Diary entry

 Tuesday 28 Feb 7.47 am

Goa is behind us, the whole of India sweeps ahead. I'm sat in the open doorway of the train drinking a tiny chai, India thuds and rattles past. I see glimpses of waking life: women hanging washing, men riding their morning commute through dusty fields, the chai man singing through the carriages to sleepy faces. Pale sunlight shines beams of mist through palm leaves and dogs scratch and sniff at dust and dirt. The mountains grow bigger in hazy green and blue as we move north, passing over rivers that trickle between ancient rocks almost dry and some wide and flat with white stalks stood fishing at its banks. I wonder where the rivers lead and what land they'll carve through on it's journey to the sea.