A scrim scarf

One of two pieces of scrim scarf given to me by my father when I was a little boy. The green piece is long-lost; but somehow I hung onto this one.  

Used many times to keep shirt-collars away from the dhobi-wallah for one more day; then pulled from my neck to cover my head, for the procession round the Golden Temple; then the queue on the stairs with the pilgrims, for dhal and chapatis; then sitting in hungry, snaking rows on clammy linoleum, in the huge white-pillared dining hall.

Then a man walking sideways along the rows - toe-heel, toe-heel - ladelling dhal from a bucket onto metal trays at our feet, in perfect rhythm with his steps, spattering buttery dots on the cuffs of our trousers.