A typical line in mystery stories will be something like, “The scream tore through the stillness of the night.” But have we read, “The snore tore through the stillness of the night” too often? Both are impactful sound effects but while the former creates suspense, the latter tickles you pink. Santosh Bakaya looks at the vicissitudes of the power-packed snore.
Enjoy Morning Meanderings with a hot cup of tea or coffee and some cookies to munch on the food for thought. 😊 ☕️
One more 15th August had come and gone, and things were back to a non-celebratory mode. Sleepy eyed, reluctant joggers were plodding forward, yawning away, trying to knuckle away sleep kinks which resiliently clung to their eyes. The erratic rains and falling temperature had made people a trifle somnolent.
Dharmendra and Hema Malini….oops, I mean, Dharmendra and Meena, the enterprising couple had not made a fortune selling flags and balloons, but they had definitely earned enough to provide them with two more meals, the happy glow on their faces said it all.
Hey, what was that? The happy glows appeared to be under grave threats. The glowing couple had now unsheathed their daggers, and were shouting at each other, spewing fire and venom. And yawns. Prodigious ones.
“Yesterday night you were snoring so loudly, I was afraid the fragile walls would come tumbling down.” Meena was voicing her humongous indignation.
“Who was snoring?” Dharmendra raised a bored eyebrow, and yawned a huge yawn.
“You, who else?”
“What a joke! I never snore!” He retorted, thumping his right thigh and guffawing loudly.
“You are a snorer of the worst sort! I will have to build a separate room for myself.” Meena yelled, giving an angry toss to her hair.
“Do gubaarey kya bech diyey ab itni ameer ho gayi ki apney liyey kamra banayegi?” (So you sold a couple of balloons and you think you have earned enough to build a room for yourself, how silly!) This time he thumped his left thigh, guffawing with redoubled vigour.
“Have you ever heard yourself snore? The way YOU snore! In the village, I had once to tell the villagers that it was a donkey braying, when they asked me about the commotion in the house.”
Dharmendra was on the offensive now. Full throttle. “How you exaggerate!”
Her eyes were fiery. “You don’t even know it, but at one stage you were making such funny noises that I thought you would choke.”
“You want me to choke! Wishful thinking, huh?” He growled taking a few menacing steps towards her.
He had suddenly blossomed like a full-fledged dawn, and his eyes were twin suns, boring holes in her. The fight over snores continued unabated, but I had better things on my mind and from some corner, words from the autobiography of Malcolm X , echoed in my mind:
“I learned that pilgrims from every land – every color and class and rank; high officials and the beggar alike – all snored in the same language.”
Well, if our blood was the same and our snores spoke the same language, where was the cause for so much belligerence?
I walked on, ignoring the man sleeping soundly on an old sofa in the balcony of his apartment down the lane. But I did spare a thought for the predicament of his glass-framed ancestors hanging precariously all along the walls of his rooms as each of his resounding snores were making them visibly shudder while the accompanying shrill “pheeeeeww” left the sparrows sitting along the cable wire rather confused.
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