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Sylvia Khan

The Huns have been let loose on the unsuspecting hills of Mahabaleshwar

There are homes where there is a pervading sense of peace and tranquillity. Not much noise is heard and things are in their place. Where, if you want a glass of water, you don't have to look under the sofa for a glass. Our home is not one of these.

Someone once described our home as a cross between Churchgate station at rush hour and a live rock show.

That's not so far off the truth as I would like it to be. The unsuspecting visitor is hurled to the wall by Gun's 'n' Roses shrieking at him. By the time he realises that he's not the test victim of some sophisticated new weapon of mass destruction, he wishes he'd had the forethought to call his lawyer, since he has obviously entered holocaust territory.

One of these raging screaming productions is always on display in the common areas of our happy home. This, despite constant entreaties to the brute brigade to commune with their adored siblings in their own space. And all this is just a few words on the noise.

Consider this. Nine people. (Yes nine - it's not a typo). Each one contributes two or three pieces to the general clutter. What do you get? Not a problem in an elementary math class, but a humungous, bottom-incised-when-least- expected kind of mess. Nail files, half-eaten sweets decaying quietly under cushions, books, (yes, there is a downside to reading), screwdrivers and pliers forgotten, but poised to puncture the unprepared.

It's all there. All over the house.

My children tell me with unshakable logic (and bodies) that if it bothers me so much, I could just put it away myself. I do. Sometimes. But try this every day, for nine people, some of whom should be counted twice, not only on account of their schizoid behaviour, but for the amount of junk they generate. It's not possible.

My dominant fantasies now revolve about lazing in bed, reading, or watching a movie which doesn't involve oceans of red paint, dismembered corpses, naked women or the next millennium. I dream about listening to music that I love and tunes not drowned out by an eternal cacophony. But, most of all, I want to listen to the silence between euphonic sounds. It burns me up that these are things that most people take for granted in their own homes.

Oh, I do have those other urban fantasies too. The ones where one can open one's window onto greenery - trees rather than mouldy walls, or someone's loo. Someone you wouldn't want to hold a conversation with in the lift, forget being a part of their morning ablutions. Include some birdsong, a couple of flitting butterflies and the stream gurgling gently in the background, and that rounds off the picture.

But the immediate need was for some lazing, peace and quiet. Away from the loving arms of my family. I decided to put the trees and brook on hold, and go for the possible rather than the ideal.

"Darling, you need a break," I said to my husband, with concern for myself mainly in my mind. Of course, he responded correctly. No one ever says, "No, I don't. I just slack off at the office. I don't need a break." "Yes, I do," he groaned. "Things have been so bad at the office, I'm really stressed out."

"I have an excellent idea," I murmured in my superb Marilyn Monroe imitation. "What do you think of cool green mountains, swimming pool shimmering nearby, trees everywhere?" "Where do I sign?" my lord and master said, laughing in happy anticipation.

"Leave it to me," I replied. That's me - helpful, kind, considerate.

I checked with the kids. No, they had no plans. Yes, they'd love to go to Mahabaleshwar. Was I kidding?

I was not. I meant steely-eyed business.

A few phone calls later, the hotel was alerted to my family's imminent descent on them.

My whole world was quivering with anticipation.

Friday afternoon, at four pm, the car was fortified with petrol and my children. My husband leapt lithely into the driver's seat and bellowed for me. Would I kindly hurry up? I was making everyone late, as usual. I leapt blithely into view, brandishing a red bandana and a twelve inch grin. "I'm not going!" I warbled tunefully, already the uncaged lark, "You guys go ahead and have a great time!"

"Hey, hey, who's going to organise our food?"

"Who's going to pick up after us?"

"Who's going to put together our swim gear and floats?"

"Who's going to pack for us?"

I was touched by their desire to spend quality time with me. I gave them my best encouraging smile. "You are my poppers or, if you find it too hard, you can ask one of the maids at the hotel. She'll help you!" That made sense to them, they were off.

They were off, and would be back in a couple of days, and I would be glad to see them. But meanwhile, here I am. Hun-free. Noise-free, schedule-free and care-free. I'm on vacation.

Illustration: Dominic Xavier