I have a sore throat and have been croaking brokenly all morning. Finally, I’ve given up. Stopped trying. Stopped talking. Of course, Dilip’s enjoying his sunday afternoon nap and my phone is switched off. So apart from the laptop, there isnt really anyone to talk to…. Still, I have my hour of silence.
I’ve always wondered how Gandhi managed to stop talking for one WHOLE day every week. I didnt try that once…but didnt get past one hour. This time though, the silence is involuntary.
However, my hour of silence is only silence on MY part. Around me, things go on as usual. The faint sound of traffic on the main road, the occasional autorickshaw zooming past our house, the watertank next door which is forever overflowing and dripping water onto the banana trees below (incidently, the banana trees, (or are they banana plants?) have a huge bees nest on them. Never seen one like that before, with a lovely concentric circular kind of pattern). The wind is noisy too, and rushes at you as if its trying to push you back into the house. I fight my way to the varanda and listen to more sounds. Clothes flapping on the line, the kids from Kottarvayal, a village just down the road, and the sudden burst of crackers in celebration of the poojas.
I make my way to the kitchen to find something to sooth my aching throat. More sounds there. The gas stove, the water bubbling and boiling, the rasping knife as I peel some ginger. Armed with hot ginger and honey, I smile as I listen to Dilip’s deep breathing that is interrupted by the sudden contented snore.
It’s not so bad this time. My world seems to be making enough noise to cover up for my involuntary silence.
(Throat, I hope your not listening to this though – because still I want you back!!)