The cat has been inside the house, behind closed doors, lying on the doormat. The sound of crackers haven’t been easy to bear. A brief lull in the storm and I lure her out with milk to her bowl. I pour the milk and she starts sipping. A round starts somewhere nearby, some 1XXX-wallah. She listens for a few seconds and runs inside the house, sits behind the door and looks up scared. I let her be inside for a while more.
Closer to 9:15 Pm, most noise has died down and she goes out, and finishes the milk. I have to bring her bowl closer to the door though. As I type this, she’s sitting outside the door, I check on her as there’s another big one going off nearby. She’s sitting there, just outside the door, bravely. If she’s near the door, she knows not to fear the noise.
As I type, my fingers itch. The smell of burnt crackers in the air inside the house too. Smoke hangs all over outside. There is the noise at random intervals. The saving grace is that the constant humming of crackers going off all over the city in the background is a thing of the past, hopefully never to be heard again. Things are much more muted and more sporadic. You notice the sounds more.
I woke up with a headache, as these sporadic bursts went well into midnight, despite the 10 PM curfew. At 3 AM I was woken up by birds tweeting. I’ve heard crows crow in the night, not birds tweeting. Maybe the stress of the crackers? One hopes not, that this is normal. There’s some weird feeling in the stomach. Maybe because of the sweets or from the general smoke etc?
If this is the state of someone who doesn’t partake in the cracker bursting ritual, tough to imagine the state of those who get it first hand, of those who are asthmatic or have other respiratory issues.
Makes one wonder, why do we do this? What’s the point of it all?
Give me Karthi any day. Quiet, windy winter evenings, with little lamps lighting up the house, the struggle to keep them burning, and pori-urundais to top it off.