Juggling pins flung through the hands of the others, and I spotted a unicycle propped against some suitcase of tricks. Lorena waltzed down the steps, took charge of a friend’s poi, and performed a few sequences, glowing, back in her natural habitat. Drums lined the steps, violinists and guitarists sprung up spontaneously, and Lorena gyrated through the motions of Flamenco.
Hyderabad / Cyberabad
I awoke to the muffled beeping of my mobile phone’s alarm, heard through airline issue earplugs and the metal of the train clattering on its tracks. Fumbling through my handbag, I found the phone and switched the alarm off. The faded sari fabric of my bag, seen through sleepy eyes, comforted me; I had awoken at involuntary intervals during the night to confirm its presence. It’s green and gold strap was still tied to my arm.
I shot a look toward Iain, who was asleep on the upper bunk across from mine. Yes, the laptop bag was still there, chained to the caging beside his sleeping head. It was 4:30am, fifteen minutes before our train was due to arrive in Hyderabad. I woke him up, with just enough time to splash water on our faces in the grimy carriage toilet, and unchain all of our belongings from under the bottom bunk.
An hour later we had still not reached our destination. I watched the man on the lower bunk across from me fold up a sheet he’d brought with him and deflate his blow-up pillow, which was covered by a clean cotton cover. Our fat, thumbed guidebook had been a pillow for Iain, and I’d used our grubby (but softer) yoga mat; we alternated the two on overnight train journeys. Continue reading Hyderabad / Cyberabad>>
