The Window Seat

I look out of the wide Shatabdi window at the trees and fields running away from me. This is the first time I have been able to take in the scenery, ever since I boarded the train a couple of hours ago. Now that the sonny is serenely asleep in the seat beside me, I am free. For a little while, till he wakes up again. I look at the adjacent row of seats, where my husband tries to sleep, sandwiched between two other men. It would have been so good if we had gotten that row, with three seats, so we could sit together as a family. In fact, two of those seats are ours, but the third one was occupied by a man who, when we requested, refused to give up his seat and exchange it with us. He clung to his window seat, as a child, my son’s age would. Continue reading