I notice our yoga mat, carried in a green bag, lying on the platform, and the bag Claire used obsessively, to carry a water bottle, beside it. I notice my hair, long and sun-lightened, and the copper bracelet around my left wrist, which I lost a few months after arriving in Shanghai. I notice my clean shaven face, and think of India’s barbers. I discover people asleep in the background, Hindi written on the walls and the garish clothes worn by the man next to me. In short, I very quickly become nostalgic.
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>>
