Morning voices

Morning voices. Queer.. and sometimes jarring but interesting.. these voices one can hear from nowhere if you care to come out before the dawnish darkness evaporates into morn. Perhaps one man from some high above flat across the street thinks that he is in a sound-proof studio and is yelling at his dependents. He starts in a low key and the crescendo suddenly picks up, perhaps he suddenly becomes vexed 'how many times he has to repeat over and over' or perhaps 'why this peculiar drudgery to him alone of all the world, with no escape'. He is not articulating all these but the sudden voltage in the shout gossips many tips to the ears. Perhaps we in turn may be doing the same opera to others' listening, sometime or other. But the self sufficiency of reason is so blinding or deafening rather, that all of us think that our each individual case is an exception. Generalised exceptions are what constitute the common crowd.

Or again, one hefty voice is heard in the dark of night that travels down the streets punctured by neons here and there. You think that definitely the voice-owner should be a hefty fella, out there striding in the boxing style. The voice is a very faulty brush for the canvass of impressions. You come to realise that in a rare sunlight, when suddenly a little mouse-like human being crosses you making the very same decibels and you have caught the voice-owner right there but he is a poor creature! How this voice is sticking to him you wonder! But such is the wonder domestic that you have to let go of your cherished mystery of the dark neon.

We are all living in impressions and if you are an advaiti, you will say that even reality is one big impression at last. The elephant is walking slowly, jingling its bells indulgingly. But the dog is terrified. It is reading emergency and the impression is too much on its barking.