Silence has an array

"It is too cold!" calls my wife when my kid son joins me in my morning walks. December mornings are pretty cool at my rustic home. Our pet dachshund Rana has his share of morning exercise along with us. Both of them are too playful, and I have to keep a watchful eye, or else they might pull each other's leg on my blind eye.

Occasionally they go to the backyard, and suddenly there is silence. I call out both names with no response. On hurrying my pace, I get to see either the dachshund bathed in the cold tap water; the poor one grabbed by the collar with no chance of escape.  Or else both of them rolling in the mud. That silence is a sure sign that they are up to some mischief.

Most episodes of the silence of a kid are a sure escapade to mischief. There is an initial moment of anxiety for the parent. It transforms into a (dis)heartening sight of a Picasso on the Teflon coated drawing-room wall. 

Silence has an array of emotions. It is haunting when we lose someone in the family. The very same silence in the family can be very irritating when the spouses have a row and come together at the table for dinner. Good Heavens! Seconds seem like ages. 

Silence is a powerful emotion; the best amongst them is happiness. Haven't we noticed the pause in a song? It is much sweeter than the original melody itself.

To know how silence depicts happiness, we needn't do great things. Just pop a candy or something you love eating into your mouth. The moment you cherish the taste, close your eyes to a lovely darkness, shut off the world to silence yourself, and feel the happiness of savouring your favourite delicacy.