Right now when I am writing this blog, winds are whistling in my
residential society. It's as if they wish to woo someone close by. But I know it’s
not that. The winds, sometimes in the year just want attention.
Some of the glass windows of my apartment have unwillingly opened
up with the force of the wind. God knows what the purpose of such a force is.
The winds in the NCR are the strongest I have experienced on an average in my
whole lifespan. They are strong, noisy and I hear destructive. I can watch the
waters of the society swimming pool turning and wobbling only to be squashed
out onto the floor outside.
Sometimes these winds are accompanied by rain. But surprisingly,
most of the times spraying waters is not one of their complements.
Scientifically one would say it is the difference in pressure that leads to
such a phenomenon. But when one is burnt with the heat in the afternoons, the
cool winds in the evening wants one to be poetic rather than scientific.
Once I was a small child visiting Allahabad, the city of Sangam
with my cousin. I had faced the most destructive wind then. They were knocking
on the doors and windows as if they were police inspectors come in to take us
to the station for a committed murder. One of the windows would not close and
the rain and wind found a relished entry to the drawing room to the chagrin of
my cousin. A rope had to be fetched in from the kitchen to silence the uncalled
entry. We did not sleep for half of the night in fear and due to the thrusting
wind sounds. In the morning, we heard that the angry winds had taken some lives
as well, of poor slum people who could not find a place to hide.
The winds in NCR do not thrust like the police. They know to find
spaces to flow into and out from. It’s a delight to walk around the society
letting them flow through your clothes and hit your face, especially in the
heat of the upcoming summer. There is a quote I read once ‘The winds in the
field will take your sadness away’. This is true for me even though I never meet
it in the fields. Always thought this was from the Spanish poet Federico Garcia
Lorca. Now I can’t find the reference anywhere.
The winds are capable of producing all kind of sounds. Whistling
is one of them. Other is the sound of a whirlpool. The curtains wave as if they
are the mast of a sailing ship producing sounds from the sea. Sometimes they
sound like the waves of the sea reminding one of the time spent on the beach. The
musically tinkering sound of the decorations on a balcony of a flat just next
to me reverberates through the society. Sometimes the sounds of the wind are menacing,
a warning signal of the coming thunder and destruction. The intermittent sound
of the doors and windows dancing and clashing with the frame makes their
presence felt once in a while.
I love the wind as long as I am not stuck in a whirlpool.
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