The Last Flower WalkThe road was blocked with the people - most were the guests and relatives with the sullen faces, who threw the flowers on the ground and directed the traffic. Others were people from the street, strangers, gapers, shopkeepers and residents like me, who came up close to the road to say the farewell to a stranger. I even don't know if it was a man, a youth, or a mother.
India is a very colorfull, many-sided, a country of contrasts, cheer, sounds and smells.
If it is not a Hindu festival, a marked Muslim holiday or a wedding, or a religious procession, most likely it is a funeral with the firecrackers, shouts, drums and a trumpet.
In the noise of the street full of buses, honking auto-rickshaws, bikes and cars, shouting man and drums - my heart found a very short moment of silence, where I pondered on the life and death.
We, as a human race, may represent different political views, religious beliefs and practices, may have very opposite perspectives on life and how things should work - but these two- life and death - are the two constants that will always keep us so similar, and so human.
This diseased stranger was carried on a truck, completely covered with hundreds of flowers, with a toll flower frame over the body, that touched the electric wires on the streets and became the cause of the traffic jam.
I don't know the story of the stranger, nor the cause of his death, but I said good-bye for his last walk on this earth.
I turned back to return to the yard of our Petra Park residence. Life kept going. The gardener worked on his lawns. The guard watched the gate. Kids were running. I was sure that very moment a new child was born into the world. I prayed and walked with my baby, holding him tight to my chest. I will long remember the strong aroma of the flowers that surrounded the 'dead life' and I wished that my life was marked with goodness; goodness towards others, understanding and forgiveness.
