A Travel Day

17 February 2013

The inside of my thongs were really pink from the pink paint coming off the hut so I knew it was time to move on.

Travel days can be the best or the worst type of days. On the back of the scooter with a random Mumbaikar giving me a lift to the station it was one of the better days. Of course there had to be chai at his home first.

The guy saw me waiting at the bus stand for an eternity and thought it best to just pass the time with me.

I slept my phone is off and walked into the tiled hotel room. There was an older young guy there too. Both were from very wealthy families, and now both exported jewellery all over the world, including Australia, which they had actually visited. It took over a month to find someone who had been there, but frankly I wasn’t looking and surprised I stumbled across anyone at all.

We laughed about Slumdog Millionaire, and flattered each other about how cultured and aware we were. Well he started it and I wanted to get to the train station so I reciprocated.

The sunbeamed down onto my bare feet at the little train station. Of course my plans were not flexible I explained, I can’t go to India every day.

The platform was long but everyone lounged in the shade by the entrance. The big sign cast a nice shadow to sit under too. I rolled my jeans up and looked out onto the silent green plains. No, not every day is it you can sit against a tree with all your belongings in a little bag beside you and hear the tooting of the train barely permeating the thick trees in the distance. Not every day is it that you can feel the clattering tracks of the bridge in your bones as it passes through the suddenly fresh cool coming off the blue river water below.