Sunday, May 13, 2018

Whistling winds in NCR

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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