I recently read through a journal I had been keeping in Rajasthan and found this lovely little piece. It was written in the non-ac train on the way to Agra from Jaipur. It was 45 degrees celsius in the mid-day heat of that day, and I hadn't slept for two days, due to a hectic train schedule. Now before you read this, please keep in mind that I love this country much much more than I hate it, even on a bad day...
3:10~ Let's try for a switch-up from the usual positive, shall we?
It's the hottest matachod (motherfucking) day that I've experienced yet in India and I'm bainchod (sisterfucking) hot. I can feel my head and body over-heating because I am not at all used to this outrageous heat. The train is going 150 miles an hour and all I can feel when I open the door is a wall of fire. While I've been here, every new hot day has gained observations on how it was "probably the hottest day I've experienced so far", but this takes the cake. If it was any hotter, I would die. I would bloat, keel over, and die.
It's a bloody sauna. A bloody fucking sauna. Except the difference is that here you can't just make up your mind that you've had enough brain melting and pore-opening for one sitting and get off of your sweaty ass and out of there. Here, can't open a door and find yourself in an air-conditioned, non-polluted, cleaned space, free to shower yourself and don clean clothes. Instead, what you get is a door leading to a cesspool of a toilet where breathing with your mouth only draws more attention and worry to just how many germs and possible disease you are in close proximity to. The next door only holds the countryside, speeding past you, and yet not fast enough to offer a cool and welcoming breeze. If you chance sitting on the rumbling metal floor to view the surroundings, contemplate anything from fate to why it's so bloody damned hot, you find yourself so closely surrounded by a group of men, 2 to 3 deep, that all thought of having some time to yourself is lost. And don't try to ignore them, because a lecture will surely ensue on the dangers of sitting in that particular spot or, more likely, they'll simply stare at uncomfortable proximity and finally, after being challenged by your stink-eye, will present the ubiquitous "country from?" You lose your nerves one snapping tendril at a time.
An apparent phenomenon about Indian trains: when you're perfectly comfortable, the word "chai" and "dosai" brand themselves into your hearing every 5 minutes. As soon as you actually need something desperately, like, say, a bottle of water, there are no beverage wallas to be found. Anywhere.
The next station we get to, I'm jumping out of this compartment straight out of hell and will lach onto the first beverage I see. I might just take an entire supply with me.
3:10~ Let's try for a switch-up from the usual positive, shall we?
It's the hottest matachod (motherfucking) day that I've experienced yet in India and I'm bainchod (sisterfucking) hot. I can feel my head and body over-heating because I am not at all used to this outrageous heat. The train is going 150 miles an hour and all I can feel when I open the door is a wall of fire. While I've been here, every new hot day has gained observations on how it was "probably the hottest day I've experienced so far", but this takes the cake. If it was any hotter, I would die. I would bloat, keel over, and die.
It's a bloody sauna. A bloody fucking sauna. Except the difference is that here you can't just make up your mind that you've had enough brain melting and pore-opening for one sitting and get off of your sweaty ass and out of there. Here, can't open a door and find yourself in an air-conditioned, non-polluted, cleaned space, free to shower yourself and don clean clothes. Instead, what you get is a door leading to a cesspool of a toilet where breathing with your mouth only draws more attention and worry to just how many germs and possible disease you are in close proximity to. The next door only holds the countryside, speeding past you, and yet not fast enough to offer a cool and welcoming breeze. If you chance sitting on the rumbling metal floor to view the surroundings, contemplate anything from fate to why it's so bloody damned hot, you find yourself so closely surrounded by a group of men, 2 to 3 deep, that all thought of having some time to yourself is lost. And don't try to ignore them, because a lecture will surely ensue on the dangers of sitting in that particular spot or, more likely, they'll simply stare at uncomfortable proximity and finally, after being challenged by your stink-eye, will present the ubiquitous "country from?" You lose your nerves one snapping tendril at a time.
An apparent phenomenon about Indian trains: when you're perfectly comfortable, the word "chai" and "dosai" brand themselves into your hearing every 5 minutes. As soon as you actually need something desperately, like, say, a bottle of water, there are no beverage wallas to be found. Anywhere.
The next station we get to, I'm jumping out of this compartment straight out of hell and will lach onto the first beverage I see. I might just take an entire supply with me.
Atom Feed (xml)
No comments:
Post a Comment