The Ahmedabad Express

True be told ‘ere

In Monsoon it’s better to take the

train, they said. Flying can be . . .

difficult. Kalyan junction six-fifty

a.m. watched by the, “Australians.”

First class — glass in the windows

ceiling fans passing for aircon.

Nine hours of Railway India hospitality.

Sit back enjoy the view.

Inside and out.

Rain soaked paddy fields green as the

Irish flag pass by, breakfast served

by cotton clad ghosts in flip-flops.

Hard-boiled eggs, juice and yoghurt

followed by boiled-milked tea.

Suspicious of the meal I ate

as I see Indian businessmen

palm eggs and secrete bread rolls.

Fingers crossed, I chat to colleagues

and read reports.

Slow progress doesn’t stop time

passing quickly. Lunch arrives silently

in paper bags and plastic cups

as we pass shallow lakes with clay

Geneshes dissolving to recycle life.

I cherry-pick the contents

and drink Pepsi-Cola puzzled by

the lack of my fellow traveller’s appetites.

An hour later my half full lunch bag

sits surreptitiously ‘forgotten’ by the window

as we disembark at Vadodara

with fellow passengers toting paper

bags of life to be placed in outstretched

hands politely lining the platform.

I spy my bag behind glass. 

Guilty!