I’ve been thinking about sounds a lot lately. The sound of the zipper closing on a suitcase used be my favorite. That sound meant travel, it meant leaving from a place, going to a new place. Once the zip was closed, I was ready. I was ready to move to Mumbai, Bangalore, Chennai, America even. The world was open once the suitcases were closed. I am the packer in my family. For as long as I could remember, I had a knack for fitting things into suitcases. It was one of the first things I got appreciated for in life, can you believe that! And every time I packed a suitcase - I would be excited for myself or for whoever it was that was taking the suitcases with them. As I got older and my travel became international, my favorite
sound was the thud and click at the emigration counter in India. Passport, visa, and boarding pass passed through the tiny hole in the screen. A photograph and then I would hear it. Two stamps, one in my passport and one on the boarding. I would be filled with joy, excitement, a giddy feeling of anticipation for what comes next – after the awfully long flight, of course. I’ve never crossed my country’s border in any other way, so the emigration counter is the only border I know. The last stop before I go international, to live the dreams I have always dreamed, to fulfill the plans that I kept making over and over again.
I’ve known for a long time now that we associate sounds to memories or feelings or incidents. Every time I hear Ghajini songs, I am right back in a jeep, driving through the tea estates of Munnar with my family. Every time I hear Narasimha songs - I am a little girl dancing in the living room of my parents’ house in Nallakunta. Every clap I hear, every slogan, every bike acceleration, every moan or whimper reminds me of something or someone or some place. I don’t know if sound associations are as strong for everyone, but I almost feel some sounds in my bones. I remember words and phrases people have told me, in celebration, in sorrow or in vulnerability, like they are my own personal bible. I have song lyrics for almost every instance of my life. There is a background sound for my life and only I know what it is.
Back to the two sounds I started with, though. I have been thinking about them, because they have become my most feared sounds now. I stopped myself from crying when I closed the zips of my suitcases 5 days ago, when I left from India. I needed to be strong enough to get out of the house, actually check-in at the airport! But I started crying when the emigration officer stamped my passport in Delhi, I was going to get on that plane one way or another, at this point, so why pretend strength! All the emotions and experiences I associated with the idea of leaving, of travel, seem too small now, compared to the emotions and experiences I am leaving behind. My mind has overridden the associations I have with those sounds -now they mean silence, loneliness, fear, anxiety, and newness in all the worst ways that it could be. I am not sure when and how home started to mean more to me than the rest of the world, but now that it does, the sounds of leaving are simply terrifying.
I guess what I was really thinking about was the fact that life changes so much in our twenties, and we don’t even know how and when that happens. The very same sounds that used to excite me, now cause anxiety. The very same place that I tried so hard to leave is now the only place I call home and want to be in forever. It’s almost funny how the only constant sound right now is the sound of my own voice reading out loud the words I have written.
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