Train(s of) Thought(s)

On the 18th of (what month is it again? oh yeah) October, we finally left the smogs and bogs of New Delhi on a 40 hour train to Goa. While waiting for the train, I noticed a man pushing a wheeled cart with large ice squares dripping from under their canvas cover in the heat. It recalls for me America back in the day, when people stored their goods in ice boxes and depended on the ice delivery man to bring the frozen blocks with his horse and cart. India has this timeless quality to it. You can't tell if the buildings and sidewalks are 10 years old, or 150. In fact, besides the ever increasing population and cell phone use, it's hard to tell what year it is. Clothing and hair styles don't reveal specificities of time period either; there are no trends apparent to my eyes. Oxen and cows roam the streets; people carry heavy loads on their heads and backs. A very strange feeling- timelessness...

For the train ride, we chose the less expensive sleeper class, where there is no A/C, but you can have the windows open to see the scenery. Unfortunately, the open window also meant an infestation of little black bugs at twilight flying in the windows (to add to the cockroaches) and smells of the tracks. The train bathroom consists of a squat toilet with no flush and a tube that leads directly to the train tracks. Trash is thrown out of the windows by the passengers, and garbage from the snacks, food, and drink sold on the train is puched between the cars onto the trakcs by the train staff. This also must be the time for slash and burn, as there was smoke all among the fields the whole way south. Hence, the breezes wafting into the windows are usually not so pleasant. There were some fresh spots, however, and I enjoyed watching the fields of flowering grasses, corn, bananas, rice, and marigolds. I decided that if I lived in India, I would have a garden full of marigolds. I would make them into strands and lays for people to hang above their doors and drape on deities in the temples. The bright necklaces are holy, healthy, and happy blessings in all villages and cities in India.

For the first night, we were joined by an Indian family (Sonya and her husband Topan, her sister, her so very cute and sweet and talkative 5 month old baby daughter Angel, and Topan's parents) on their way south for a pilgrimmage. The five of them (and the baby) somehow managed to have purchased only four tickets, so when it came for sleeping, Topan slept on the floor between mine and Nancy's bed platforms. (This was quite normal; the floor of the train was full of folks). They were a happy and kind family, and fed us homemade chapati with Indian mango pickle. Between games of a three deck card game called Marriage, I spoke to Sonya about the henna designs she had on her hands. She told me she had them done to honor a recent day of fasting, wherein the wife fasts so that her husband has a long life. She said that she does it for him, and he does it for her. Religion here is complex, varied, and paradoxical; but it is also accepting, dynamic, and colorful.

{Sonya's fasting is the third example of fasting I have experienced so far on this trip. The first was the Muslims for Ramadan in Turkey, the second were two Israeli women (both named Rachel) fasting I think for Yom Kippur.}

We made it through the train ride, caught an hour bus, and found ourselves, relieved and happy to find ourselves at Palolem Beach, in souther Goa.