I stepped out of the auto-rickshaw into a deep silence...
India is, by and large, a noisy place. The people here are exuberant by nature. There are countless religious festivals. There are marriage ceremonies lasting three days. There are pujas for every occasion. All of these festivities are celebrated with rituals involving colour and food and aromas. Above all, though, they involve noise. The more noise the better, it would seem. The firecrackers are ear-shattering. The sound systems are big enough to keep a large town awake, albeit with horrendous distortion that makes one wince with every blast. And then there is the singing: everyone has a go, usually shouting into a microphone as if the aforementioned sound systems are not loud enough. To ensure the whole party is not interrupted by a power cut, ancient portable generators are cranked into service, adding a surreal thudding background beat to the cacophony.
If, by chance, there should be a pause between festivities, then the ceaseless honking of motor vehicles ensures that there is no danger of a moment’s silence. Whereas in other countries use of a horn by a motorist might be a rare occurrence, here in India it is the norm. Most goods vehicles even have ‘horn please’ painted on their rear end, as a genuine request. Incredible India, as the tourist slogan proudly proclaims!
Silence in India is, indeed, a rare thing. Yet here in the foothills of the Himalaya, high above Dharamsala, I have at last found some peace and quiet. And my whole being is bathing in it, soaking it up as a parched garden drinks rain. I can feel the silence. It resonates somewhere deep within me. And with it, waves of energy pass through me. Along with the mountain air and vitalising water, the forests and the waterfalls, this silence nourishes my soul... I am lapping it up.
