city at dawn

city at dawn

cities are noisy places. be it the noise of the all pervasive traffic and honking, sounds of construction (and destruction) in the neighbourhood,  borewells being sunk, sounds of vendors hawking their wares , noises from the neighbours’ kitchens and tvs,  airplanes thundering during  take-off, loudspeakers blaring at torturous decibels, dogs barking at unearthly hours, motors and engines clamouring in all directions, car alarms wailing away for reasons unknown,  jarring sirens of ambulances and obtrusive VIP convoys, phones tooting  intrusive ringtones and most of all -people talking incessantly to each other – noise appears to be an unavoidable part of urban life. loud and constant noises adversely affect one’s physical and mental health – it strains our nerves, wears thin our patience and generally pulls us down.  so are cities and noise inextricably mixed?

i offer that there are stretches of quiet in the noisiest of them – it’s a question of when  to find them. a foray at daybreak into the markets, streets, corners, playgrounds and neighbourhoods that one finds  noisy and overwhelming during working hours, shows them swathed in the most appealing and tranquil shades. the city reveals details that get blurred in the circus of daytime. it’s almost an alternative world which is yours alone..

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at that hour the day is not yet started for most and  markets and neighbourhoods seem such peaceful havens. buildings doze quietly  without any lights or noise, cars and trucks parked at the edges of the roads appear  innocuous, streets deserted – the previous night’s excesses done with and new ones not revealed, the gods of religion (and politics) are uncharacteristically benign with their loudspeakers  now mute and muzzled,  dogs (and guards) rest blissfully having defended home and hearth through the night, the shrill sirens of  law enforcement (or not) incongruously dormant ,  store fronts tightly shuttered  to customers and commerce,  people still slumbering, nourishing  their souls and bodies so they may tackle the caprices of the coming  day,  school playgrounds cloaked in mist and  fresh dew,  homeless street dwellers sleep covered from head to toe as if to block out the realities of their circumstances,  trees and their avian dwellers take respite in the quiet and bring in a feeling of reassuring permanency.

but is there anybody out there at all? citizenry that doesn’t generate noise? one occasionally sights a coffee shop with a small group of regulars quietly enjoying  their  brew with a newspaper or two,  delivery boys throwing the newspapers with bored ease, an odd bus or two carrying a lone commuter to work, the milkman measuring his supply with a careful eye  to his sleep blurry customer, a few travellers arriving on a too-early train or bus. the sun is not yet on the horizon. the moon fades slowly in the western sky. the mystique  of the night fades away like the mist of a breath on a mirror.

the spirit of promise that  this day will be somehow different blows softly as a zephyr. the potential for solitude is fleeting but invigorating.  for now, the city is resting. when absent of population cities show their tenderness, timelessness.  all is calm. all is quiet.