Journeying Through Connections: a Train Tale from Bangalore
The train was supposed to leave at six-forty. It left at seven-fifteen. This is not a complaint — this is just how it is, and after enough train journeys you stop checking the time and start watching the platform instead.
Meera was doing a final headcount of the bags. She does this three times before any journey, and both of us pretend I don’t know she’s doing it. Sara, who was five at the time and deeply convinced that train travel was the most exciting thing humans had invented, was pressing her palm flat against the window to feel the vibration of the engine idling. Vikram, my co-brother, had already found his berth, plugged in his earphones, and departed for wherever Vikram goes when he puts on earphones.