by Sarah Das Gupta
The Delhi train stopped unexpectedly at Kharagpur. Young boys ran along the platform with earthenware cups of sweet tea. ’Chai! Chai!’, echoed through the compartments.
Gazing idly out, I found myself looking into the window of a bungalow where a young girl was holding a glass of water for a frail, old man. His skin was like ancient, worn parchment through which I watched the water trickling down his throat. The child softly combed his hair; she washed each foot from a battered silver urn, with great tenderness.
The train pulled slowly out of the station.
© 2023 Sarah Das Gupta All rights reserved.
Click or tap here to see Sarah Das Gupta’s profile.
Use the “Leave a Comment” form below to share comments on this piece.