Life on the Tracks

By Lopa Banerjee
The whistle blows. I find myself in the sweltering heat of a train compartment in suburban Kolkata, my tongue chained to numbness and austerity. I carry with me the rampant memories and succulent folklores of my childhood, my unruly hair running along with the houses, huts, trees, ponds, and creeks, as my life speeds along, swishing back and forth between pale faces and clumsy station platforms.