“Gomti is coming here?” She demanded (like Gomti was her maid) of nobody in particular, standing by the public bench I was sitting on at the railway platform, immersed in a magazine, awaiting Gomti Express bound for Kanpur. Moments earlier, looking up from the magazine, I had cast a fleeting glance around, and had spotted her descending the stairs, wearing a duffle bag like a rucksack, using the loops meant for holding the bag as shoulder straps. Ingenious, I thought. Looks funny though, I further thought. But, to her credit, the girl doesn’t care if she looks funny; not bad, I concluded and returned to the magazine. Moments later, she had thudded her heavy bag right beside me, and had tossed a question in the air about the platform placement of a particular train that day.
“Sorry?” I looked up at her, trying to make sure if she intended to direct the question at me before answering it.
Support authors and subscribe to content
This is premium stuff. Subscribe to read the entire article.