Saying it with flowers

Over the rest of the half-hour journey he kept coming back to me with a flower, explaining in a tense, jerking voice what each was. 8220;Black Rose8221; was one. 8220;Dip in hot water and drink like tea,8221; he advised. Another he said, smelt like honey and was drunk in warm milk. Yet another flower8217;s name was lost in translation, but was good for headaches. 8220;Natural aspirin8221;, he said.

His name was John, he was in his mid-20s and was an artist. He said he painted nature and often plucked wild flowers to hand out to strangers. I told him to visit India: there would be many opportunities to pursue his inclination. I wished him peace, he gave me a deep namaskar and I went on my way, sleepless but fuelled by flower power.

It happens in Germany too

The reason for my late night on Tuesday was the spectacular collapse of traffic and public transport that followed the match in Dortmund. Getting from the stadium to the station was an ordeal because the surrounding roads were completely clogged; the first media bus was an hour late, by which time there were a couple of hundred journalists waiting to board.

That was nothing compared to the mess at Dortmund station. The place was a sea of humanity, Churchgate at rush hour several times over. All services were stretched; the food and drink stalls were selling water at double the price; the line for food at any stall stretched for at least half an hour; the Deutsche Bahn help booths were unapproachable. Even the police were stretched; for the first time I saw them in action, catching one half-drunk man, throwing him to the ground, squashing his head to the floor.

There was one train going my way, it was the last connection and predictably it was full to overflowing. Nevertheless I got on and found space for myself; incredibly, the police soon began motioning for the people to keep pushing inwards or the train wouldn8217;t start. Incredibly, still, space was created and the train took off an hour late. Then the fun started. We were told that the train was, in fact, going only halfway to my destination so I could get off there and try my luck or get back to Dortmund and try my luck. I8217;ve been stuck in the middle of nowhere once too often to want to try it again so I opted to stay in the train and go back to Dortmund.

This could have been very grim, given that it was the end of a very long day, but German humour yes! kept my spirits up. They made fun of the policemen, using their flags to cover the windows so the cops couldn8217;t see in; they reworked their chants, directed two hours ago at the Italians, to make fun of their own plight. There was an ironic self-mocking that one thought was the preserve of the British; the Germans seem to have mastered that.

I was then adopted by two Germans who took it on themselves to translate the announcements and the jokes and generally keep my spirits up. I was, after all, a guest in their country. So when I reached my little village at 4 in the morning I was tired, yes, but happier for seeing this side of Germany.