n., a journey of epic proportions; a coffee shop in Hyderabad with an attached bookstore. Nice books.
I’m writing this in time to the lurches of the Little Red Train (which I’ll have you know has grown up just fine) that has agreed to take me back home. So nice of it, don’t you think? I’m writing this (no, I did not ctrl+C it… it just came from within) because I slept the entire of yesterday and I simply haven’t the moral courage to do so anymore and Delhi is far, f-a-r off.
Also I have inspiration. For one, there is the tree that the train just passed that looked like a dancing lady with an urn… or alternatively like a baby reindeer with holly leaves wrought into its antlers… or like a stooped man in a raincoat and a dripping hat… the train was going too fast and that’s all the resemblances that leapt to mind. The other inspiration is the kid from hell. If I ever, ever have a kid like that… I’d shoot its father. Right now, as of this moment, she wants a balloon. And she’s not afraid to throw tantrums till she gets one. On a friggin’ train? She really can’t be that challenged. I wonder what… oh wow! I mean, oh wow! Her mom just told her to sit tight (a lot of other epithets were attached, but since they were nice ones there’s no point mentioning them here) and she’ll buy her a whole packet of balloons when they get home, so the hellgirl could blow them up on her own. And the kid capisched! I’ve always wondered what breed moms are… where they innovate, I’d simply have brained. We need more moms in the Cabinet. And less aunts.
Next up. There was a guy sitting next to me. Not on the train: on the train I’m one of the elites with “a berth of my own”. Somewhere else. He hadn’t brushed… for ages presumably… and he kept breathing at me. Wooh! An experience if ever there was one. I’ve always wondered about those diet plans that keep asking you to have plenty of water first thing in the morning, even before brushing. Frankly, I think that’s disgusting. In fact, I think the entire idea of dieting is disgusting… a little like self-flagellation. Unless it’s for reasons of health, in which case, it’s disgusting with an excuse.
Right now it’s sunny on one side of the train and foggy on the other. Needless to say… the view out my window is the foggy one. Typical, isn’t it? And a companion road just started. I like it better when I’m on the road running parallel to train-tracks, then when I’m on a train running parallel to a road. Just one of those character kinks I suppose. Apparently Clooney knits.
And with that ten minutes have passed. Leaving only two-and-half hours of waiting time. Oh hell! I am going to sleep… even if it kills me.
Thank you for listening. Goodnight Congo.
Later, much later: I reached... three hours late. And mom was waiting on the station – the entire three hours. I'm one lucky girl. I love you mommy.
