The sound of memory

A common property in our ancestral house was an over-sized, wood-framed radio of Murphy make. Its height was one-third of its length and a p...

A common property in our ancestral house was an over-sized, wood-framed radio of Murphy make. Its height was one-third of its length and a portion of the backside remained open, through which one could see its wires and plastic covering.

It was a small wonder for all the grandchildren who were amazed by the way an inanimate object produced songs and music, which were the main items we heard. However, what we enjoyed was the radio itself and its mascot — the beautiful face of a child with wide eyes.

It was not unusual for those few in the village who owned the radio to switch it on to full volume when the station opened with the customary ‘‘Vande Mataram’’ and later when it moved on to the favourite film songs which were replayed with many halts and run backs. Even the crackling sounds of the radio, when the transmission failed and power supply went off, were a joy to us.

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It was a stern diktat given to all of us that when it started to rain, accompanied by thunder, the first thing we should do was to switch off the radio. It was considered a privilege by all of us and we competed among ourselves to switch off the radio at the slightest hint of thunder.

Sound was not pollution back then, and no one ever complained about the high volume of the radio. No neighbour turned antagonistic or closed her windows on that count. No anxieties about brain damage or hysteria related to sound-induced diseases preoccupied anyone. There was no pop, rock or rap on the radio.

Sounds attracted people and never dejected them. They never polluted young minds. Songs or announcements on loudspeakers, which were sighted on rare occasions, attracted an immediate gathering in the village. It was the sound, not the subject, that raised an immediate crowd. There were no cinemas in the village and the idiot box sounded like a fairy tale.

The songs on the radio had no visuals and they led us into flights of imagination. We used to soar into the sky and then gently glide back to earth.