on choice and quietness

someone in my neighbourhood tugs at their guitar every night. every night around this very newfangled and earthly hour, someone draws the instrument of their dreams out of the almirah and tries to strum a tune or two on it. while they mostly limit themselves to basic tugging at the guitar strings, the daily effort of which they have made a routine, keeps me company. i now find myself craning a bit to hear the tuning..

its not the quietness, but the nature of it that gets to us. what i miss the most are the energetic, garrulous terrace parties of a couple of my neighbours. they would wind down during weekends that way, bookend their friday nights with loud, young, boisterous conversations that spilled over to our balcony where sometimes the three of us would go catatonic. these otherwise very sober lanes, would on such nights, be aloft with interspersed laughter, and just boundless joy..

on Holi night, these neighbours partied till deep into the night. starting in the afternoon, they listened to jo bhi main from rockstar, their evening trudged into the crepuscular, as they hummed to some sick bob dylan. i had frowned then and continued to watch Parineeta on my laptop. there was rahman's tu hi re, where a very melodious lady sang in tamil as well, and then some bengali kishore kumar songs sung. the buyoancy of these beings, them being together, the very vitality of existence at once so loud, and yet quietly continuing to be very deviant..

it was in the wee hours, i remember, when i would still be nose deep inside a book or some TV show, that i would hear their cars and taxis arrive. them coming out on the streets, while the winter stillness would make their boisterous laughter echo. i would hear the doors of the cars click and shut while they waved joyous byes from the rolled down windows. such is the spurious nature of joy, spilling over terraces, leaping across balconies, entering the senses, encroaching on personal spaces, without really admonishing, without really being nosey..

i miss not the noise, of course, i am still knee deep inside the third world, but such moments of time that were filled with loud yet bashful conversation. the pockets of background music against which these lives would thrum. the occasional shattering of a glass against the marble floor, the carefree late night laughters. i miss not the chaos, the helplessness, or the ease of eavesdropping, but the fact of choice, that we and the rest exercised mostly by being home..not against our wishes, but against all other choices..

Depopulated Edward Hoppers
http://www.thegreatgodpanisdead.com/2012/11/depopulated-hopper.html?fbclid=IwAR2PmMUdFiW2vHYMuJ28jyYT8Nl3A6BloqBfZw55u847lQYoqGLB8Gdl3Vs