India Journal: "It's the Noise, Noise, Noise!

WARNING: COMPLAINTS AHEAD. PROCEED WITH CAUTION

In my mind I hear the voice of Boris Karloff's Grinch confesses the cause of grinchy sentiment toward Christmas: "It's the noise, noise, noise!" I'm I hearing voices? Should I be seeking treatment? No, I don't think so. While I do repeat this silent mantra in my head (sounding remarkably like Karloff's Grinch), I'm merely giving play to my love of a good impersonation. Oh, but the noise--the noise is real!

If there is a noisier nation than India, I don't want to go there. Of course, after 15 months living in India, this isn't news to me. Still, some reminders are too much, like the rehearsal for the motorcycle rodeo.

We live close to the main performance venue in town. We can see it from both of our balconies. We've enjoyed events there, including a film festival, traditional dance, and a katakali performance. As seems the norm for any public performance in India, our neighbors set the sound system volume for the deaf in the audience (thinking that they'll appreciate the vibrations, I suppose). (India movie theaters do this as well, especially with the ads.) What sound system managers should realize is that most persons aren't deaf, but the numbers must be increasing with the use of their deafening sounds systems. I suspect that India may be suffering an epidemic of hearing loss compounded by thinking that everyone suffers from hearing loss.

At around 6:15 A.M. one Saturday morning I am shoved into consciousness by the sound of screaming, whining motors. "What the heck?" (Or words to that effect.) I look out my balcony window to see several young men practicing stunts on their motorbikes in the adjoining area. And when I say "screaming, whining motors", I mean it, like model airplanes on speed. I am too sleepy for outrage. I am aghast and peeved. After an hour it stops. Reason has prevailed, I think. But I deceive only myself. For in the course of the afternoon and evening, the young motorcyclists put on a performance, whining, screaming motors and all, followed by music. Loud music. Loud popular music (to wit, long on beats, short on interest). I am happy to report that it all ends by 10 p.m., when peace returns to our otherwise sedate neighborhood (the roars of the lions have long since become soothing to my ears). 

The home of Vroom-vroom! and Boom-boom!

And while I'm at it, during a walk recently during the mid-day, to the tune of the aleatoric music of honking horns, I came across several random sets of loudspeakers. One played music for no one. Another carried a speech. Although I don't understand Malayalam, it sounds all the world like a harangue to me, as do most speeches at political gatherings here, which encounters at random. The sets of loudspeakers, about 4' high by 3' wide (fashionably loud) were attended by no one. Down the street, I suffer another involuntary concert of what I took to be devotional music. 

Anyone, anyone?

I don't want to be all negative. I love the sound of the schoolchildren next door playing at recess; our ever vigilant, crowing rooster and his clucking hens; and the roars of the lions and the bizarre calls that emanate from the zoo. Indian classical and  traditional music can be as beautiful and enthralling as the best of music anywhere (although that I must say that I find the Bollywood tunes, like a lot of contemporary American pop music, bores me quickly).

So as I write this,  Mr. Rooster sounds soothing and puts out of mind the noxious blaring of the buses that navigate the far too narrow lane that the must traverse to deliver passengers to the zoo.

Thank goodness for iTunes.