today, in lieu of doing work, i am sieving through old diary entries from last spring when i found myself taking a train from rajasthan to bombay along the west coast of india. these are my final thoughts.
“i can safely say that it is on the train that i fell in love with india. faint tremors of the rail, men debating, phones ringing, babies crying, and the train hums along still. the arid golden hues of the desert landscape gives way to the lush greenery of the south. india has left many scars – literal ones, coal-hot chapati-induced ones – and yet something about it is ever illusive, forever desirable. it is not a country of love at first sight, but it is one of love at many a sights, and all the more beautiful for it. because of the cacophony, the calm is that much more sacred. the destitute makes bountyt that much more beloved, the lack thereof makes the plenty of that much more revered. it is a love of the hard earned variety. and there is something so special about reading salman rushdie’s midnight’s children on the train headed for bombay’s bandra. (rushdie wrote the novel traveling through india on a 700 pound advance). and if only for a little while, i let my mind wander and overlay the images of young salman picking up inspiration from the passing landscape in a state not unlike my own. gratitude is extended to rushdie – i thank him for his words.”
-30-
