Descriptive Writing - Busy Train Station in Delhi

It is a hive of activity. The crowd diapason from tourists to locals to pick pocketers to people who were starting new lives – with their all their possessions on their backs, ready to board a train, for the canards and tails of a novel, a new, a nourishing new life. Swallowed, by the bold buzzes, the babel and bluster – I sit silent amid all pandemonium. The blare of the gossip of people, chattering and cackling, is a vivace, a forte, a polyphonic overture in music. And following would the bold horn of some polluting locomotive or the like, would sound of a thousand trumpets being blown across your ears. It is the fortississimo. And then came the clatter and squeaks of the rail and the rusting metal wheels of the carriages, as they rushed towards me at cumbersome, but dreadful, affrighted speeds. The corners would be blanketed by this announcer, with a parroting and terrifying monotonic, robotic carolling, with he or she, repeating the most dull and unintelligible informations. It is quieter than the pianississimo, but in effect is louder than any fortississimo. Such will become the musicians, the bass, the percussion, the woodwinds, and strings for, that compose and collect for the loudest orchestra I have ever heard. There is a balmy feeling, but a juxtaposing bleak feeling. There is families reuniting, but always a sharp, penetrating and frigid feeling that pierces me. I am alone, in the midst of hundreds of people. People of flamboyant colours, colours of fruit and having of the symphony like flowers, crawl, and inch out of the paint-peeling carriages. I could see the air being sucked away by the free victims of the boa-constrictor of a carriage. The humidity rapidly rose, and I felt like I was sick. The flowers had withered and even in the stomach of the boa constrictor, would have had more air to breathe through then here. I squeezed through those horrid doors that would soon slip and close improperly. I gauged each step, skimming between the endless amounts of luggage. My legs screamed for a break, and I managed to purloin a hard wooden seat – that had seen better days for certain. A quick jolt, and I saw the platform inch further and further away, as the hydraulic doors struggled to close. I put my head to rest against a scratched pole and closed my eyes.