THE MAN ON THE TRAIN

A dark, stocky man dressed in baggy trousers and

A blanket took the berth above mine. The raucous

Adolescents thwarted his attempts to sleep and

He descended, disappeared, then returned. I caught

His eye. He stared at me. He continued staring

At me. He came and sat next to me. I told him

I didn’t speak his language. He possessed one word

Of English. “Climate.” We agreed it was too cold.

He returned to the upstairs berth, staring all the

Time. Soon he was back down again. I put down the

Lonely Planet guide. He picked it up. Flicked through it,

Perused selected pages and photos. I offered

Him a glossy brochure from Dharamsala. He

Gave it back dismissively. Nearing Jaipur, he

Returned to the top berth and changed. Re-appearing

Pristine in crisp trousers and a pressed shirt. It

Was another man who got off the train, one who

Had no interest in strangers and their strange words.