Wednesday, 11 April 2007

Night Train to Varanasi

On a cockroach infested train, in a couchette thats very hot (especially with the curtains shut) Amy and I are pretending we're in Some Like it Hot (heads popping through the gap in the curtains). She wants to be the double bass player, then the trombone. Do wab do wab. Then I was upset to discover that I haven't got a sneer so my Elvis impersonating days are over - I've mastered the hair but haven't got a good upper lip sneer on either side.

Standing looking out of the open train door in the morning it passes through agricultural fields full of women cutting grain crops, people carrying water and goods on their heads. Talking to a Seikh who said he was once in California in a village and there was nobody in the landscape which he found really strange. Here the landscape is full of people, and dotted with ramshackle buildings full of cows, goats, and people washing, cooking, eating.

The train stopped and a fight broke out on a path outside - a man was on the ground being beaten, kicked, punched, stamped on the head and stoned. Set upon by 10 others. The gaggle of men watching from the train door decided he was a pick pocket who had been chased off he train and was getting his just desserts.

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