Eveningness

How to even begin my first random rambling post? Today it’s all about something I hold close to my heart – Eveningness. What is this “eveningness”, you ask? First and foremost, is a feeling that we all hold deep within ourselves. From Penang to Hanoi, Kathmandu to Chittagong, Nairobi to Cairo—it’s the thing you sense as you watch day transition into night.

In some places, you will hear crickets start to chirp—that beautiful sound of tranquility, a natural reminder for our bodies to slow down and start preparing for rest. In others, you hear the quiet hum of motorbikes purring down narrow streets, the chatter of shopkeepers and the clinking of chai glasses as people stop to take a break after a long day of work.

Bicycles and rickshaws tinkling. Kids rounding up a game of cricket in the alleys. Calls to prayer. Chants and bells ringing from the temple. The sound of television sets blaring out of open windows as families start settling in. Evenings are quieter in certain parts of the world, which is why you can hear everything. It’s a bizarre kind of quiet though, in that it shouldn’t even be considered quiet by Western standards because of the bustling activity after sundown (especially in metro cities in the developing world). But the quietness I’m talking about is more of an atmospheric equation than a literal decibel one. It also takes into account people’s attitudes about observing changes in time and reacting to it accordingly. I’m talking about cities that sleep, not New York, Tokyo or Hong Kong.

Aur toh kya, I also think there’s a direct causal relationship between being able to notice the transition of your days on Earth and feeling alive. It may sound like some Imtiaz Ali mumbo jumbo, but the older I get, the more it makes sense.

By adopting the consciousness of eveningness, your newly awakened senses will also be able to detect subtle (but dreamy and delightful) seasonal changes. This I’ve experienced first-hand, so let me explain the basics of it.

In spring, the air is humid and filled with strange anticipation. If you’ve ever taken an evening stroll in spring, you’ll know that flowers produce an intoxicating scent the minute the sun goes down. In summer, the air is warm and jovial, even on rainy days. In autumn, it’s crisp and your surroundings become technicolour—even in the dark! And finally, in winter, you will be enveloped by a blanket of cool fog, the way Shahrukh envelops Aishwariya with his sweater in Mohabbatein.

It’s difficult to experience all this in a city that never sleeps like Hong Kong, though it does have its own unique moments. Maybe because once the lights and billboards are switched on, everything becomes so blindingly bright that your body can barely tell that time has transitioned. It’s hard to stop and take note of the fact that another day is coming to a close when you’re wired to constantly be on the move, constantly thinking ahead of the stresses of the next day. But not impossible.

This is where your active choice to live consciously comes in. On your next commute home, ditch your headphones for a bit. Look out at the gorgeous shade of indigo outside the train window. Listen to the sounds of your fellow (exhausted) commuters. Stop outside your building or estate and take in the smells and sounds. Enjoy the pheeling of being alive and experiencing yet another rotation on Earth!