The first thing you notice when you step off the plane in India is the noise. It hits you like thunder on a clear sunny day – unexpected, loud and definitely not subtle.
After my recent trip to Ahmedabad and Mumbai, I’ve come to realise that noise is not just a part of life in India; it is life. It’s like the soundtrack of the nation, playing 24/7 with no volume control.
Ahmedabad: Dogs and nighttime serenades
The Gujarat city welcomed me with undhyu (a mixed vegetable dish), dhokla (spongy snack), kite flying and a nighttime cacophony of howling dogs.
The stray dogs of Ahmedabad, it seems, have formed their own nocturnal choir. They howled, growled and barked in unison, with a long sustained howl operating as the occasional solo performance. Forget Spotify, I listened to this canine choir every night with eyes wide open.
Out of desperation I lashed out to my friend: “Why don’t those dog squad vans come and collect these mongrels?” There was a hushed silence. “We do not do that here . Animals have a right to live freely too,” the friend said.
“Alamak! While the rest of Ahmedabad slumbered to their lullaby of nocturnal howling, I went barking mad!
Mumbai: Honking, yelling and everything in between
If Ahmedabad is an overture, Mumbai is the full-blown orchestra. Every car honks, not just once, but repeatedly, as if honking is a form of Morse code.
It’s not just cars – buses, auto-rickshaws and even pedestrians join in.
Crossing the street feels like navigating a minefield where every honk is a warning, a greeting or sometimes just a honk for honk’s sake. Behind trucks is a board hanging “Horn Please OK”! I couldn’t understand that. An invitation to honk?
And let’s not forget the people. Conversations in Mumbai are never private. Whether it’s in a crowded cafe or an enclosed elevator, you’ll hear people discussing their children’s grades, Alia Bhatt’s latest blouse cut or stock prices at a volume that could wake up the dogs in Ahmedabad.
Why so loud?
The question that haunted me throughout my trip was: Why do Indians speak so loudly? Is it a cultural thing? A survival mechanism in a country of over a billion people? Or are they just making sure everyone within a 5km radius knows what’s happening in their lives – a sort of precursor to Instagram?
Indians are passionate communicators. Talking isn’t just about words, it’s a full-blown performance. We are not whimsical whisperers, we are ballsy, opinionated, megaphonic proclaimers of the truth!
In Indian families, everyone is involved in everything. Loudness ensures inclusivity – even the uncle next door knows what’s cooking for dinner.
Noise in India is not seen as a nuisance; it’s a way of life. It’s almost as if Indians have an internal “loudspeaker” switch permanently set to “on”.
Others blame Arnab Goswami. If you’ve ever watched his show, you’ll know that speaking softly is not an option. Goswami doesn’t just debate, he declaims, ensuring his voice drowns out everyone else’s – even when everyone else is also yelling.
How do Indians bear it, you ask? Indians are masters of selective hearing. They can filter out the chaos to focus on what’s important – like ignoring the honking to hear the vegetable vendor’s daily deals or tuning out the street noise to catch the latest cricket commentary on the radio.
By the end of my trip, I was yelling too. At first, it was to be heard over the din. But then, it became second nature. I yelled at auto drivers, yelled to order chai, and even yelled while talking to myself. It’s as if the noise seeps into your soul, turning you into a louder, more assertive version of yourself.
Back in Singapore after my trip, I had to stop myself honking at every signal by clenching my fists and muttering to myself: “Daisy, this too will pass!”
A symphony of life
As overwhelming as it is, the noise in India has its charm. It’s the sound of life – messy, chaotic and unapologetically loud. It’s the heartbeat of a nation that never stops, never slows down and certainly never quiets down.
For one, silence is overrated. Noise, in all its chaotic glory, is a reminder that life is happening all around you. It is infectious, invigorating and, dare I say, addictive.
Also, I’ve learnt to appreciate the art of yelling. It’s not just about volume; it’s about timing, tone and conviction. Indians have mastered it, and honestly, I’m a little jealous.
Finally, I’ve learnt that noise is not just sound; it is emotion. It’s the joy of celebration, the frustration of traffic, and the passion of a cricket fan insisting that Rohit Sharma should give up the captaincy: “Bahut mota ho gaya hai yaar (he’s too fat to be captain).“
It’s everything that makes India, well, India.
In quiet Singapore, this perceived loudness might come across as unusual, but it is not ill-intentioned. It’s just the way people connect and bring a little bit of their home culture wherever they go. And let’s face it, wouldn’t life be a little less vibrant without the energetic chatter?
P.S. Slept like a log in Singapore yesterday… AHHH no noise!
