Sunshine is free, noise is not
Winter mornings are a rare blessing. The sun finally decides to visit, and we step out armed with newspapers, tea mugs and fragile hopes of silence. But just as we settle into the warmth, the neighbourhood orchestra begins—uninvited, unpaid and unbearably loud.
From the third floor, a voice announces life updates to the second. The second floor responds with equal enthusiasm, ensuring the entire colony remains emotionally invested. One wonders why mobile phones were invented when balconies function so efficiently. Oblivious to the fact that others are also seated beneath the same democratic sun, the commentary continues. Sunshine, after all, is everyone’s right—but apparently, silence is not.
Children sit with books open, pretending to study while mentally counting how many times “arre sun lo…” and “aapko pata hai…” echo through the air. Elderly residents seek a moment of calm. Readers attempt to finish an article. Some of us simply long to sit with our thoughts for five blessed minutes. But peace, it seems, has become an outdated luxury.
And just when the balcony broadcast pauses for breath, the outside world joins in. The road clears its throat. A fruit vendor announces seasonal wisdom at full volume. The ganne ke juice wala arrives with his musical machine, squeezing both sugarcane and silence dry. The dustbin collector follows, ringing his bell like an alarm no one requested. Somewhere, a horn screams unnecessarily, reminding us that patience has officially vacated the city.
Music, too, refuses restraint. One radio drifts through FM nostalgia, another blasts a carefully curated playlist, and a third insists on devotional fervour at concert volume. The irony is hard to miss—in an age obsessed with personal space and privacy, public noise enjoys absolute freedom.
Perhaps this chaos reflects us. We are louder, faster, more impulsive. Our patience has thinned—mine included. Even those racing to work, longing for that rare holiday, find it hijacked by sounds they did not choose. Nature invites us to slow down, to listen to birds, to feel the gentle warmth of the sun. Yet we feel compelled to add commentary, background music, and live narration.
Maybe one day we’ll realise that enjoying life does not require an audience. Until then, winter sunshine will remain free — and peace will remain optional.
The writer is an English Faculty Member at Yadavindra Public School, Mohali
