India, decades ago. First Class carriage. Teen me. Leaning back against the thick windowed steel door ajar at the end of the bogie. Wind in my hair. Sideward hand holding the long vertical handrail. No one around. Train running at a fair clip. Countryside strolling by languidly. Green fields. Curving track. Distant engine between frenetic wheels and lazy smoke. Carriages a snaking caterpillar. S bend. Engine disappearing for a while then returning. Electricity lines paralleling. Eyes following their hanging arc from pole to pole, insulator to enamel insulator. Cows and goats grazing uninterestedly. Tiny scattered village huts, wells. Few bodies going about their chores. So little for them to see. So much to experience for me.
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