At Panvel station, there are three poles towards one end of the platform. One has a bent and twisted sign, as if someone has been bashing it, and it says "Please Be in Que". I imagine someone got sick of being in Que, perhaps he wanted to get out. Or perhaps he wanted to be in queue. And he started pummeling the sign.
Naturally, this also reminded me of a Tshirt I own. It has several sheikhs on it, and it says "Aap Qatar mein hai; You are in Q." (If you don't follow, get an Indian who remembers trunk calls to explain).
But this is, of course, about Panvel station.
Second pole has a plastic bag hanging from it, stuffed in which are several loaves of bread.
Third pole has several -- 7, 8? -- gleaming silver locks attached to it.
And then we've left Panvel.
Roha is home to the Dr CD Deshmukh and Sally Tamhane Arts College. Now there's a name I may never ever forget.
I'm dozing over my book. In a waking moment, I look out and in the distant dusk, I see a young man in a blue shirt tending his green fields. I doze again, and when I wake up some indeterminate time later, I see a young man in a blue shirt tending his green fields. How curious, I think! Two identical scenes!
The third time this happens, the reality penetrates my sleepy mind. We are actually stopped at tiny Kolad station, and that's the same young man in the same green field. We stop at Kolad, inexplicably, for half an hour.
Half an hour later, we stop for another half an hour, at Mangaon. This time I fight sleep by getting off and asking a passing tea vendor -- Chai, garam garam chai! -- for a cup. He serves another man just before he gives me my cup, and while he's pouring out mine, the man splutters in his tea and barks, "This is not hot, this is cold!"
To which the vendor's reply is, "No, it's hot!"
How do you resolve this?
I get my cup, and the truth is, they're both right. It's sort of lukewarm. It also tastes unmistakably of boiled and reboiled and rereboiled and then boiled again tea leaves. Quite the worst cup of tea I have had in years. But by the time I realize that, the vendor has scurried far down the platform, and I can hear his mournful call: Chai, garam garam chai!
The woman in the next compartment has a smart duffel bag. It is labeled: "New Comon Fast Action."