The Noise

The Noise(Vinod) It was the fall of 2013. The time was around quarter to nine in the morning. Cool and pleasant air flew across the beautiful boulevard. Rows of Jacaranda trees had been shedding their flowers during this time. Some flowers looked yellow and some others looked light blue. A few of them were still falling as I moved.

I was on my way to work. I had taken a shortcut road approaching the direction where I imagined the English Language center was located. Now my bike moved through a residential area. This place wasn't any short of trees. The road seemed darker since the trees from either side hugged each other and hid the sun from seeing the road…

What a spectacular view that was. Let me introduce a city also known as the garden city of India. I am thinking what you are thinking. Yes, it’s Bangalore. This part of the city where I am right now is called kamanahalli. The one place where you can see lots of foreign students who come for studies. I often used to remind my office colleagues and teachers that the actual name could have been yemen-halli, since the majority of people who come for studies are Yemenis. The hard core Arabic speaking population. All the English teachers wiped their eyes after a thunderous laughter.

As I just went over a not-so-huge hump, I experienced a minor chest ache. As if some invisible force went through right under my shoulder blades, exerting a huge pressure deep inside my chest. My chest ached so badly..I was puzzled! What could have been the cause of such a pain. I continued the ride till I took a left at an intersection. At the parking space while I was pushing the rear of my bikes seat to lock the document compartment, I realized why I experienced, what I experienced a few minutes ago.
I was out of pain completely until after so many quick massages on the left chest.
With just a little comfort, I entered my work place.

It was time to leave. After a long strenuous, exhausting day of my teaching job, I switched off the lights, fans and the computer. Then after I had entered my signature in the register I unlocked my bike and after I had kick started it I headed towards the same route to the residential area.

As I went over the same hump again. Nothing occurred to me this time, though I became very nervous. I couldn’t feel that chest ache again. The road ahead seemed busy with lots of people standing at the gate of a house. It seemed like there was a big function happening. I honked the horn for about 5 seconds. Since the people had hardly moved, I held the horn button for about 6 seconds. Then I frustratingly passed through them.
The one thing I always didn’t like was that when public use roads they use them in a way as if they are walking at home. They don’t care about the two wheelers. They don’t care about any vehicles to pass. They don’t care about how much of the road they occupy for walking. But something was strange here. Though this area I was riding through was a residential area, I was aware that the people out here were educated and sensible.

When I reached the end of this road intending to take a left, I stopped my bike and stared behind. Half a dozen people (I think family members) were carrying an elderly person on a chair to the road (outside the gate). The man looked very white. His eyes shut and gone deep inside. There was a pair of cotton inside his nose. He was in his late fifties. What made me stare was the loud noise from the drums. “So this was a burial ceremony”, I said to myself. This home where the ceremony was taking place was about thirty-feet away from where I experienced that chest ache. Was that pain anything to do with what I’ was seeing. I waved my hand ignoring my stupid thought and raised the accelerator again.

That night I couldn’t get proper sleep. I kept rolling in my bed. Unlike other nights, I could hear disturbing noises outside my home. I had been perspiring till I got up to wash my face, hands and feet; and wiped them with the towel. The room was pitch black. I walked up to the window near the end of my bed and leaned and placed my chin on the window and tried to observe the unusual noises that I had been hearing.

A raven had been cawing for the last ten minutes somewhere in the middle of the dense mango tree. The tree was next to my building. My neighbor’s dog had been hauling for the last couple of minutes. If you stood close to the window looking outside, you could see the hanging leaves swaying near the window. I tried my best to change this scary subject and wanted to get some good sleep because it was 1:30 a.m. I sat on the one end of my bed wiping my sweaty neck with a towel. This was the end which was next to the window.

Caw caw caw caaaaw caaaaw caaaaaaaw ! The raven had become as big as the size of my neighbor’s dog when it hit its beak and feathers on my window. The sound was deafening and terrifying. After it had hit my window it fell straight on the road hitting its beak; and lay there forever.
My shocked shriek was just a whisper of uh!,,,, I thought I got my first heart attack. Had I got my heart attack at that point of time, no one could have come for help. Because my shriek was just a whisper of ooooooh!... and the heart pounded so fast. I assumed that I was dead. I imagined my heart exploded like a balloon full of hot blood. Splashing all the blood around my room. Giving my room a metallic stink.

