As the train stopped at another junction, Kesar bought a cup of tea and some local bread from the window next to his seat. He wanted to walk on the junction to stretch his legs, but he dared not. As he sipped tea from the earthern pot, he took in the vendors hawking foodstuff on the station. He remembered his few train journeys where he would step out to suck at the juicy oranges from the Nagpur, or taste the delicious pethas in Agra. The cries of the chaiwallahs, the wiry porters in their red shirts, the vendors and fellow travellers rushing by, everything had fascinated him back then. He never really noticed the dust, the flies, the stinking toilets or the sweaty crowds. They were just beautiful, perfect train journeys he underwent.

As the train started to pull away from the junction and gained speed, Kesar’s fears came to haunt him yet again. But a tiny hope kept him going. Perhaps it would turn out very smoothly. At best Durga would remember him, hug him, wish him all the best and sign the papers. At worst she would not recognize him, feed him to the dogs and perhaps sign the paper he wanted her to sign. Kesar replayed the entire scenario over and over in his head, till the thought became an ache beginning to pound on his forehead like a hammer. He reminded himself that he was now handling the entire cable business of Rajjo’s husband who had died without an heir. If Rajjo was to give him a no objection certificate, he would be able to expand the cable TV business and take it to the next level. He had a neatly typed letter; it had taken him a week and a cheap lawyer to get the wording right. The letter was tucked away in his pocket.

Just then a tea seller’s welcome cry of ‘Chai, garam chai’ coming down the aisle broke his reverie. He reminded himself firmly that he was a grown man running a business, with the hope of doing better in life. He needed to make this trip, even if every cell in his body shrieked that he should turn around and go back home.