i practically ran from the train station to the internet cafe (and it had hardly anything to do with the trail of people following me down the street:
"rickshaw, madam?"
"taxi, madam?"
"madam! madam! bus to agra, very cheap"
"shawl, madam?"
"madam! trip to kashmir, very reasonable!" i had to stop at that one, to point out that rates in kashmir are doubtless cheap, since it's a warzone and all

But i ran here because i keep trying to capture what it is to take a train through rural India at sunrise. Open sky forever. Neat squares of wheat and greens, interrupted by bonus fields of fluorescent yellow mustard seed or golden sunflowers.

Long country roads with a single bicyclist in the morning mist; thin lines of awkward spindly trees; men herding goats through the blue light of dawn; acres of plump haystacks against a magenta sunrise; women walking with water jugs in the pale morning sun by the river.

The mornings are cold here in the North... women throw woolen shawls or button cardigans over their saris and salwars. They wear thin socks with their plastic flip flops and beaded sandals. The men tie checkered cloths around their ears and jaws to keep warm, although it looks more like they all have toothache.

*

On the train, the men have opened the doors so they can smoke between the cars. I wrap my shawl over my head and around my shoulders, loop an arm (tightly) through a handle and I crouch in the doorway to watch the world go by.

I'm badly paraphrasing, but Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote something about his mother gazing out of a train, watching all the moments she would ever get back.

I sit on the train and I see all the places I want to visit and the people I want to talk to and the roads I want to walk. And it's all there, clearly, for a split second and then it's gone.

9:40 p.m. - 2003-12-06