed to comment on any of them anymore, because rational arguments have long been banned. We can’t say anything about any of our many festivals, because to put up our hands is to draw the attention of bigots who lurk in the shadows. We can’t talk about the harm caused by fireworks to our health and the environment because noise pollution is less important than religion. We can’t beg on behalf of our children, senior citizens, or pets cowering in fright under our beds, because we have such little respect for life in our country. And so, for a few days every month, we shut our windows as best we can, turn on our air-conditioners if we are rich enough to afford them, and sleep fitfully in the hope that the promise of a quieter night is somewhere on the horizon.
A little over a year ago, the Central Pollution Control Board (CPCB)—that few of us know exists—proposed new fines between R1,000 and R1 lakh for those violating norms restricting noise pollution under the Noise Pollution (Regulation and Control) Rules, 2000. Their list included everything from loud construction activity and honking at odd hours, to loudspeakers at functions or processions.
I thought about how little those fines or norms mean, given the disdain with which so many of us treat them. It’s hard to accept that we don’t value the idea of silence. We may ignore our doctors, laugh at warnings from scientists, and shrug our shoulders when foreign visitors talk about noise, but I refuse to believe that we can’t recognise the benefits of living in a space that is calm. Part of this could be blamed on the simple fact that millions of us don’t know what it means to live quietly.
I hope our children will have more luck changing this narrative than we have had. They have already managed to have an impact on how we look at the environment, and more young people have begun taking an active interest in what the government does to protect our public spaces. Some of them are being arrested, because cowardice comes easiest to politicians with no moral compass, but that won’t last forever because no political party lasts forever. It’s why I continue to hope and believe Bombay may be a quieter city a few generations from now, even if this seems like a lost cause for those of us living in the present.
One of the things I try and do in my personal life is take time off to sit by myself in a quiet room with a book. I stay away from music too, during this time, and teach myself to listen to my lungs instead. There’s a reason why so many lectures on spirituality tend to focus on how we breathe, and I have found that the act of breathing in and out, while focusing on little else, leads to surprising clarity of thought. Part of me just puts this down to my advancing age, and ears that are more sensitive than they were when I was young. Another part is simply thankful for the privilege of being able to sit in silence.
Bombay wasn’t always this noisy. We should try and fix that.
When he isn’t ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.
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