Snapshot
I like the noisy, swaying rhythm of the train. I lean out the window a little, and a light breeze lifts the hair from my sweaty neck. I watch a stream of school-aged boys running alongside the moving train. One after the other, they hoist themselves up and disappear through the door at the end of the carriage.
A tall boy glances into our compartment, looking for an empty seat. He takes a momentary step back, before nudging his friend. The second boy whoops, and shouts out over his shoulder. In moments, there are a dozen boys of different ages crowding into the aisle of our compartment, staring in.
The first boy, with the fuzz of a moustache, straightens his shoulders and steps into the compartment. ‘Excuse me, but we are very surprised to be seeing you today. We are feeling lucky, because we are never seeing anybody such as you on our train.’ Some of the others murmur their agreement. At the back, someone is translating into Hindi.
The aisle fills further, and the boys spill onto the seats and the floor. They are shooting questions at us.
‘What is your country like, miss? Are you playing cricket every day?’
‘Do you think Mr Ricky Ponting or Mr Michael Clarke, is the better one?’
‘Do you know our man, Mr Sachin Tendulkar? Yes, he is very famous, sir!’
A younger boy produces a worn exercise book, and mumbles at the tall boy.
‘My friend is wondering for a big favour, if you please. Will you make your signatures in this book, and write something you think about my country.’
Before long we are inundated with books and scraps of paper. We take turns writing little messages: “We love travelling in your country”; “We love meeting many beautiful people”; “Good luck for the cricket!”
‘This is the last one now!’ says the tall boy. ‘We are getting off very soon. If you please, I invite you to my willage. You can be meeting my grandmother, and everyone in our willage will be very happy to be meeting with you.’
My friend and I look at one another. I’m torn. ‘Thank you, that is a very kind offer. But I think we need to stay on this train for today.’
‘Okay.’ He nods. ‘Then maybe one day we are coming to Australia.’ He sees a camera beside my friend. ‘Please miss, can you make photograph of us?’
The boys, poised to rush out of the carriage as the train slows, cram themselves back into our compartment. We take a picture surrounded by the boys, waving and grinning with shining white teeth.
‘Thank you miss!’ he shouts, as he is carried along in the swell of boys pushing towards the door. ‘Now you are never forgetting us!’
A relative quietness returns with the train’s rattling rhythm. I sit back and close my eyes. We have a few more hours left of the ride, and the journey through India continues.
