The-World-Noticed-Us
The next morning, Dani and I went downstairs to check the train schedule. I opened the live updates on my phone and handed it to Arbaaz.
Arbaaz studied the screen. His forehead tightened. He took out his phone and called his railway contacts.
When he finished, he handed my phone back.
“I don’t know your phone. The train reached Jaipur. It will be here at seventeen hundred today.”
We stayed at the hotel.
We spread our guidebooks and scraps of paper across a table and opened our laptops. We looked through the things we might have visited around Agra, then started reading about Varanasi. One guidebook led to another. One website led to the next.
We changed our return plans, too. We canceled the overnight train from Varanasi to Delhi and bought plane tickets instead.
Arbaaz left for work. His two sons stayed in the house.
They sat in front of the television watching reruns. Both wore pajamas.
A servant swept through the rooms. Outside, gardeners trimmed the grass with scissors. When someone came to the door, one of the sons paused the television, got up, and opened it.
As the afternoon passed, we grew hungry.
“Is there anywhere good to eat near Agra Cantonment station?” I asked.
The son watching television paused his show.
“Around here?”
He shook his head.
“Not out there. But food here is hygienic. Filtered water, no chilies, no spice. If you want food, I can make food. Which do you prefer: veg or non-veg?”
“One of each, please”
He called the cook. She disappeared into the kitchen as he returned to his screen.
About an hour later, the cook came back carrying two platters. She set them on the table and lifted the covers.
Chicken rice, peas, paneer, butter chicken, dal tak, chipotle, and several dishes we couldn’t identify.
We ate.
When we finished, we gathered our bags stepped outside.
~
Traffic pressed against the entrance to Agra Cantonment station.
Motorcycles squeezed between cars.
Drivers leaned on their horns.
Dani waved down a bicycle rickshaw, and we climbed in.
The driver pushed off.
The pedals turned slowly beneath his feet.
The chain creaked.
His shoulders rocked with each stroke.
A man carrying a sack walked past us.
I looked ahead. The road stretched.
Three miles remained.
The driver leaned forward and pushed harder.
The bicycle rattled onward.
Five minutes later, I checked the road again.
We seemed further away than before.
I stood.
“Stop.”
Then we climbed out, turned toward the traffic, and raised our hands for another ride.
~
At Agra Cantonment station, Dani looked up at the departures board.
“Where’s our train?”
I scanned the board, then turned.
“There!”
At eye level a paper sign had been taped to a metal pillar.
VARANASI
GO TO INQUIRE
Then an arrow.
We followed.
People crowded the counters behind bulletproof glass, waving tickets and shouting questions through speaker ports.
At one counter, a woman leaned back in her chair.
Red beret. One boot propped on the counter. Her arms folded behind her head.
I met her eyes and pressed our tickets against the glass.
“Varanasi?”
She glanced at them and pointed to a whiteboard beside her.
Green marker covered one corner. The writing had smudged.
I squinted at the arrival time.
“Another three hours.”
Dani led me to the tracks.
Behind us, the woman had already turned to the next person.
~
I checked the clock again.
The train was still not there.
I stood.
“May as well find some food.”
Dani nodded for me to leave.
I scanned the stalls, but all I found was water and a bunch of bananas.
The bananas sat on the counter, brown and soft. The water bottles lay on their sides in the sun, a small puddle forming beneath them.
Still, I bought them.
Back at Dani, our train still nowhere in sight, I opened a bottle of water, took a swig, and spit it on the ground.
My throat clenched, and I began to cough.
The water felt hot, metallic, and it had the sour aftertaste.
I snatched the opened bottle and stomped back to the vendor.
He saw me as I approached.
“You opened it. No take back.”
“What do you mean, I opened it? This is tap water! The bottle was already opened; you refilled it. Here. Taste!”
I held it toward him in the sunlight.
Sediment swirled inside.
Then I looked past the bottle.
Behind the kiosk, people were refilling bottles just like this one from a porcelain water fountain beside the tracks.
I focused back at the vendor.
“New bottle. A hundred rupees.”
He said it to my feet, never looking me in the eyes.
I could still taste the water.
“No. You give me a new bottle.”
My voice came out louder and higher than I expected.
Then I closed my eyes and sighed. And handed over the money.
~
We sat on a curb.
Dani had fallen asleep—her head resting on my shoulder.
I was trying not to move.
A gust of wind from down the tracks.
Then the sound of metal.
A train appeared in the night, moving faster than I expected.
People huddled along the platform stood and suddenly ran after it.
Saris fluttered.
A box of chickens toppled.
Dani woke.
“Come on!”
We ran after it.
A quarter mile down the tracks, the train slowly slid to a stop.
I checked the number in the window.
“This one’s us.”
~
I awoke with the sun, but I didn’t hurry to start my day.
The train felt calm and quiet under me.
Our car didn’t rock or sway against the tracks.
Shadows didn’t pass the windows.
I lay in wait, praying for our arrival in Varanasi, but feeling more and more doubtful with every passing second.
When I looked through the window, I saw a station.
I’d awoken to find ourselves at this same station hours ago. We were still there.
Slowly, I checked my phone.
After traveling for ten hours, my phone revealed that we were only in Lucknow—not halfway to our destination.
Dani leaned down from her bunk.
“Are we there?”
I felt horrible breaking the news.
We sat in our beds and talked about what we would lose with another day gone.
We tried to rebuild Varanasi into something smaller, something that could still fit into whatever time remained.
The train didn’t care either way. It stayed where it was, then moved, then stopped again, as if time were negotiable only in one direction.
We ate our bruised bananas for breakfast and wished we’d brought more food, but we never expected to be here this long.
Then we sat through the hours, watching the shadows and the scenery change through the windows.
Nobody rode this train with us. No one else had been stubborn or foolish enough to enter this train to start with.
Now, we were stuck—here—wherever here was.
It started.
It stopped.
It started again.
Then somewhere outside, another train passed us, its wind shaking our cabin and breaking our silence with perceived motion.
I kept checking the map even though nothing about it changed. The distance to Varanasi shrinking in theory, just not in practice.
Our dot had moved, yet we were still somewhere else.
When sun neared the horizon, I sat on the ladder outside and watched the world pass. The sun, the breeze, and the warmth felt nice.
Ahead of us, we rolled through rice paddies and rural villages.
Women walked along the tracks balancing colorful baskets on their heads.
Farmers with leathery skin picked fruit in the sun.
They moved with the train and fell behind as we overtook them again.
Behind me, the train stretched across the plain, each car following the last around a distant curve until I could no longer tell where it ended.