The din of our apathy

In this noisy city, voices are lost, subdued or crushed under the feet of the running mob. Not just the voices, but also the cries, the complaints, and even emotions are trampled. Anyone who comes to the city loses themselves in this swarm of voices. Not only do they forget themselves, but also tend to lose track of their surroundings. The car horns, muddled music blaring from the tapes of the buses, motorcycles without silencers and the rickshaws roaring past enters our heads from one ear and leaves from the other. The din that the sirens of the rushing police vans and ambulances make; the racket made by protesters and their slogans; the tumultuous noise of the gunshots, heard in times of anger have now all become the norm in times of happiness. In other places, one hears the ruckus made by generators running day and night, or motors providing water supply to the residents.

Everywhere, there are beeping mobiles and computers, or the sound of the azaan from countless mosques, or the timely, untimely use of the loudspeaker by the Maulvi Sahab. There was once a time that televisions and radio sets were perceived as being dangerous to faith. Now, these two appliances have been taken over completely by these Maulvi Sahabs, who create a storm of noise that is transmitted to the public through TV and radio.

There was also a time when music used to be melodious, and soothing to the ears. But now it has turned into a cacophonous collection of noises. Neither can one hear the singer’s voice, nor can one recognise the instrument being played. When one tries to watch a show, there is nothing to watch except arguments, yelling matches and weeping.

That leaves us with news channels that find it difficult to get ratings unless they torment your brain. Talk shows are just another form of wrestling that one may watch in the comforts of one’s home. Those who used to provoke fights, and then resolve them in the neighbourhood are now being hired at a hefty salary as talk show hosts. If a talk show host can make their guests use the highest number of expletives to degrade their guests, as well as provoke them to do the same in return, then that TV host gets paid the highest amount. Today, the members of this group are earning in millions, and are simultaneously enabling the public to release their hatred, watch someone being degraded and harassed, and helping the masses by fulfilling their desire of cheap entertainment.

The inclination towards insensitivity, detachment, and torture is increasing everyday; human beings are turning into monsters, ever ready to gobble each other up. Of course this has not all happened in a single day, but has been a slow and steady progress. Technically, we wait for a single month, during which we attempt to control ourselves, as well as control our anger and hunger. But even that doesn’t last the entire month; we end up losing control on the very first day of the month, again becoming more than ever ready to gobble each other up. Silence is a form of worship; but our worship gets suppressed in the ruckus created by a screaming maulvi.

It is the noise that fills the city dwellers with bitterness, and kills their finer emotions. It fills the people with an insensitivity that not only blocks out the noise from their surroundings, but also prevents them from hearing the noise that exists within them. Their own cries are then sacrificed at the altar of noise. Everyone only thinks of themselves. The holy month has barely begun and two women have already been trampled upon when a group of women stampeded in a rush to get aid.

When city dwellers run towards the sea in order to rid themselves of the noise of the city, even the poor sea watches the people in astonishment. Instead of listening to the melodious sound of the sea waves, people bring humongous decks along and play noise in the name of music, strengthening the monster within them. There are also those people who own big cars, and like to drive their vehicles at full speed on the Seaview road. They apply brakes suddenly, and the friction between the wheels, tyres and the road adds to the noise in the atmosphere. These people enjoy this, and the fact that their friends praise them for their prowess in this.

This is a strange fix that the nation has become addicted to. Whether it is a happy news, the sighting of the moon for Ramazan or Eid, if someone’s getting married, or someone had a son, or even if our cricket team wins by mistake, or a leader’s death by the very hands of his mourners. No matter if the news is happy or sad; our feelings must be expressed by aerial firing. Large amounts of money are spent in the guise of bullets, merely within a few moments. There was once a time when rose petals used to be thrown everywhere to celebrate, but sadly, now we have thrown our refinement and aesthetic tastes into the rubbish bin.

The rubbish has become a part of our lives. Whether it is a park, mosque, home, an eatery, or a place to drink water from, and even the beach, not a single place has been left untarnished. Whether walking, driving, travelling in a car or bus, or on a motorcycle, everyone is spitting paan everywhere, colouring everything red as they go. Then they pride themselves on their culture. I shall throw the rubbish, but someone else must pick it up. The government is responsible for it, and I’m not the government. Those who are in the government have come down from the sky. My job is to contaminate; cleaning is the job of those who are paid to clean after me.

What actually is my job is not my concern. I have become so insensitive that I can sit near an overflowing gutter, and drink tea, and eat chaat. If I don’t get a seat on the bus, then I can easily travel on its roof, because I must get home anyhow. I also have to leave for work when it is still dark in the morning. My children hardly ever see my face during the week, but what can I do? I must work, or I won’t be able to provide my children with the simple food that I feed them. Life is merely passing in all this noise, despite the decided lack of water and gas supplies. The gutters are overflowing; there are rubbish dumps everywhere; while the noise continues to increase daily.

Those who still remember the trees, the greenery, the water, the waves of the sea, and the chirping birds, those who know that silence itself is a form of worship, are probably moving away from here one by one, while the city continues to lose itself in the garbage dumps, concrete blocks and a sky clouded with smoke, reverberating with noise of the gunshots.

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