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The Rose In Her Hair By- Pratibha Kelapure At one time Pratibha's signature line read, "a mother, a poet and an engineer-- in that order." At the age of fifteen, she completed Rashtrabhasha Prachaar Samiti's Pandit degree with first place in the state of Maharashtra and discovered her passion for literature. Later on though she followed well traveled road to a science degree, marriage and move to bay area - California, where she has lived for past 22 years. She is a software engineer by profession, and a piece of code with imaginative, meaningful variable names moves her to tears. She retains a child's naivete, curiosity and sense of wonder about the world around her. Kindness is her philosophy in life.

Every morning at nine o' clock, I would see her coming around the corner, balancing a delicate purse on her shoulders and carrying the text books in her hand, and a colorful handkerchief neatly tucked in her sari. All the girls on 9:25AM local train to V.T., admired her sari draping skills. Slowly, and gracefully she would walk that usual walk to the train station. For several years I watched her take that walk in the morning.

I never had an opportunity to talk to her. The high school was in town and I never did take the train out of our little suburban town. School work and housework was enough to keep me busy. A little walk to the Ganesh temple or a visit to a little hill on the outskirts of the town in the evening was enough to fill my time. Those daily outings presented a chance to get together with a couple of faithful friends and exchange the news and gossip about other schoolgirls and neighborhood. My friend Mangala would come to my house every evening around six o'clock and prod me into getting ready and go for a walk. It was through Mangala, that I found out 9:25AM local train girl's name.

"Oh, that is Kunda. She lives in that two-story bungalow named Sargam. She goes to Ruia College. Last year of BA, she is studying political science."

Mangala informed me. Mangala had four older brothers in different colleges, so she practically knew the whole town through them, well at least the neighborhood girls, anyway. I was intrigued by the mention of bungalow Sargam. The front gate was covered with bougainvillea and jasmine vines. The garden had four different color rose bushes. A yellow one I always noticed in Kunda's hair. The porch had a large swing with a seat large enough for four people to lie down. In hot summer afternoons, while walking to Mangala's house I always stared at it longingly.

"That is how my house will be one day, full of flowers and I will wear flowers in my hair every day." I told Mangala.

That year Kunda graduated from College. Mangala and I completed eleventh grade, and took Matric board exams. In June, with our shining report cards, we too were admitted to prestigiuos Ruia College.

With that we two joined the ranks of the eternal suburban commuters. Equipped with quarterly third class commuter pass, we started our college adventure. 10:02AM fast train, that was what we took every day. It was later than the office workers commute. We thought that would give us a relatively easy train ride, but to our sad surprise, we found out that all the fisher women and the beggars and the plastic item vendors had taken over the later trains. Well being young and optimistic, we soon learned how to jump in the running train for the best seat or a best standing spot in the train. We learned how to ignore the fisher women's cursing and beggars. We learned how to hang on to our purses, and most of all how to run from the house to the railway station in ten minutes, to catch the train.

"Kunda has a pass for First Class." Mangala informed me.
"Oh, ok. It makes sense, after all she lives in a bungalow and now she has started working also." I rationalized. Travelling third class really bothered Mangala. For one thing, she wasn't strong physically and another, she wasn't used to hard labor. Hard labor, that was what the local train commute was for the suburban folks. But all the good colleges, all the offices were in V.T. or Churchgate. During afternoons, only housewives, retirees and school children were found in the suburban homes.

After only a couple of months Mangala started buying a First Class pass and our commuting lives were separated. We still took those evening walks, but only on the weekends.

One year passed, and I started feeling the strain of commute. Daily smell of fish and abuse from fisher women was beginning to get on me. To top it off, evening commute train was taken over by a group of stout women from Ambernath. Amberbath is the farthest stop on the train coming from V.T. One day, as usual, I jumped in the arriving train on V.T. Station, and first time, I grabbed a window seat. Even before I was completely seated, I was yanked out of the seat by a large woman wearing a huge salwar suit. Her large droopy breasts were hanging down and pulling her top down. She was chewing a paan.

