Toronto Diary - Echoes of Silence

The house is still today. No noises. Only silence. It seems that all vibrations are gone. The vibration of Anshul moving about in the house with an electrifying energy. The vibrations of childish noises made by Viplav as he moved in his monkeyish manner from one corner to another: his loud shrieking, his quaking laughter, his pranks with me and his grandma, his jumping about from one sofa to another in precarious circus manoeuvres. Even the highly volatile Dylan, our pet dog, is queerly still .His furry tail which sways like a flag in a storm when he is in an excitable mood is lazily pitted on the carpet; Dylan is slinking morosely in a corner. Bhanu is deep in sleep in his basement den. 

The grandma is sullen. I am restless. I shift from one position to another on the sofa seat . Now I get up to pick a book from the book- shelf casually, browse through a page or two, throw it back,to pick another. It does not interest me. I put it in the shelf again.Wander in the room aimlessly and then once again take my position in the seat over which I had a constant strife with Viplav. "This is my seat, Dadaji, don't sit on it", he would bellow, trying to elbow me out. Today there is no wrestling bout with him. The regular "capturing" game we played together at least twenty times a day is also not to be played today: he would ferociously jump on my lap and I would put my stranglehold on him, saying: "I have captured you now. You can't get away!". And he would try hard to wriggle out until he slithered away, laughing boisterously and mocking at me: see, I am free. You can't capture me. 

Even the the T.V.is silent today. There is no querulous debate on the so- called mainstream channels, no political commentators to speak sweet homilies or, alternatively, spew venom against their targeted opponents. Not even a movie to watch. I can't watch my favourite History Channel or even a crime thriller. There is some problem with the internet; it is called Ethernet in this part of the globe. I am curiously reminded of my BSNL days in India when the Wifi would suddenly go into a coma in the midst of some very interesting programme. And then would I beseeching request some BSNL official to restore the service at the earliest. Never would it be restored, though, until and unless I would "request" the lineman. The lineman would always be " busy" at the DC's residence or at some very distant part of the city. Only my hinting that his hand would be duly greased, would make him scurrying to reconnect me to the magic world again. 

With no internet connection is gone the connection with the world too, as it means no Whattsaap, no Facebook, and no telephonic interaction with friends and family. Only silence, eerie silence. 

Silence is all the more overwhelming, as our neighbourhood in Toronto is,otherwise too, without much noise. The windows are soundproof. Not much interaction with the outside world, and hardly unwelcome socialising. The vibrancy of our own country is totally amiss here . No one casually drops in to have a cup of tea, here. यहाँ कोई नहीं आता और कहता: अरे यार, यहाँ से गुज़र रहा था, सोचा,चल हाल चाल ही पूछ लूँ । 

It is nothing but stony silence today . I am reminded of Estragon's words in Samuel Beckett's very significant existential play, ' Waiting for Godot'. Estragon says:

Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes. It's awful.

I am also reminded of an Urdu poet who pathetically laments :

सुबह की दस से रात की दस तक

न कोई आहट न कोई दस्तक

Another noted Urdu poet suddenly knocks on the window of my memory: 

मुद्दत से कोई आया न गया सुनसान पड़ी है घर की फज़ा 

इन ख़ाली कमरों में ' नासिर' अब शमय जलाऊँ किसके लिए 

The dark shadows of loneliness loom large on the heart. However, the silvery streaks of buoyant mirth plays hide and seek with my memory. The dark chambers of my mind illumine with the memories of the electro- magnetic smiles of my grandchild. Like the dark infinity of the sky which sparkles with a sudden streak of lightning before it drowns again in the pit of darkness, it envelopes itself in the fifty shades of grey with one or two brushful of silver! 

So, stillness reigns here in the house today. Anshul and Viplav are not here with us today. They have gone to India for more than a month. A long month for us, indeed! ThankAnd with them is gone all the tinkling, chiming noises which fill our little house with love, warmth, vibrancy - and sometimes,commotion.Noises and laughter are always better than a void. Stillness is deafening. Its echoes are maddening. Today, I crave for sounds, nay, noisy laughter. Today,only they can silence' the death- like silence in me and around me .