Spice of Life | Of silence, sirens and small gestures that saw us through
In times of conflict, our greatest strength is not just military might but our capacity to care, to protect, and to look out for one another. A kitchen light turned off in time, a call made at the right moment, a cup of tea shared in silence, these are the real acts of courage
War times are tough. There is no poetry about them. No matter how often we hear the words, stay calm and follow a routine, there is a heaviness in the air — as if silence itself carries the weight of a thousand fears.
You wake up with worry and sleep with it, too. There is a helplessness in the air. You don’t feel like starting anything — no new project, no TV show, even the most mundane acts like writing an email, watering the plants, or making a cup of tea — are suspended in an invisible web of dread. It is as if life is paused mid-sentence, waiting for some news. Any news.
The war does not just happen on the border; it seeps into your rooms, sits at your dining table, and lurks in your hallway when you turn off the lights.
The first time the air raid drill happened in our neighbourhood, it caught everyone off guard. Many lights were still on. Someone nearby even burst crackers, perhaps out of ignorance. There was confusion. Social media was no better, filled with a mix of panic, half-truths, and hastily forwarded messages. Yet, amid the noise, something else was happening too — learning. Posts about blackout drills, safe shelters, and what to keep in emergency kits were being shared by responsible citizens. Misinformation had its place, but so did awareness.
For all its flaws, social media started becoming unexpectedly useful. Amid the noise, responsible voices emerged, sharing blackout rules, torchlight etiquette, safety tips, etc. Awareness that did not shout, but whispered gently from screen to screen, from one neighbour to another, until it became a quiet readiness.
The other night at 12.30am, a call from my neighbour startled me: “Your kitchen light is on.” I rushed to turn it off. A small gesture, but it made me realise how watchful and caring we had become for each other in these dark times, literally and metaphorically.
Another night, the electricity went out at 2am. I was working on my PC and in the dark, instinctively walked out to the terrace. The narrow alley lay draped in quiet darkness, but something caught my eye, the faint glow of a light at my friend’s house at the far end. I called him instantly. Within moments, the light went off. No words were exchanged beyond a ‘thanks’, but a new kind of bond had formed, one forged not by festivals or celebrations, but by mutual concern and wartime wisdom.
My elder brother, who lives in a large, close-knit society, often tells me how life there has subtly changed of late. The residents, belonging to all religions, not only share a postal address but also a deep sense of community. Under the gentle guise of brunch or evening tea, they gather in small groups. The conversations are simple, sometimes about groceries, other times about keeping children engaged indoors, but beneath those ordinary talks lie an extraordinary purpose: To spread calm, share positivity, and stand together.
One thing is clear, war cannot be romanticised at all, but we must remember what we’re made of. The war may dim the lights, but it can never dim the human spirit. In times of conflict, our greatest strength is not just military might but our capacity to care, to protect, and to look out for one another. A kitchen light turned off in time, a call made at the right moment, a cup of tea shared in silence, these are the real acts of courage. We may not be able to stop the war, but we can stop the darkness from entering our hearts.
And that, perhaps, is how we can survive it. dhiraj.pbiuniv@gmail.com
The writer is faculty of business studies, Punjabi University, Patiala.
