
The noises I hear from my homes have changed drastically in the last few decades. Now, I can hear leaf-blowers, the occasional singing child or bird, or a car engine. Mostly nothing. Back then, it was sound soup: hundreds of honking cars, dozens of shouting vendors and barking dogs, then the explosion of a brass band leading a wedding procession.
I lived in Juhu, an upscale residential area in Mumbai, India, during a formative decade of my childhood. The seven-story concrete apartment block in which I lived housed around fifty families: I was friends with many of the children that resided above and below me. The back of the building looked out over Juhu Beach, a chaotic, sandy stretch of fairground rides, food stalls and many, many people. I spent evenings building sandcastles and digging holes, listening to the waves in the background.
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