My old man always used to say to me, “start as you mean to continue”. So that is exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to have a whinge, a moan, a good old fashioned grumble. What’s your beef, you might ask. Why do you want to fill one of your first blog entries with negative comments? My answer to you is that I’m British and complaining is what we’re best at. In fact, most people are disappointed nowadays if they meet someone from England and are not greeted with a barrage of whining. We like to indulge in self pity at the wrongs that have been done to us on a regular basis.

Add to my nationality the fact that I currently live in India and you will realise that this is the perfect cocktail for continual and incessant complaint. The locals here must think I’m a right grumpy sod. And they’re probably right.

Anyway, I was walking home from work last night and, as I turned the corner, I saw a sight which filled me with trepidation. Immediately in front of the building where I live, lots of men were scurrying around like ants, putting up some kind of structure. Nearing the hive of activity I realised to my horror that they were erecting a temporary temple. This could only mean one thing – noise. And lots of it.

That evening, as I relaxed in my room, I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that, even though many people were hanging around the temple, the kafuffle was not disturbing me greatly. Maybe I had been too hasty in assuming that these people would carry on their celebrations with no regard for anyone else. I had heard someone muttering something unintelligible over the PR system and a few Hindi songs had been played at a reasonable decibel level, but nothing too extreme.

At around 11pm, the time when it becomes illegal to play anything over a loud speaker, I decided to go to bed. No sooner had I put my head on the pillow than it started - a cacophony of sound which seemed to be aimed directly at my window. A live band was playing traditional, along with some contemporary, Hindi music, and a guy was mouthing off at the top of his voice as if it was the middle of the day. If I had been having a conversation with someone in my room I would have had to shout – that’s how loud it was.

When I closed my eyes, had I not been trying to sleep, it would have been an awesome experience. The volume and proximity of the music was such that it seemed as if the musicians were actually sat around my bed. I could hear the keyboards and singing ever so clearly and could have sworn that the drummer was sat just to my right, by the door. It was quite surreal. For about 5 minutes I tolerated, and almost enjoyed, the occasion. But then, when I realised it wasn’t going to stop any time soon, I started to get a bit irritated.

As 2am rolled around with no let up to the celebrations I was wondering if there was any way I could force them to put an end to the racket. But I realised that any attempts I made, legal or otherwise, would result in a severe beating from the locals, falling out of favour with the particular god they were worshipping and a great big wheelbarrow full of bad karma.

By 4am, as the ruckus still hadn’t showed any signs of dying down, I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be tired and moody at work the next day. And then, finally, at 6am, the music relented and the compere ceased with his inane drivel.

I have never known as much peace and tranquility as I did right then. My ears were ringing, but the silence was golden. I soon drifted off into serene slumber, only to be woken by a hawker at about 7am and my alarm clock at 8.

Oh India, what joys you abundantly supply me with.

Posted by Andy on Friday, October 19th, 2007 at 2:46 pm.