The unforgettable sights and sounds of home

The first night back home was a sleepless one as I tried to adjust to the sounds that I had forgotten.

There was the incessant barking of the dogs next door who were convinced they had been appointed sole sentries of the entire neighbourhood. Once they started their cacophony, others joined in the chorus. The canine noises were interspersed with ear-splitting whistling, which emanated from the human guards, presumably appointed to monitor safety in the vicinity.

Riding on cycles, they behaved as if they’d just got the whistles as a Christmas gift and were as thrilled with the noise these made as any five-year-old boy.

Far from reassuring me I was safe while they were making their rounds, I began to imagine burglars smiling with satisfaction as they kept tabs on the movements of those who might try to spoil their fun and mar carefully-crafted nefarious plans.

When I fell asleep eventually, I was awakened by the loud cries of early-morning hawkers selling a variety of greens. It was difficult to decipher the noises they made. I couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying. So, of course, I had to get up and peep through the window to see what they were peddling.

As if all these disturbances weren’t enough, there were the early risers who couldn’t wait to go for their morning walk. Judging by the time, they woke up at the crack of dawn for their constitutional. One of these intrepid spirits kept clapping his hands as he swung his arms. The sound in the stillness of the morning was as startling as the staccato burst of gunfire breaking the eerie silence.

As the household began stirring, I decided there was no point in pursuing the elusive arms of Morpheus. If you can’t beat them, join them. So, I too started going for walks in the morning, but at a far more reasonable hour.

This particular residential area only had independent houses with big yards. At almost every house I passed by, a maid was outside, sweeping away leaves that drifted down from the many trees in each compound. What struck me, however, was the sight of one of these, body bent as she swept and mobile phone glued to her ear as she continued an animated conversation.

A sister-in-law who had come on holiday from abroad was constantly whipping out her camera to aim and shoot scenes which she said would soon be a thing of the past. So, the milkman who made his rounds on a scooter with huge metal cans attached to the sides caught her attention. As she went closer for a better shot, her movements caught the attention of the unknowing poser. Realising he was going to be captured on film, he straightened up and began preparing to put his best foot forward. Going up to him, she showed him the first few unsuspecting shots she had taken. Not very pleased with her efforts, he called out to his son and then they both struck a pose, which they were convinced was going to be a winner.

Hoardings and quaint names of shops also caught her attention. One shopfront advertised “50 per cent discount 365 days of the year”. That made me think of some shops here who seem to have sales all through the year.

The auto rickshaws sported the most ridiculous sounding advertisements, presumably coined by someone who had no idea of market promotion. But for those stuck behind these vehicles in a traffic jam, the tall claims in these messages were a source of great amusement.

As I read the ungrammatical advertisements, which had obviously never gone through a spell check, the slogan “Incredible India” flashed through my mind. The experiences in India certainly leave you incredulous. And I say this with the utmost affection.