Living in a time of noise

As noise pollution rises, at many levels, we tend to get more and more stressed

February 03, 2020 12:38 pm | Updated 03:54 pm IST

Conceptual photography. Somebody's holding a red signal horn very close to an ear.

Conceptual photography. Somebody's holding a red signal horn very close to an ear.

Lohri, the festival of the winter solstice, was last month. Traditionally, it sees cold-weather-weary people gather around a fire to say goodbye to temperatures nearing freezing point. People gather informally around a fire, singing songs, throwing fistfuls of revri and groundnuts into a fire. There’s fun and laughter, and some food and drink. Mostly, a way to connect with friends, neighbours and Nature.

Thinking of the times she had celebrated it at home, a friend who had just moved to a flat in Gurugram said she was planning to go down to her colony celebration. When the time came, she couldn’t bear to go, because of the very-loud music that played, halting communication with even the person standing next to you, and getting you to grab and OD on the nearest food and drink. It was all headache-inducing and quite avoidable, she felt.

Noise pollution aside, that loudness is a reflection of the times we live in. The person who shouts wins the argument, the biggest horn on the Delhi roads makes people move (not the siren of an ambulance), the most extravagant advertising campaign sells the goods and even gathers goodwill. If you’re not seen and heard, you might as well not exist. We have collectively become the me-me-me generation.

Blank Noise, an organisation that encourages women to be present in public spaces, in an effort to say these belonged to all, encourages a silent being. You don’t shout or make a speech, or even a statement — you simply show up and occupy a space. Today, even though sloganeering is a part of the anti-CAA/NRC movement, it is the many who don’t say too much who make up the crowd. They stand silently in support, paint pictures, hand out food. Deepika Padukone said nothing at JNU — she came. Unfortunately, we value such people little.

When I was a child, I was a bit of a wallflower — always considered bad. “Speak up,” I was often told, while I quailed in the corner, hoping no one would ask me to. As a society that has now suddenly found value for silent retreats (everyone wants to do a 10-day Vipassana course), we don’t do so well appreciating people who don’t say much, brands that work quietly without the PR amplification, NGOs at the grassroots who don’t do media sound bites.

As the noise pollution rises, at many levels, we get more and more stressed, feeling the need to cry out louder than the next person, organisation, community. Perhaps if we all just did our work quietly, we’d feel at peace with ourselves and the world, less in competition with other people, and more in tune with our own bodies — minds, heart, and soul.

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