That peculiar smell of Indian trains,
It sticks to your clothes, your skin, your hair.
Gently rocking, swaying, clanking,
Verdant fields play hide and seek.
AC coaches just don’t cut it,
Give me fresh air, the breeze, the coveted window seat.
A tapestry of emerald, sage and viridian,
With turquoise and cerulean embroidered in.
Half an ear out for interesting conversations,
My latest series find face down on my lap,
Youngsters making eyes at each other,
The dynamics of a multi-gen family,
A sharp eye out for an itchy-fingered man.
Inhaling the aroma of milk powder coffee,
Even at home I sometimes make it,
To invoke the gods of railway compartments.
INSTANT NOODLES 