Coolies in flame red tunics, old men with the hardest work, mottle the surroundings platforms carrying urgently – as do the ladies clinging possession bags, tied as washing – balanced effortlessly.
The pedlars strong and urgent in voice and motions, attempt to attract and greet the unsuspecting passengers with wares and services.
The city strangers looking misplaced with cotton bedding rolled under arm, little more than life’s ownership.
Wealthy traders in unsoiled white angaraka’s with weighty trunks shout arrogant directives at hunching straining collies, who, in their urgency, stumble over passengers with menagerie of flapping beasts, caged or led, to reluctant rickshaws and taxis.
Untouchables make camps in the gutters of the rail tracks and call this home. Their occupiers, – whole families begging for insignificance – await the rejections from hot pan’s or rotting pineapples.
Mingling between arriving trains are hotel dealers, black marketers and general pedlars; a life lived to flaunt shoddy wares, engaged in the necessary art of gesticulation for attention.
There is a sense of extreme at arriving by train in this land vividly defined by its two important and unparalleled characteristics; – its religions and its customs.
Furthermore, smell the hot blowing dust as the trains come and then go; the smell of filth, of the open drains, rotting vegetation and steaming deposing cow dung.
Conform to the Indian ways of interchange. Wits evolve and sharpen by watching pai vaniyar tourney and play-act; – an assimilation of this land of the Hindu.
As it cannot be prevented, go with the current and become encompassed in a little changing, forever enticing land. Breath in the night air of India; air that can scorch pain into your lungs and unbalance your heart.