The Sound of India

In the morning, the ravens caw like old men clearing their throats, harrumphing at the world.

They break the seal on the silence of the night. Soon a twitter or a chirp comes from every oak and apricot tree. The goldenrod grows higher than your head, and is so loud with the buzzing of the bees you might imagine a small engine is hidden somewhere within. The butterflies turn the marigolds into a living mosaic, alive with movement and color. In the distance, the neighbor’s cows mark the progress of their digestion with a gentle clanging of the bells hung around their necks.

Only the small brown bird that lives behind the mirror over the sink outside the dining room remains quiet. He intends to hide there, even as you come up to wash your right hand after a meal. But he is easily scared, and flits from behind your reflection. Aiming for the tree. Sometimes hitting your head.

When you leave Sonapani, you amble along a dirt path for a while through the pine trees along the ridge. There is only one sound there. The steady drone of the locusts is so loud you feel as though you are moving through it. A heavy, thick, viscous sound you can wade through.

Past the neighbors farms, past the fancy vacation houses of Delhi folk, past the Ashram gate… and finally you emerge onto the main road. Here you begin to hear what I think of as the sound of India: honking. Except that here, in the rural areas, you're likely to only hear one car horn at a time. The road is a only a little wider than the width of a truck, and climbs up and down the steep sides of the foothills. Sometimes it is paved. Sometimes not. As you head towards CHIRAG to work on the farm, or to teach class for the day, you walk in the middle of the road. If you hear a horn, you scramble to the side of the road before a car comes around the bend. Sometimes you walk along with a group of local children in uniform headed toward the school. They love to say "Namaste" to the foreigners. Sometimes they will also say "how are you?" and shake your hand. Many of the children are headed to the school at CHIRAG. If you like, you can visit the school. You can watch when they put on performances, singing songs from different regions of India.

As you walk back home to Sonapani, you'll pass by a tiny village. In the shop there you can by potato chips, candies, toiletries, or bulk grains. Or you can sit to have some chai. If you need anything larger, you'll have to find someone locally who can make it for you, or you'll have to drive for 3 hours to Haldwani, Almora, or Nainital. There, in the bustling big town, amongst the people and the cars and the bikes and the cows and the smog... you'll hear the real sound of India.