by Divya Ananth
It was a Saturday afternoon. Most restaurants were reeling under the pressure of too many guests, too many reservations, too many hungry families who were losing their calm, and too many parking woes. A famous restaurant in Chennai was battling such a demanding Saturday afternoon. Waiters rushed to take orders, ran between kitchens and tables, smiled and greeted customers, sometimes even got an ear full from annoyed guests for mixing up orders.
Inside the restaurant, one could hear the drone and buzz of people. A hazy, dull noise that was constant, medium-pitched and punctuated occasionally by a loud guffaw, or a wailing baby. It was an unmistakable noise. Of nothing in particular, but so palpable that a sudden silence would feel truly weird. Like the strange silence that befalls a room when the power goes and the fans stop.
This was no five star restaurant, where one hears only the stylish clinks and clanks of cutlery, and hushed sophisticated languages. This was a slice of humanity, having a good meal over conversations that ranged from elections to train timings to the searing Chennai heat to the wedding around the corner to shopping and inflation to school and education systems to TV shows to temple visits to recipes to practically every single conceivable topic in the universe.
Amidst the din and noise were couples who argued, masked by that safe drone that drowned their angry repartees. There were overly dressed women, belonging to a kitty party group giggling like teenagers, forgetting their homes and its niggling tensions for a few hours.
Seated bang in the middle of this ocean of organized chaos, I took in the sights and sounds. I have always been fascinated by people – the manner in which we conduct ourselves, the collective sub-conscious, our expressions, our adherence to certain unsaid rules that makes us want to belong, our single large movement through time and life, all of which crafts our civilization, shapes our language and moulds our children.
Lost in thought, I sipped my coffee in silence. My eyes fell on a twosome, seated at the farthest table from the entrance – a couple, well in their thirties, well-dressed and exuding an air of contagious mirth. How she laughed, head thrown back, water streaming from her eyes, and how he looked at her, eyes full of affection and joy. I couldn’t take my eyes off, because something about their conversation seemed very odd. At first I thought I was imagining it, thanks to the hum and whirr of the populace around me.
I looked on, risking being looked for looking. He was conversing with rapid movements of his ten fingers and two hands. His eyes made up for the loss of voice, and his hands were so swift that words formed as he drew designs in the air. The lady seemed to understand every single syllable (for want of a better word that translates syllable in a silent world) he expressed, responded with such ease of similar motioning of fingers.
What could they be discussing? About a film they watched? About the amusing faces babies make? About EMIs, grocery and other necessarily mundane things that plague us? About the waiter and others in that room with little idiosyncrasies? They could make fun of everyone as much as they wanted, and no one would ever know!
Did they ever have differences of opinions? If they did, what would they do if they couldn’t scream swear words? Or say I Love You to their child or to each other? Or cheer for Kohli during a match? Or express a happy tune in the heart? What would they do if an auto ran into their bike, and they felt red rage? If they met with an accident and had to call for help?
With every sunrise, the birds create such a ruckus with their endless discussions, the squirrels squeak, the leaves rustle. Language and conversations seem to be a birthright for all forms of life. Yet, here are a few with sight sans sound, and few more with sound, sans sight.
The din around me seemed to ebb away, like waves receding, rendering an ocean quiet. I tiptoe and stand at the threshold of their world, being awed by their lives of quiet. I try to tune into silence, but in vain! The voices from near and far keep ringing in my ears. I hear my babies’ infectious laughter, I hear the sobs, I hear the shrieks of surprise of friends, I hear the phone ring and a happy Hello, I hear the temple chants, I hear the angry quarrels, I hear life.
While we search for that elusive silence, would they yearn for sound? While we try to save relationships by saving our words, would they wish they could talk to create new ones? I wish they could hear and I wish we sometimes didn’t. What a paradox life is.
Their conversation continued. The man was such a joker, it seemed, because the lady just couldn’t stop laughing!
Divya Ananth is an advertising copywriter – a creative consultant. She simply loves to travel, and Carnatic music is her anchor in an otherwise crazy life. She’s also a busy mom of two adorable boys, and juggles cricket and tennis classes, organizes play dates and reads Geronimo Stilton with them. Writing, to her, is an intimately joyful experience.
Pic: https://www.flickr.com/photos/
Just loved the way you have explained your observations sequentially so well and of course more importantly penning about the silent couple. Very well written. Keep it up Divya. Proud of you dear.
Silent conversations- A very good & a thought provoking article by Divya Ananth. Keep writing such amazing pieces. Good luck.
Thank you so much
Very well written Divya. Its not like we do not encounter people and couples communicating with each other in a language special to them, but to draw inspiration from them and write something this beautiful can be done by only a few..
Thank you suna