I spent a decade or so in a building located next to a small colony of enthusiastic people who felt a desperate need to celebrate everything under the sun. They did this the only way millions of us are taught to — by playing awful film songs really loud for approximately 17 hours without a break. It was amusing at first until I began dreading the days when lights would be strung up and makeshift pandals would start to appear. I imagine it must have been a nightmare for residents in the colony too but wonder if they were ever given a choice.

So much of what we do in Bombay indulges our obsession with noise. Millions of us wake to the sound of traffic, a steady hum that only increases in volume as the day progresses, never fully subsiding even as we lay ourselves down to sleep. Millions of children, animals, and senior citizens cower under their pillows once or twice every month, as our festivals wreak havoc on their eardrums and sanity for years without a pause. Millions of us live our entire lives without ever experiencing the sheer bliss that silence has to offer, simply because we happen to live in the wrong corner of our city. There are hundreds of construction projects currently underway, and the sound of jackhammers will not subside anytime soon.