Don't Be A Stranger

I rode a handful of trains when I was in India. But, fearing that I was going to be like the Whiny Westerners they saw roaming the country in search of the Exotic East, my friends booked first-class tickets in the air conditioned cars to ensure my comfort. I was thankful, but I made sure that they never made that mistake again. Personally, I don't even like air conditioning and much prefer open windows. Moreover, the first-class cars proved to be boring; people were isolated into sections and compartments and no one talked to each other. They sat, ate their food in silence, and looked either out the window or straight ahead. The windows were tinted too, so I had a harder time enjoying the colours of the countryside. It reminded me a lot of riding the subway back home in Toronto: the epitome of feeling surrounded by strangers.

We had one short train ride where there were no first class tickets available, nor second class. "Goody!" I exclaimed. "We'll ride in the sleeper cars with all the people!" And indeed, it was quite the ride. The car was old and covered with faded or peeling paint, metal bars replaced the window panes. In first class people sat two or three to a bench. Here, at least five would fit onto a bench. I sat on the edge of one with others crowded around me, and my feet. A group of young men formed a circle around me and started taking pictures of me with their cell phones. At first I was weirded out, then offended, and then I relaxed. How often do they see Chinese girls dressed as Indian girls here anyway? Probably not very often. So I let them take photos.

Villagers jumped on and off the car at various platforms selling fruit, roasted nuts, newspapers, magazines, and sweets. People helped others get on and off with their luggage, they shared food and held each others' babies. Beggars came on and I gave them some rupee coins. People talked and laughed and sang as the wind rushed between the metal bars and cooled our faces. I saw the sunrise somewhere between Navsari and Mumbai. It felt rugged and exciting, like some wild adventure with friends.

Tonight, a little Indian girl struck up a conversation with me on the subway ride home. She was six, and kept peeking at me from behind her father's back. She asked about my friend and told me I was pretty. She asked if I was a teenager. Her father looked nervous. I laughed. "Well, I used to be a teenager, but that was a long time ago."

"So you used to be a teenager and now you're an adult?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." She was adorable.

She was just about to start Grade One and I told her that Grades One and Two were my favourite; being seven and eight were the best times of my life. I wanted to tell her about the rest of my school years, about high school and university, about being a teenager. I wanted to ask her name and tell her mine. But we had come to our stop. "You've got a lot to look forward to you know. It's going to be very exciting." She beamed. Her father picked her up and went off towards the elevator. As I climbed the steps to get to my bus, I thought to myself, "This is why I'll never stop taking public transit," and I felt a little less estranged from this strange, for me anyway, human race.
11:42 pm