In one of the rooms which are made specifically on the rooftops, away, aloof from the world, where even the winds come swirling in unsure and unconfident strides.. where only those kinds of antisocial people reside on whom rest of the world has given up hope on, and more importantly, those who have given up hope on the rest of the world, in quite nights when a cold wind is gripping the world outside,making the ceiling-fan in your room unnecessary, something which might’ve obstructed you from noticing other, fainter sounds ever present in the background. The same winds forcing people deep into their cosy beds and quilts, in arms of their loved ones, babies and pets snuggling up to their mothers and owners and lovers trying to disappear in their partner’s bosom, by hugging them tighter than they usually do, you hear the sound of some distant horn blown on a far away road, carried all the way to you by the gushing winds, along with the howls and cries of dogs and other nocturnal animals , living out their daily, often overlooked, primordial struggle for existence, and maybe a guy talking over on his phone , softly, yet quite distinctly as he paces up and down the narrow passageway by the side of his house,his conversation over phone made all too clear by the dead silence of the night, and you can make out he himself is talking to someone he loves, someone in whose embrace he might like to disappear in, in these cold nights.
Sounds of distant horn of trains leaving and arriving at the nearest railway station reach you too. All these ambient ‘noises’, which remain more or less the same no matter which city, which part of the country you are in , as part of an ever existent background setting,unchanging, at-least in comparison to our time frames , i.e moving and changing too slowly for us to notice, still always present there, right at the corner of our perceptions, our daily struggle to pay the bills, our worries and hopes , our success and failures, our dreams and our realities.
Only on these special cold nights, when everything stands still, except for that cold breeze that is blowing outside , you notice these sounds and realise that your place in the world is not defined by the post that you hold in your office, or the money that you have in your bank account, but by the people you collect along your way in life. Because only those who truly care for you, make the world for you.. rest of it is just .. ambient ‘noises’ and surroundings , unconscious and uncaring of your existence or your absence in this vast vast universe.