How Loud Is Too Loud? Honking, Small Talk & Quiet Streets
When my parents visited Portland, the first thing my mother said about our neighbourhood was not about the trees or the tidy sidewalks. She stepped outside at 8 a.m., listened for a moment and whispered, “Is something wrong? Why is it so quiet?” For someone raised on the sound collage of Mumbai, the silence felt less peaceful and more like a power cut.
💡 QUICK INTEL
India Soundtrack: Honking, vendors, calls to prayer, TV serials through windows
PNW Soundtrack: Rain, distant traffic, occasional leaf blowers and sirens
Stress Point: Each side thinks the other’s baseline is unhealthy
Reality: People adapt to the noise they grow up with
India’s everyday volume settings
In Indian cities, sound is public and layered. Auto drivers lean on horns as a form of sonar, announcing themselves to pedestrians, cows, cyclists and drivers who drift across lanes. Street vendors sing their sales pitches. Loudspeakers announce weddings, festivals and political rallies. Television sets argue across apartment buildings, their dialogue leaking into the lane.
This is not pure chaos. It is information. A sudden silence can signal something important, such as a power cut, a protest or a cricket match at a critical moment. Children learn to sleep through it. Adults judge disruption not just by decibel levels but by intention. A neighbour’s song at 6 p.m. is fine. Random construction at midnight is not.
Why West Coast quiet feels like both luxury and pressure
On the West Coast, especially in suburban areas, quiet is treated almost like a shared resource. Noise ordinances limit construction and loud parties. Car horns are used sparingly. People lower their voices in cafés. On a morning walk, you may hear your own footsteps more than anybody else’s conversation.
For immigrants from India, this can feel like a deep exhale. Sleep improves. Nervous systems relax. At the same time, quiet can amplify loneliness. In Mumbai, a bad day was softened simply by the sounds of other lives nearby, pressure cookers whistling, kids arguing about homework, the ice cream cart bell. In Portland, a bad day can echo in a very empty-feeling street.
West Coast Indians: volume knobs set to “it depends”
Indian families in the Pacific Northwest adjust their volume in both directions. At home, they may talk loudly, laugh over each other, turn up music for Diwali and let kids run around at family dinners. Outside, they instinctively lower their voices. Children learn that jumping in upstairs apartments late at night can produce a politely worded email rather than a neighbour banging on the ceiling once and moving on.
When they return to India, the full-volume soundscape can be thrilling or exhausting, depending on how long they have been away. Some crave the racket. Others travel with earplugs and noise-canceling headphones packed alongside the gifts in their suitcases.
“India taught me how to find privacy inside noise. The Pacific Northwest taught me how to find anxiety inside silence.”
— Priya
The Verdict: There is no single correct volume for human life. Indian cities use noise as social glue. West Coast towns use quiet as a promise of order. Learn to read both and you may start to appreciate a honking traffic jam as a sign of life and a still, misty morning in Portland as something more complicated than emptiness.