I hardly ever hear them. The sounds of the night. Sleep, that knits up the raveled sleave of care arrives faithfully at bedtime, spare yarn and needles handy, and works diligently through the night. But quite understandably, she has her days off. Then insomnia sneaks in, making me toss fretfully at her strange presence. Over the years though I’ve learnt to treat her visits as an opportunity to make friends with the night. To understand its darkness and to appreciate its silence.

Surprise awaited. For the night is not all calmness and tranquility. While humans sleep, the night awakes—not just to hushed whispers and muted murmurs; but to chirps, yowls, and screeches! Sounds buried in the din of day ring clear and true. Its a journey of rediscovery as my ears acquaint me with the passing sounds of the night.

creaking doors and leaking taps

Peace descends as televisions are switched off and people prepare to retire for the night. Doors are closed and latched, bolts fastened, windows slide open or shut. The gate leading to the swimming pool creaks on its rusted hinges; somewhere a door slams shut with a loud bang. Soft footfalls upstairs, the sound of a chair being pushed back in place; a muffled thud as something falls. A leaky faucet drips somewhere—every drip amplified in the silence, each drop an accusatory reminder of waste!

Closer home, the gentle rustle of the window curtains swishing in the pre-monsoon breeze. Soon it will mingle with the intermittent soft drizzle of rain. The branches of the cassia tree scratch against the window pane, looking to stretch their leafy arms. The ticking of the clock in the dining room, the whir of a ceiling fan and the steady hum of an air-conditioner somewhere.

voices in the darkness

As the background decibels fall, so do the voices of the after-dinner strollers. Low murmured voices float up, soft and intimate, the words indistinguishable. A young couple perhaps, with a moment to themselves.

Not everybody is sensitive to the serenity of the night, though. A minute-by-minute monologue by somebody who has had a very bad day at work strikes a discordant note in the darkness. The tirade trails off round the corner, leaving stillness in its wake.

A car eases into the parking lot. Its a family returning home after an evening out. A child’s voice, plaintive and sleepy, the mother’s gently soothing as she coaxes her home to bed.

Another family bids goodbye to its guests. They’re full of cheer, good food and bonhomie. The goodnights and goodbyes are repeated many times over, over much laughter and the last-but-one anecdote!

creatures of the night

The gecko chirps happily on the verandah wall, its belly full after its dusk feast. There is a noisy flapping of feathers in the cassia tree as the harsh security lights disturb the sleeping crows. Pigeons shuffle in the nooks where they roost and settle down again. The steady background chirping of the crickets, the occasional screech of a night jar, the hysterical call of the easily-alarmed lapwing.

A sudden volley of excited barks as the community dogs chase each other (or an imagined intruder). Occasionally the night is pierced with the eerie yowls of a catfight. The new sounds of the night as the creatures of darkness awake.

travellers of the night

The ever-diminishing flow of traffic. Each distinct and identifiable. An occasional motorbike roars by. The steadier purr of a passing car. A heavy lumbering truck. The unmistakable piercing air horn of a luxury night coach. The rhythmic rumble of an approaching train as it devours the miles hungrily. Louder and louder as it comes nearer… and the dying echoes as it speeds away. A last whistling adieu as it disappears—taking people to known destinations and unknown destinies.

The bed creaks as I move, the papers on the desk rustle in the breeze. Snatches of song from a smartphone as the security guard settles himself to a night’s watch. A hush descends. This is the quietest part of the night.

the approaching dawn

As dawn approaches, the early birds awake. A tentative caw, then another. Others join in and soon the dawn chorus is on air. The melodious call of the koel, the harsh squawking of the parakeets and bright warbling of the bulbuls, louder by the minute.

Chants of a morning prayer, the chiming of temple bells. The call of the muezzin to the faithful. Brisk ‘good mornings‘ as enthusiastic walkers and joggers tot up their day’s quota of steps.

The persistent ringing of alarms in different pitches, tunes and volumes, for varying lengths of time. The impatient tring-tring of the newspaper boy’s cycle as he hurries through his rounds. Milk cans clanging. (Yes, the doodhwala is still very much around, though he now rides a noisy motorbike!) Voices calling to each other, sounds of running water, pressure cookers, doorbells, hurried footsteps, vehicles revving-up.

The sounds grow louder, intermingle and flow into each other till they become indistinguishable individually. The clamour of the morning drowns out the subtle sounds of the night. The world wakes up to a new day.