“Are you alright papa?” asked my 7 year old son, Steve, with so much concern on his little soft face.
“Oh! My baby” I gasped and said “Haven’t you slept yet?”

“I woke up, I saw a dog in my dream, papa. The dog was fighting with a black cat. The dog died and the cat meowed so loudly I began crying papa.” Tears coursed through his tiny face. His shock of hair style all stayed straight down as if he never had had punk hair style. He suddenly ran towards me stretching out his hands for a hug.
“It’s alright Steve. Sleep next to me tonight. It's alright. Don't you worry. I’m with you always. Why fear as long your dad is near” I said.

Every day is different for all of us. Just like the next page of a book. The next morning I had woken up rather early. I visited the nearest Roman Catholic Church. Stood close to Jesus’ statue, praying for his security, love, care, affection, attention and protection. Oh Jesus Christ let a portion of your halo come and protect me and my son. I didn’t realize that I had been at the church for an hour. Talking to the almighty with tears in my eyes. I wore a full sleeve white shirt, a black Italian leather belt, a pair of cream trousers. Black leathered watch around my white wrist. I took two steps at a time while walking down the stairs of the church. Turning back, shutting my eyes as a sign of a firm assurance from Jesus, then I turned to face towards where my bike was parked and leapt quickly to unlock it.

After I reached my home, I ensured that my son was picked up by his school bus. Then I locked all the windows and doors and hurried to leave to my office.

As I was about to cross the house where I had happened to see lots of people gathered the previous day, suddenly out of nowhere, a boy appeared on the right side of the road. The boy waved his hands, gesturing me to stop my vehicle. This boy was in his teenage. He was wearing a white dhoti. His eyes twinkled with two drops of water. Tears were coursing down his cheeks nonstop. He lifted both his palms, clasping them, stopping them across from the middle of his chest, He stooped a little and said in a sad voice “P.. p.. please (eyes shut tight) kindly do not honk horn. My father is no more with me. All because of this god damn noise pollution”.
“I apologized for honking … but ... I don’t understand what you just said” I said.
“My father had been a heart patient for the past one year. He died of his third heart attack yesterday. Please stop this noise POLLUUUUUUTION!!! Just Go Away.”

I was stunned and at the same time saddened by the death of an ailing father.
“Was I the cause of the man’s death?” I said to myself.
That boy meant “I had killed his dear father”
The previous morning scenes flashed through my mind endlessly. I felt the DAY, when I learnt about an old man’s death and I was the ONE who was responsible for that cause, was the last day on earth. My eyes red and swollen and with a heavy heart, I approached my office entrance.

That day at office, I couldn’t really work well. It was the twelfth of April, I wondered why the day before wasn’t a thirteenth day of April. Because the Americans believe that the number thirteen was an unlucky day. The place, the face, the tears, and the cursing voice of that young boy kept flashing and echoing on my mind. Was that experience real or a prank or was it just a night mare. I just wished it to be a night mare. I tried opening my eyes, but I just couldn’t.

I was relieved that it was all nothing but a night mare. Nevertheless, I couldn’t open my eyes. They were locked. Heavily locked. I felt someone from that dead man’s family did some sort of magic on my eyes. As though they came and sprayed some potion out of a bottle which looked like a perfume bottle. Leaving me behind my dark eyes for ever.

I thought I had been sleeping inside a chamber of horrors forever. But someone did open the window at the far end of the room. Then I could see all my students, who had been chattering before, dropped their jaws at the same time and stared at me. The silence was so deafening, more than the noise before. I think I was soaked with a bucket of my perspiration. I instantly jumped up to leave and reached the door. Just before closing the door behind me, I turned around and pushed the door a little and put my head between the door and its panel. As if I was peeping inside without being noticed.
“Hello everyone, ' m ve ve very so rry my dear students. I'm ill I have to go.” I said.
I could only see blank faces and blinking eyes. Some of the eyes didn’t blink, but just stared at me, signaling that none of them understood of what I just told them.


I wanted a half day off. I decided to speak to my boss. While I was walking towards my Managers cabin, I also decided to put all those unpleasant experiences to paper. I must certainly write the whole situation in my diary tonight. I wished I could later publish this story in Readers Digest. Letting the millions of readers to know what I had experienced. After releasing my agonizing thoughts and experiences to my managers, I hurried to get my bike.