"Are o' choori!, kahan beithati hain too? Yeh hamari jagha hain." She growled.

"I grabbed the seat. I got into the running train, this is my seat." I protested trying to hold on to my seat.

I heard a big sarcastic laugh. Four of five of those large paan chewing women from Ambernath, were surrounding me. They glared at me with a sharp angry and patronizing look and came to a quick conclusion. The tallest among them grabbed my arm, yanked me once again and all of them attacked the seats with their large behinds and immediately started laughing and talking among themselves.

Hot tears of shame and hurt trickled from my eyes. Once they had their seats, they did not see any need to taunt me further. Survival of the fittest, law of the jungle, law of the Mumbai local train commuters! People for generations had written about the plight of untouchables and mistreatment received by them. I belonged a whole new class of mistreated touchables.

"Kunda has a first class pass." I said to my sister.
"Kunda works." was my sister's response.
"Even Mangala has a first class pass." I pressed on.
"Well, it isn't worth it. During commute hours, it really doesn't matter, every compartment is flooded. Why waste triple sum of good money?" She reasoned.
"Yes, I know! but I am really tired of the third class passengers, anybody can walk in. At least in First class compartment, there are decent working people." I thought this was undebatable. "Well, we have to watch money more carefully. We are both in college. Father is hard pressed for money." She said in her maternal tone. I kept quiet.

For the first time, I felt a huge chasm between me and Kunda's kind. I knew, I was going to make a better life for myself, complete with flowers in my hair every day! But for now I wasn't one of the Kundas and Mangalas of the world. The thought saddened me, but only for a short time. The image of a well dressed confident woman with a yellow rose in her hair was too powerful. Some day I was going to be that woman and help make world a better place for everyone.

I admired Kunda's grace and dignity. She wasn't a beauty to look at. In fact she was downright ugly, but her manner and demeanor made her the lady that everyone admired. I finally met her face to face, by graces of Mangala. She was really sweet but reticent. I felt like I really did not now her. There was something lurking under her calmness, but I could not put my finger on it. "it must be an affectation with the affluent people." I surmised.

Evening train came to a halt slowly, herds of people jumped off the train, before it came to a full stop. I pulled my shriveled body and books from the train and joined the ocean of people on the railway platform. Mangala was waiting for me under the large station sign. This was unexpected, we didn't bother with these friendly gestures on a daily basis. Everyone was too anxious to get home and finally be a human being.

"Did you hear?" Mangal inquired gravely.
"Heard what?" I asked.
"About Kunda?"
"What about her?"
"She fell off the train in the morning. Inside the tunnel. It was dark, no one knows how it happened." Mangala said.
"Oh, my god, is she ok?"
Mangala shook her head, the look in her eyes told me what she didn't.
"She is gone?" I screamed.
Mangala just stared at me blankly.
"I don't know much. But I know that the train wasn't that full. The first class compartment wasn't too crowded from what I heard. Can't figure out how she fell." We both walked home with heavy steps and heart.

Couple of days later I met Kunda's train mate Smita on the evening train.
"One minute we were talking, joking and next minute she was gone. The tunnel isn't that long. Hardly forty seconds in the tunnel. For a minute we didn't even realize that Kunda was gone. It all happened like a dream."
Smita was still in a state of shock.
"The compartment wasn't crowded that day. Kunda was an expert commuter."
Smita just was trying to comprehend the whole thing.
"Do you think, she jumped off?" She said.
"No way!" I retorted.
"I know she wasn't happy." Smita said.
"Not happy? What do you mean?" I demanded to know.

Smita realized that she had said too much to a casual acquaintance, and she became quiet. I didn't want to pry. But I wondered what kind of sadness that calm and collected face of Kunda was hiding. All that contentment? Is ever happiness so elusive?

"When they found her, the yellow rose in her hair was still fresh." Smita said.

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