If you went to the roof of the house, at just under a kilometre away, beyond the flat open grassland with smattering of brown shrubs and scattered kikar trees, you could see a quaint train station. Small, it was more like a guard’s room, beautifully proportioned. The train emerged from behind the distant houses and chugged in a half circle, stretching a kilometre to the tiny train station. On sunlit days the bare track was a burning arc of white heat, a kilometre wide. The train brought in migrant labourers to the larger station in Patiala. Season for harvest. Local farmers crowded the platforms to pick up farm-hands, jostled to have a first pick of the more robust.

Further Reading Download PDF


Prev / Next