the tracks

We are only 5 1/2 hours into our journey from Ajmer to Delhi. The bench we sit on was built for three across, there are five on my bench, 6 across from me. Feet dangle above. The air is stale, smelling of bodies. Warm even with the fans whirling above. Nights cool air reaches in from the tracks. I've closed the metal slates to keep the wind from my nursed cold.

I have gotten used to the stares. Those around m, if they speal any english, have exhausted the little they know and have moved on to naps or convresations. Occasionally I seem them glaning my way. Eyes not quick enough to avoid my sudden glance. You can tell when someone is talking about you,even in another language. And you can feel the stares. The man above me, when not dozing seems to find my gazing out the window or writing or reading very curious, just as I am entranced by the everyday inIndia-a woman selling laudry soap onthe side of a road, anolder felow reading the newspaper....I can watch for long minutes.

Today, in the 21st century most men, especially inthe towns and cities dress in Western wear. Button downs, slacks socks and a pair of loafers or sandals. So sometimes I am caught off gaurd when they find me so fascinating to watch. But of course I am odd, women's schooling is minimal, their place in the home.

I cover myself with a wonderful wool blanket woven somewhere deep in the Thar desert near Jaipur with tribal symbols decorating it's face. It keeps me warm while alos keeping me hidden. A woman traveling alone is always a curiosity. But I have found respect throught this journey. I had prepared for the worst, but wearing the salawr suit and my short hair and darkskin leave me less than desireable.

I try shifting positions when a leg or foot falls asleep. Balancing overstuffed bags, tucked into the few inches besides the window allows the luxury of leaning. Or at least it gives the illusion of a little more space, always welcome onlongtrips by plane, bus or train.

I am so grateful to have tasted India so long ago. Newcomers are still mesmerized, days are easier, not quite so chaotic, it is a little cleaner. And with this come changes, plastic cups ratehr than the clay cups that would disinegrate under foot. No longre do wallahs climb aboard at one station plying the teaming seats of weary passengers with ground nuts or poua. The goverment has installed their own vendors serving airplane style container of veg burgers onwhite bread. Grateful for the ease, saddened by the loss.

Dark. everyone is so dark. With deep penetrating eyes. Once in a bit you catch the eye of someone with the eyes of a cat. it takes your breath away, man, woman, child against the high cheek bonesand milk chocolate flesh. I become the voyer, hoping for another glance my way.

My body has begun to cramp. Seven hours have passesd. I've stood only once. I am parched. It would be so lovely if at the end of this journey there would be shops offering massage like in Thailand. All I will be lucky to get is a hassel free rickshaw to my hotel, hopefully they changed the sheets and there is a sink.