View from the train

     You've seen the train photos (below).  Now, here's a glimpse at what we've seen from those train windows:

— Two women in saris are standing, watching and waiting for our train to pass, so they can cross the tracks.  Each is holding a large plastic basin on her head, one orange, one yellow.  Those basins are piled high with layers of thin brown disks, crisscrossed and staggered in an attractive pattern.  Oh, of course: Dried cow pies, fuel for their cooking fires.

— It's almost sunset now.  A line of a half dozen women are walking through a very green field with water vessels on their heads.  In the gleam of the golden, late sunlight, the steel pots, with their broad bottoms, narrow tops and flared lips, look like so many giant, burnished silver vases.

— We're crossing a bridge, a very long one, over a riverbed that must be at least a mile wide.  It's mostly dry sand now with a few mud puddles but with one wide, shallow stream meandering through it.  It seems a strange, remote place for a popular tourist beach, but there appear to be hundreds of people in motion there, splashing about.  

     Oh, wait.  These are local villagers.  Everyone is either doing laundry, and spreading it flat on the sand to dry in the sun, or they're wading in, waist deep, for a bath.

— Next to the tracks, as we're crossing Andhra Pradesh, fields of yellow sunflowers stand at attention, their eyes straight ahead, facing the sun (and us), in regimental rows.  It seems they would salute, if only they could.  It's an unusually orderly scene in a seemingly chaotic country.

—  As we move farther north, I realize we've left the lush country of ultragreen paddies and the black, gleaming buffaloes with their white avian fan clubs.  Now, outside my window, I see a rare green patch next to the tracks. Ten camels are grazing in the little plot, along with a mixed flock of sheep and goats. A young, lone man is tending them in this grassy oasis.

— After countless miles and endless hours of bucolic scenes, we pause at a railway station with a jarring sign, a reminder of the times: "Beware of unclaimed luggage. It may be an explosive."

—  Several times on various journeys, we've passed through the major rail junction of Erode, with its busy, lively station.  At intervals as we glide to a stop there, I see bears standing on the platform, and I rub my eyes.  Yes, they're white bears — concrete, I'm guessing — on their hind legs, gesturing with their arms that they're ready for a hug.  Their eyes look inquisitive, confused and a little sad, as if they really do need comforting.

     A month or two later, we again pass through Erode and see the bears again. This time, each is hugging a garbage can, with lettering that says "Please use me."  Now, the bears' expressions just look earnest.

     Funny, when I think of bears and garbage cans, I think of the problems of bears getting into garbage cans.  I'd never thought of the benefits of garbage cans getting into bears...

Sara