Soon I was on the national highway; surprisingly I didn’t honk at all. The journey was very relaxing and lovely. I wished every day could have been like that day. After I had written down everything on to my diary I shut my eyes and lay down on the bed. Although I didn’t work even half a day, I felt as if I had been working long and hard and sleeping for less than an hour. My feelings made me fatigued ever since the day when I had had a conversation with that boy. I strongly wished that Sophia was lying next to me, empathising, listening, consoling and telling me, ”It’s alright honey, come give me a hug. Let all the stress and hard feelings go off with this one tight hug." I saw her on my left, lying, resting her head on her palm and her ankle touching the bed. Facing me as if we had been talking for a while. I also could see an imaginary cloud of dust disappearing. The dust here resembled all the pain in me. It, truly did go off with a hug...
Shutting my eyes, I decided, I decided, I'm not gonna honk ever.


My boss, Miss Regina Raman, was shouting at me at top of her voice. Her big pointing eyes bulging, her coffee-coloured teeth growing in size, her neck stretching higher like a crane in search of a fish in the pond. As she yelled at me while I was still asleep, the nerve on her left neck looked like a worm swimming in her hot blood. Some how, a big drop of warm spit fell on both my eyes. I had been watching her temperamental show through my mind’s eye. Her spit was very effective, like her commanding voice. I sat upright on the chair. I realized that I wasn’t at the workplace, but still on my bed instead. It had been raining like cats and dogs. It had been stormy as well. The gale force had sprayed water on to my face long before I could get up. The time was 10:30 am! A one and a half hours of delay to work. This meant I was going to be grilled by Miss Regina Raman in real.

After about 15 minutes I was on my way to office. I was aware that there were 15 missed calls from my school that morning. It had been raining so terribly that the roads weren’t visible. Here and there branches of trees were lying, and blocking the road a little. The wind had so much of force that it could throw me far. After I spotted where that hump was, suddenly a huge massive tree fell off right behind my bike. Just 6 feet away from its rear. My heart skipped a beat. “I might have been dead if that tree fell on me”. I said to myself.

When I turned back to see, I saw the road behind me was fully blocked. A full minute had passed before the rain and the wind stopped. The weather became so cool and pleasant. The road ahead was straight and long. it was about a kilometer long. Since I knew I was very late, I began riding my bike on a never before speed. The speedometer showed 100 km. I didn’t honk and looked away from the speedometer to see ahead and saw something I had never seen in my nightmares.


From the residents and nearby shopkeepers I came to know what really happened on that chilly morning. A huge garbage truck had taken a left on the far end of the road and was speeding towards where my dad had been coming from. I think he may not have honked or maybe the horn didn’t work at that moment. No one knew why there wasn’t any warning to such a horrible accident. My dad had banged his helmet straight under the trucks bumper with such enormous force that he died instantly. People ran out from their homes to check where the shocking banging sound came from. The truck had ran through him with its all 6 tires and stopped. The helmet tore apart showing His head for a split second and which was squeezed like a tomato eventually becoming flat. The body was full of broken bones. He looked like a small piece of Atta dough rolled by the truck before its put on the pan to prepare chappathi. The truck had rolled only one way and made a stop. The driver disappeared after taking dads wallet, gold rings, chains and watch.

I can still feel his presence around me, everywhere. All the time. Even after he died, he didn’t forget to come back to his diary to write whatever he had had experienced in flesh and blood.. His colleague’s Grace, Nicolas, Samuel and Mira and the remaining non teaching staff cried for days thinking of one of the best English teachers they had ever seen. A teacher who never complained about his personal problems. Always calm, composed and a stoic man.

“We all miss Victor very much” said Grace. She burst in tears when she saw me. She and many others who knew my dad might have been thinking who would raise me from now.

Fortunately at this age of 7, I had managed writing for a magazine and also to do my evening school. I managed to earn and at the same time learn at the school. That same school where my dad had admitted me. My eyes are wet always. Dad I know you were really disturbed in the last few weeks. Here I’m with my father’s true tragedy. Dad, I will always love you no matter where you are. I do know you are watching me from the sky. Your loving son, Steve.