It is midnight and you are unable to put yourself down to sleep. You have tried all time-tested measures– you have sung yourself your favorite numbers to the point of being hoarse for you are too old to sing lullabies; you’ve re-narrated all your favorite bedtime stories for one never gets tired of listening to them; you’ve re-enacted all your favorite scenes from the movies; and of course, counted the sheep and the stars. And yet sleep remains elusive as all those vain things that you desire but know are out of bounds. So what do you do? You listen to the sounds around you. Sounds that remain subterranean during the day, come to you amplified on a sleepless night– a time when all other senses, barring the auditory, stay in a state of a lull.
The most prominent sounds that pierce the quietude of the silent night are those of the nocturnal creatures– the shriek of the owl and the chirping of the crickets. Bards and songwriters across the globe have acknowledged the significance of the owl’s wails in dirges and laments. David Mallet, American singer, and lyricist, writes,
The wailing owl screams solitary to the mournful moon…
The owl perhaps hoots to express his solidarity and comradeship with the insomniac as also to the moon. The crickets on the other hand are highly industrious creatures and therefore continuously rub their wings together to produce the sound from the nearby bushes even in the dead of the night.
The most annoying sound, of course, is the ticking of the clock. A few decades ago, when the mobile had not yet replaced the humble alarm clock, you would often hear it ticking away the seconds, the minutes and the hours, sitting smugly at your bedside table while you twisted and turned on the bed desperately trying to catch at least forty winks.
The less said about the leaking faucet the better. Whether it drips in the bathroom sink or the kitchen sink, the agony it entails is totally unbearable. You curse yourself no end for not calling in the plumber in time and only realizing your folly when it becomes a constant nagging in your head. The tormenting thoughts go something like this…
Drip, Plop, Drip, Plop, Drip…
In the humdrum of daily existence
Nobody bothers,
Nothing reminds,
No one complains.
The monotony of life carries on
Muting the monosyllables.
And yet you cannot ignore their presence
Stuck in the deafening silence of the night
When sleep evades you like a treacherous, slimy creature,
A flippant butterfly on a luscious bloom
A chirpy sparrow on the sloping eaves.
Drip, Plop, Drip, Plop, Drip…
The leaking faucet drips rusty tears
Maybe blood soaked.
Who knows?
Only the faucet that shudders and leaks
And the heart that squirms and bleeds.
But the cherry on cake belongs to those low rumbling and grumbling sounds that emanate from the deepest recesses of your stomach when it is too late for another dinner and too early for breakfast. These gastronomic pangs add fuel to the fire as you now become a night prowler, foraging for the leftovers and those midnight snacks that you would care two hoots in broad daylight! You satiate yourself with that last piece of bread that no one wills for; or the long-forgotten namkeen lying ignominiously in a jar placed at the most disadvantageous place or those stale biscuits that have lost all freshness and crunch and taste like wet dough in your mouth.
There are, of course, occasional sounds of the rustling leaves and passing vehicles– the motorcycle whizzing by, the dull roar of a car engine and the shrill whistle of the scheduled train. However, the most pleasant sound is that of a midnight drizzle that slowly ebbs you into a peaceful slumber and the next morning you wake up to an unexpectedly agreeable morning and sigh…
“The sounds of the night, still comfort me,
Just like when I was small.
With the advent of morning, they usually flee,
Back over the garden wall.” (Juan Olivarez)
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