Free Finding Arun by Marisha Pink Page B

into the car and drove away, leaving Aaron alone
again.
     
    Bhubaneswar railway station was small and bustling,
its yellow façade shining in the sunlight when Aaron passed through
the arches into the ticket foyer. All about him was a whirlwind of
activity, but when he queued to enquire about the next train to
Puri, he felt the pace around him begin to slow, all eyes fixing
curiously upon him. The strangers openly stared, unashamedly
drinking him in and loudly discussing their observances in a
dialect that was completely alien to him. Younger women sat in
tight clusters, whispering and giggling while they stole shy
glances in his direction, and the men appeared to be sizing him up,
unsure whether or not he posed a threat to them.
    Aaron found himself staring straight back, equally
enthralled by their unfamiliar choice of clothing and suddenly
aware of his distinctly western dress. The women wore beautiful,
deeply coloured, richly patterned cloths, draped gracefully over
their lithe bodies, and their necks and arms were adorned with
sparkling jewellery that clinked together, creating a sweet
jingling sound, when they moved. A few men wore loose-fitting
shirts and jeans, but most wore lightweight tunics, trousers, and
even the odd skirt, in pale colours far better suited to the heat
than Aaron’s own heavy clothing. In his fatigue and haste to escape
the airport, he had not truly looked at the people of Orissa. He
had deliberately avoided eye contact so as not to have to engage in
unnecessary conversations, but now he was transfixed. The people
were unlike any that he had previously encountered and strangely he
found himself able to imagine his mother with more clarity than he
had ever been able to achieve before.
    ‘Hello, thank you, where going?’ bellowed the
cashier, waking him from his trance.
    Aaron returned to the present and, relieved to
discover that the cashier spoke English, began to negotiate his
ticket purchase. Compared to the transportation escapades that he
had experienced so far, Aaron was able to procure a ticket on the
next train to Puri with relative ease and surprisingly little
expenditure. Thanking the cashier for making the transaction so
painless, he proceeded quickly to platform two as instructed, where
the Dhauli Express, the train that would carry him to his
birthplace, was already approaching the platform.
    Beginning to adjust to the Indian way of doing
things, on arriving at platform two, Aaron was unsurprised to find
it crowded with people standing, sitting and laying wherever they
felt the inclination. It seemed that everyone in Bhubaneswar was at
the station that morning, whether they were making a journey or
not. Passengers huddled around the information boards attempting to
locate their carriage numbers, whilst porters in crimson shirts
skirted by, oversized luggage balanced precariously on their heads.
Narrowly avoiding a collision with one such porter, Aaron jumped
onto one of the second class carriages and squeezed past the
disembarking passengers in search of a seat, careful to avoid
clobbering them with his backpack.
    He walked relentlessly up and down the four cramped
carriages, but no seats were available and with reservations not
possible for his class of travel, reluctantly he was forced to
stand. Towering over his fellow passengers, standing only served to
draw more attention to Aaron and he noted that people were freely
staring at him again in wide-eyed fascination. Yet they were unlike
those that he had observed inside the station, appearing less
well-to-do and more plainly clothed. Feeling a little embarrassed,
he smiled nervously at those that caught his eye; a gesture that
quickly seemed to work to his advantage. Before long a young
gentleman had returned his smile and sidled up so closely to his
neighbour that he may as well have been in her lap. He patted the
space that he had cleared beside him on the bench-style seating and
wordlessly encouraged Aaron to sit down.
    It was