Garland

Like an immense metal caterpillar, the train slowly chugged into the dusty, crowded platform. Clumps of people formed at various points along the edge of the grey platform, while others incessantly moved to and fro. Like always the platform came alive when the reddish-brown head of the immense striped blue worm pulled into view. Tea vendors and book hawkers and sellers of nick-knacks and quick snacks awoke from their standing or sitting slumbers. The more experienced among the red shirts ran to the end of the platform eager to make it to an unattended door before their competitors. Families numbering close to a dozen waiting impatiently suddenly hauled their suitcases and briefcases and bags and started to run toward the approaching beast and realizing that their compartments had passed by reversed direction as abruptly. Somewhere a man in khaki banged loudly on a bell made of a piece of railway track even as the nasal sing-song voice of the operator echoed the arrival of the awaited.

                At the head of the train two cars down from the engine, a crowd waited dressed mostly in white holding garlands in their hands. An obese, dark man descended from the air-conditioned musty insides of the dark-glassed car, wearing immaculate, pressed and starched white from head to toe except for the dark, branded shades over his eyes. He smiled a white, big-toothed smile from under a thick black mustache that in spite of all the attention poured over it still managed to show off some white roots. Cameras clicked somewhere as the group of men rushed to garland the walrus of a man even as some lunged toward his feet. The garland was paper and orange, layers upon layers and all had the number thousand upon them.

                Four cars down another group rushed to meet another man in white, bearded and long-haired, smiling as well. The crowd was chanting prayers to the heavens; to save them from the white robed one some would think. But the prayer was the one that he himself had taught them, and as before they lunged to garland him, to touch his feet. Palm open, smile turned to full, he greeted them nodding, his wooden sandals clacking on the bare concrete. When not nodding, his head swayed to the rhythm of the chant as he led the group slowly away the huge white bunch of jasmine wearing down on his shoulders.

                Seven cars along, on the other side of the car marked “Pantry” a young upstart grinned as an old man dressed in silk put a garland of scarlet on his neck. The garland matched the color of the silk turban that the ray-ban wearing youth wore, his golden watch shining in the afternoon sun. Behind the old man stood the shy bride-to-be waiting as the garlanded’s friends cracked lewd jokes amongst themselves. The humble father put a tilak on the forehead of the eager groom even as his mother cast a few stern glances at the blushing bride. The smell of the roses danced with the raucous drums and the drunken friends as the wedding party headed out.

                At the end of the worm, from the hot, humid human box known as the “General Compartment”, a young boy got down, again dressed in white. Bald he was save the tiny knot of hair at the back, wearing a soiled white kurta and an even more soiled white pajama. He clutched a photograph of a smiling man, congenial features, a broken nose. Soft, smiling eyes and a wide grin adorned the face frozen in the brass frame. A wailing woman came out of the silent crowd gathered at the end of the platform where the concrete slopes away to meet the bare earth. She put a garland on the photo, brown and made of imitation sandalwood.